Page 172 of Made for Sinners

The door closed behind us with a soft click, and I stood in the center of the penthouse like I didn’t recognize it.

Everything was the same—same marble floors, same towering windows, same faint scent of Dante’s cologne clinging to the air like a memory. But I wasn’t the same. I wasn’t the girl who’d paced these halls in silk robes, sipping wine and plotting escape routes. I was someone else now. Someone who had been taken. Held. Used.

Dante dropped the keys on the entry table without looking. His jacket was already off, tossed carelessly over the back of the nearest chair. He was pacing, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to speak.

I didn’t blame him.

I wasn’t ready to speak either.

I moved toward the living room in slow, deliberate steps, my bare feet silent against the cold floor. The city lights glittered beyond the glass, distant and indifferent. I sank onto the couch, my body too heavy, my skin too tight. I felt like I was still in that room—still tied to that chair, still gagged, still watched.

Dante stopped pacing.

He turned to me, and the look in his eyes made my breath catch.

It wasn’t rage.

It was something worse.

Guilt.

“I should’ve known they’d use the tunnel. I should’ve had men posted. I should’ve?—”

“Dante,” I interrupted, my voice hoarse. “Stop.”

He stared at me, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.

“This wasn’t your fault,” I said, softer now. “You didn’t take me. They did.” I stood, crossing the room to him. My handsfound his face, cupping his jaw, forcing him to look at me. I leaned in, resting my forehead against his. “You didn’t know.”

“I should’ve,” he whispered.

We stood there for a long time, breathing each other in, letting the silence settle around us like a blanket. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, grounding me.

“I killed Aleksander,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.

I didn’t flinch.

“I figured,” I murmured.

“Shot him in the head. In front of everyone. No hesitation.”

I nodded. “Good.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine. “You’re not scared?”

“Of you?” I asked. “Never.”

His lips brushed mine, soft and reverent. “You’re mine,” he said. “No one touches what’s mine.”

“I know,” I whispered. “And I’m yours. But I’m also me.”

His jaw tightened again. “I know.”

We stood there for a beat longer before he finally exhaled and pulled me into his arms. I melted against him, letting the warmth of his body chase away the last of the cold that had seeped into my bones.

“I want to forget,” I said, burying my face in his chest.

“You won’t,” he said. “But I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

---