Page 141 of Made for Sinners

She smiled against my skin. “No. I didn’t.”

And that was the truth.

Because no matter how many games she played, how many times she tried to run, she always came back.

To me.

To us.

To this.

And I’d follow her every damn time.

Even if it meant chasing her into a bar and fucking her in the backseat like a teenager.

Because she was mine.

And I was hers.

And that would never change.

35

EMILIA

Rocco’s estate was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that soothed you—it was the kind that made your skin itch. The kind that settled over your shoulders like a heavy cloak, whispering that something was always watching, always waiting. The halls were too wide, the ceilings too high, and the air too still, like the house itself hadn’t realized its master was dead.

Dante moved through it like he owned it.

Because technically, he did.

As the head of the organization, everything Rocco had once claimed—his money, his territory, his estate—now belonged to Dante. And while he didn’t care for the property, didn’t want the sprawling villa with its cold marble floors and hollow echoes, he was here to settle the accounts. Tie up loose ends. Hand the place off to some distant cousin who hadn’t betrayed the family and hoped to God they didn’t have the same rot in their blood.

I respected it. I respected him.

But I was also going insane.

I’d been pacing the estate for hours, barefoot on polished floors, wandering through rooms that smelled like old cologneand expensive regret. I’d read half a book, started and abandoned a puzzle, and even tried organizing the liquor cabinet before realizing that was probably a cry for help.

I needed out.

Not permanently. Not even far. Just… out.

The estate was surrounded by high stone walls and acres of land, but Dante wouldn’t let me past the gates. Not without an escort. Not without a car full of armed men. And apparently, none of them were available today.

Convenient.

I found him in the study, sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he reviewed documents that probably had more zeroes than I wanted to think about. He looked up when I entered, his expression unreadable.

“I want to go for a walk,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Just into town. Or even just beyond the gates. I’ll stay close.”

He didn’t even blink. “No.”

I blinked. “No?”

He set his pen down. “It’s not safe.”

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