Page 4 of Made for Sinners

In the haze of restless dreams, he was there—Dante. His voice a low whisper, wrapping around me like smoke, impossible to escape. His touch wasn’t real, but it lingered on my skin all the same, a phantom sensation that made my heart race and my stomach twist.

When I woke hours later, the room was still dark, the faint light of dawn just beginning to creep through the edges of the curtains. A dull ache lingered within me, every breath a reminder of the pain that hadn’t faded. It sat there, deep and unyielding, a constant reminder of the man who had turned my world upside down and left me to gather the broken pieces he’d scattered in his wake.

Morning came too quickly, dragging me back into the harsh light of reality. The faint glow of dawn seeped through the cracks in my curtains, painting the room in muted shades of gray. My body felt heavy, like I’d been weighed down by the remnants of last night’s tears. My head throbbed in sync with my heartbeat, and my throat burned, raw and stripped bare.

I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to face the day. But the world didn’t stop spinning just because my heart was in pieces.

The shower had erased the tears, but the bruises remained. Faint purple marks bloomed on my arm—a cruel signature of Dante’s grip. I traced them lightly with my fingertips, my stomach twisting as I replayed the moment in my mind. His hand on my arm, his voice rough and desperate, the storm in his eyes as he’d tried to keep me from walking away.

I hated that even now, even after everything, I couldn’t bring myself to be angry at him. Not really. Because beneath the anger and the hurt, there was something else—something raw and insistent that refused to let go. I loved him. God help me, I loved him. And that was the cruelest part of all.

A sharp knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. For a fleeting moment, I thought it might be him—that he’d come to apologize, to explain, to tell me he’d made a mistake. But the second knock came, louder, and reality sank in. Dante didn’t apologize or explain. And he sure as hell didn’t admit mistakes.

I wrapped myself in my robe and padded to the door, my bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. Opening up the door slightly to peek around, , I let out a sigh of relief—and disappointment—when I saw who it was.

“Adrianna,” I said, opening the door just enough to let her in.

She stepped inside, her dress from the wedding replaced by a casual sweater and jeans. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she carried a tray of coffee and pastries that smelled like heaven. But her eyes—so sharp, so perceptive—immediately zeroed in on me.

“God, Emilia,” she said, setting the tray down on my dresser. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, closing the door behind her. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.”

She frowned, her gaze softening as she took in my disheveled appearance. “What happened? You said you were feeling sick last night, but I had a feeling there was more to it.”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the sash of my robe. Adrianna was my best friend, my confidante, the one person who knew me better than anyone else. But even she didn’t know the full extent of what I’d been dealing with. She didn’t know about Dante, about the tangled web of emotions and danger that had become my life.

“I just... needed some space,” I said finally, avoiding her gaze. “It was a long day, and I guess I overdid it with the champagne.”

Adrianna wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms, leaning against the dresser as she studied me with that piercing gaze of hers. “You’re lying,” she said bluntly. “I know you, Emilia. Something happened. And if you don’t tell me what it is, I’m going to keep pestering you until you do.”

I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair. “It’s complicated,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning,” she said, her tone softening. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

The kindness in her voice, the genuine concern in her eyes—it was too much. The dam I’d been holding back since last night cracked, and before I knew it, the words were spilling out. I told her about Dante, about the fight, about the bruises and the heartbreak and the way he’d walked away like I was nothing. I told her everything, leaving nothing out, and by the time I was finished, my chest felt hollow, like I’d poured out every last ounce of pain I had left.

Adrianna’s eyes darkened as I finished, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched long enough to make my stomach churn.Finally, she let out a sharp breath, her voice trembling with controlled fury. “That bastard.”

I swallowed hard, guilt tightening my throat. “It’s not that simple,” I said, my voice weak. “Dante’s... he’s dealing with things. He’s not?—”

“Don’t you dare defend him,” she snapped, cutting me off. “He put his hands on you, Emilia. I don’t care what he’s dealing with. He had no right.” She took a step closer, her gaze sharp enough to cut through me. “Do you remember when Professor Kane came after me? When he tried to... proposition me?”

I froze. The memory surged to the surface, vivid and raw despite the years that had passed. Adrianna, shaking as she told me what happened. My chest burning with fury. “Of course I remember.”

Adrianna’s expression hardened, her jaw tightening as she pressed on. “Then you remember how you reacted. You didn’t hesitate for a second. You told me Michael was right to destroy him, that Kane deserved whatever he got.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I remembered every detail. The way my stomach had churned with disgust at the professor’s audacity.

“This isn’t the same,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow even as I said them. “Dante’s not... he’s not Kane.”

“No, he’s worse,” Adrianna shot back, her voice rising. “At least Kane was just some disgusting professor I barely knew. Dante’s supposed to care about you. He’s supposed to love you. And he still hurt you.”

I flinched, my arms wrapping tightly around myself. “It’s not that simple,” I said again, my voice barely audible. “Dante’s dealing with things—things I don’t understand. He’s trying to protect me.”

Adrianna laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Protect you? By leaving bruises on your arm? By walking away when you needed him most? That’s not protection, Emilia. That’s control.”

Her words cut deep, sharper than I wanted to admit. But she wasn’t finished.

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