Page 152 of Made for Sinners

It was faint, distorted through the speaker, but it was him.

Dante.

I tried to scream through the gag, tried to move, to do anything—but the man beside me grabbed my chin and forced me to look into the camera.

“Say hello to your husband,” he said, his voice mocking.

I shook my head, tears springing to my eyes—not from fear, but from fury.

Because this wasn’t just about me.

This was about him.

They were using me to get to Dante.

And I knew exactly what that meant.

They weren’t going to let me go.

Not until they got what they wanted.

Not until they broke him.

The man stepped back, folding his arms as he stared into the camera.

“Dante Conti,” he said, his voice cold. “We have your wife. She’s alive. For now.”

The camera zoomed in slightly, focusing on my face.

“If you want her to stay that way, you’ll listen carefully.”

I closed my eyes.

And I prayed—not to God, but to Dante.

Because if anyone could find me…

If anyone could burn the world down to get me back…

It was him.

Time passed.

I didn’t know how much.

The camera was off now, the red light gone. The men had retreated to the far side of the room, speaking in hushed voices I couldn’t make out. One of them had lit a cigarette, the smoke curling through the air like a ghost.

I sat still in the chair, my body aching, my wrists raw, my throat dry.

But I wasn’t broken.

Not yet.

I thought about Dante.

About the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

About the way he kissed me—slow, reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. Like he’d never get tired of tasting me.

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