Page 185 of Made for Sinners

He looked down at me. “I think if you run it, it’ll be unstoppable.”

I smiled, but it felt different. Real. Like it belonged to me.

“I don’t want it to just be a vanity project,” I said. “I want it to mean something.”

“It already does,” he said. “It means you survived. It means you built something out of the ashes.”

I blinked, surprised by the weight of his words.

He cupped my face, his thumb brushing along my cheek. “You’re not just my wife, Emilia. You’re my legacy.”

I kissed him.

Because what else do you do when the man who once threatened to ruin you tells you you’re the best thing he’s ever done?

The restof the trip passed in a blur of sun and wine and lazy mornings tangled in sheets. We visited the Amalfi Coast, where Dante rented a yacht so large I was convinced it needed its own zip code. We drank espresso in Rome, wandered through theruins like we owned them, and made love in a hotel suite that overlooked the Colosseum.

And, of course, he bought me a new Starbucks mug in every city.

In Venice, he handed me a limited-edition gold-rimmed mug with a look of smug satisfaction. “For your collection,” he said, his voice smooth.

I turned it over in my hands, tracing the delicate design. “You know,” I said, glancing up at him, “I didn’t actually care about mugs when this started.”

His brow arched, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No?”

I shook my head, laughing softly. “No. I just wanted to waste your money and annoy you in every way I could. I figured if I couldn’t get under your skin one way, I’d do it with overpriced coffee mugs.” I paused, turning the mug over again in my hands. “But after a while, I actually started to enjoy it. The hunt, finding the rare ones, adding to the collection. And now…” I glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Now, my collection is incredible.”

He smirked, the glint in his eye far too knowing. “I figured.”

I blinked. “You did?”

“Of course.” He leaned casually against the railing, folding his arms as he watched me. “The Starbucks charges kept popping up on my credit card after you’d already blown $7.8 million in three days on diamond-encrusted nonsense.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, his smirk growing sharper. “By the way, I never saw this package come in, but what happened to the bespoke toilet seat?”

I snorted, unable to stop my laughter. “Oh, that’s got a year-long turnaround time,” I said, grinning. “It’s handmade by some elite artisan in Europe who’s, like, ninety-six years old. He personally sources every gemstone himself or something.”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Gemstones?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, nodding solemnly. “The seat is completely covered in blue diamonds, pink sapphires, and rubies. It’s art, Dante.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “A year for a toilet seat.”

“Only the finest,” I said with mock seriousness, lifting the mug in a toast.

His laughter softened, and he leaned back against the railing, his gaze lingering on me. “At first, I thought you were just committed to the bit,” he admitted. “But once the outrageous charges stopped and it was just the mugs, I realized you were actually having fun.”

I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks warmed. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was.”

“It was obvious,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “And I’ll admit, I started looking forward to the packages.”

My eyebrows shot up, surprised. “You did?”

He nodded, his expression unreadable for a moment. “I’d get a notification about a delivery and wonder what absurdly gaudy thing you’d ordered this time. It was… entertaining.” His lips curved into a faint smile. “And I don’t get entertained easily.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening at the admission. Somehow, he always managed to disarm me—always managed to turn something ridiculous into something that felt like more.

“You never said anything,” I said softly, my fingers tightening around the mug.

“Why would I?” His tone was casual, but his gaze was steady, warm. “It made you happy. That’s all that mattered.”

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