Page 147 of Made for Sinners

EMILIA

The clock on the nightstand glowed 2:03 AM in soft red light.

Dante’s arm was heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. He slept like a man who’d been at war for years—deep, still, and with the kind of quiet that only came after blood had been spilled and buried.

I lay there, eyes open, heart pounding like it already knew what I was about to do.

I hadn’t planned to leave tonight.

Not really.

But the thought had been there, coiled in the back of my mind like a snake waiting for the right moment to strike. And now, in the hush of the estate, with Dante’s body wrapped around mine and the weight of his promises still clinging to my skin, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.

I needed air.

I needed space.

I needed to remember who I was before I became his.

Slowly, carefully, I slipped out from beneath his arm. He stirred, just slightly, his fingers brushing the sheets where I’dbeen, but he didn’t wake. I held my breath as I pulled on leggings and a hoodie—dark, quiet clothes that wouldn’t draw attention.

My bare feet made no sound on the marble floors as I crept through the darkened halls of Rocco’s estate. The chandeliers above were dim, casting long, ghostly shadows that danced across the walls like silent watchers. I passed the study, the dining room, the grand staircase—all of them asleep, like the house was holding its breath.

The chapel door creaked when I opened it.

Just a little.

I slipped inside and closed it behind me, the air thick with incense and dust. The stained glass windows looked like bruises in the moonlight, their colors muted and strange. I crossed the room quickly, my heart hammering in my chest, and knelt behind the altar.

The panel gave way with a soft click.

The trapdoor groaned as I lifted it, the scent of damp earth rising up to meet me. I pulled out the flashlight I’d tucked into my hoodie pocket and clicked it on, its narrow beam slicing through the darkness below.

One last breath.

And then I climbed down.

The tunnel was colder than I remembered.

The stone walls were slick with condensation, the air thick with the scent of mold and old secrets. My footsteps echoed faintly as I moved forward, the beam of my flashlight bouncing off the uneven floor and the low ceiling that forced me to crouch.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of water falling somewhere in the distance was the only thing that kept me company. That, and the occasional scurry of something small and fast in the shadows.

I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

Each step felt like a rebellion. A breath. A piece of myself I was reclaiming.

I didn’t want to run away.

I just wanted to remember what it felt like to choose.

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