Page 135 of Made for Sinners

I turned in his arms, looking up at him. “You’re also mine.”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “Always.”

And then he kissed me again.

And I let him.

Because tonight, the war was over.

And I’d won.

Even if it didn’t feel like it yet.

33

EMILIA

Business returned to whatever normal was for the Contis.

Which, in our case, meant no fresh blood on the marble floors, no gunfire over Sunday dinner, and no cousins executed in front of the cannoli tray. A low bar, sure, but one I was more than happy to clear.

The house was quiet that morning, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel like it was holding its breath. Just... still. Peaceful. I padded barefoot across the penthouse in one of Dante’s shirts—black, oversized, and still smelling faintly of him—and sipped my coffee while scrolling through the Starbucks website on my phone.

It was a ritual now. A little rebellion disguised as retail therapy.

I’d already added a new Paris mug to my cart. Then Tokyo. Then a limited-edition Halloween one with a ghost holding a latte. It was hideous. I loved it.

I was just about to check out when my phone buzzed.

Dante:Architect dropped off the new house plans. I’ll bring them home tonight.

I smiled, setting my coffee down and curling my legs beneath me on the couch.

Me:Is this the part where I pretend I’m shocked you’re actually building me a house?

Dante:You’re not shocked. You’re impressed.

Me:I am. I’m also thinking of rewarding you by spending more of your money.

Dante:I’m hard already.

I laughed, biting my lip as I typed.

Me:What should I buy next? Another mug? A matching set of espresso cups? A life-size marble statue of you for the garden?

Dante:Depends. Will you let me pose for it naked?

Me:Only if you let me keep it in the foyer.

Dante:Deal. But I want it anatomically correct.

Me:So... small?

Dante:You’re funny. You weren’t complaining last night when you were begging

Me:I was not begging.

Dante:You were whimpering. It was cute.

---