Page 20 of Made for Sinners

Dante’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I have enough to spare.”

“I don’t cook,” I added, lifting my chin in defiance.

“I have a chef.”

“I don’t clean.”

“I have a maid.”

“I don’t use calendars or planners or any of that Type-A nonsense.”

“I have a house manager and an assistant.”

“I prefer luxury, invite-only cars, shoes, and bags,” I said, my voice dripping with mock arrogance as I leaned back in the chair. “I have extremely expensive taste.” If he wanted to treat this like a business transaction, fine. Two could play that game.

Dante’s smirk widened, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring its prey. I wondered if he would call my bluff, the shopping trips felt like a lifetime ago. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Like I said,” he murmured, his voice smooth and maddeningly calm, “I have it.”

I clenched my jaw, heat rising to my cheeks. His confidence was infuriating, his composure unshakable. He was untouchable, and he knew it.

Time to change tactics.

“My lifelong dream,” I began, my tone syrupy sweet, “is to own every collectible Starbucks location mug. You know, the ones with the cities and landmarks on them?”

For the first time, Dante’s expression faltered. It was subtle—a slight narrowing of his eyes, a twitch at the corner of his mouth—but I caught it.

He side-eyed me, his jaw tightening as he exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table and clasping my hands under my chin. “I plan to dedicate my life to traveling the world, visiting every Starbucks, and collecting every mug. I’ll spendyourmoney on private flights, hotels, and overpriced lattes. How does that sound,marito mio?”

He huffed, the sound halfway between a laugh and a grunt, and shook his head. “Of course you would.”

Victory. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there. For a moment, I had cracked through his perfectly polished armor.

But then he straightened, his smirk returning as he reached for the folder. He opened it with a flick of his wrist, pulling out a crisp stack of papers and sliding them across the table toward me.

“Sign it,” he repeated, his tone sharper this time.

Great, now I’d have to collect Starbucks mugs.

I stared at the papers, my stomach twisting into knots. The black ink on the page blurred as my mind raced, searching for a way out.

“I’ll have my lawyer look it over,” I said, lifting my chin in defiance.

Dante glanced at his watch, the movement deliberate and pointed. “I have time to take you to your lawyer right now.”

My heart skipped a beat, panic rising in my chest. I hadn’t expected him to call my bluff so easily. “Well, uh…” I stammered, grasping for an excuse. “He’s… busy. Very busy. Back-to-back meetings all day.”

Dante’s eyes gleamed with amusement, and his smirk widened. “Right.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded me with a look that was equal parts condescension and amusement. “Or maybe you’re just stalling because you know there’s nothing your lawyer can do to change the fact that you’re in this mess because of your own actions.”

“Excuse me?” I snapped, my voice rising as I glared at him. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I told you, I didn’t steal from you.”

“And I told you,” he said, his tone cold and cutting, “that the evidence says otherwise.”

I pushed the papers aside, my hands trembling with anger. “I’ve been saying it for weeks—someone elseused my code. One of your cousins trained me, remember? Maybe you should be looking at your own family instead of blaming me.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed, his smirk fading as his expression hardened. “Which cousin?”

I hesitated, wracking my brain for the name of the man who had trained me. But it had been months ago, and I hadn’t paid much attention to him at the time. He’d been quiet, unassuming—a shadow in the background of my life.

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