Page 38 of Made for Sinners

"Your room is down the hall," he said, turning away like he hadn’t just shattered my last shred of control. "Get some rest."

I didn’t move.

I didn’t trust myself to.

Because for all my anger, for all my hatred…

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run from him—or if I wanted to push him further, just to see how far he’d go to prove I was his.

12

DANTE

The marriage contract sat on my desk, her signature bold and defiant, like she’d carved her name into the paper just to spite me. Emilia Conti.

My wife.

I leaned back in my chair, the faintest smirk pulling at my lips as I stared at the document. She’d fought me every step of the way, her fire burning bright even as she signed herself over to me.

And now? Now she was mine—on paper, in name, in every way that mattered. She didn’t realize it yet, but with every stroke of that pen, she’d tied herself to me tighter than she could ever untangle.

My phone ringing pulled me from my thoughts.

The number on the screen was familiar—my bank. I exhaled slowly, already bracing myself as I answered. “Dante Conti.”

“Mr. Conti, this is Alex from the fraud department at your bank,” came the voice on the other end, polite but hesitant. “We’re calling to verify some recent activity on one of your accounts.”

I leaned back in my chair, letting the pen in my hand fall to the desk. “Go on.”

“Well, sir…” There was a pause, the sound of papers rustling faintly in the background. “We’ve flagged multiple high-value transactions in the past seventy-two hours. The total comes to approximately $7.8 million.”

My brow lifted slightly. “Continue.”

“Yes, sir. The charges are spread across several locations—Geneva, Paris, Milan, Monaco, Zurich. Mostly luxury retailers and bespoke boutiques.”

Of course. My lips twitched despite myself. “Let’s hear the highlights.”

“Yes, sir.” Alex cleared his throat. “There’s a $1.2 million charge at a jeweler in Paris. Another $950,000 at a boutique in Geneva specializing in custom platinum and gemstone creations. $2.5 million from a luxury furniture designer in Monaco. And…” He hesitated, clearing his throat again. “$9,800 from what appears to be a luxury toilet seat company in Berlin.”

My lips twitched. “A luxury toilet seat company,” I repeated, my voice flat.

“Yes, sir,” Alex confirmed quickly, like he couldn’t believe it either.

I shook my head, leaning back farther in my chair. “Go on.”

“There’s also a $50,000 charge from a boutique in Milan, $20,000 at a specialty pen store in London, and $15,000 from a luxury goods retailer in Zurich. Oh, and a $1.8 million deposit for what appears to be a company that primarily sells custom Swarovski crystal-encrusted espresso machines and other kitchen appliances.”

A laugh rumbled low in my chest before I could stop it. “A crystal-encrusted espresso machine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And a toilet seat,” I added dryly.

“Yes, sir,” Alex replied, the faintest hint of confusion bleeding into his voice. “The details suggest the toilet seat is, uh, bespoke.”

I sat forward, resting my elbows on the desk as I processed the information. Seven-point-eight million dollars. Geneva, Paris, Milan, Monaco. Toilet seats and espresso machines. Emilia had outdone herself.

I let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through the quiet office. “It’s not fraud,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just my wife.”

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