Page 43 of Made for Sinners

Dante stood, already moving, completely unshaken. He wiped his bloodied hands on a napkin like he was cleaning up after a meal, not a massacre.

Marco and Giuseppe were on their feet, guns drawn, their sharp, focused gazes scanning the room for any lingering threats. Marco’s shirt was ripped, a streak of blood running down his forearm, but his grip on his weapon was steady. Gio muttered something under his breath, low and vicious, his knuckles white around the gun.

Rafe was barking orders into his phone, his expression unreadable but his tone sharp enough to cut through the chaos.

I exhaled shakily, my mind still struggling to catch up.

Dante turned to me, his voice low and clipped. “We need to go.”

I nodded numbly, letting him pull me to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, and I stumbled slightly, but his hand on my arm kept me steady.

The second we stepped outside, a black SUV screeched to a stop at the curb, its tires screaming against the asphalt. The doors flew open, and Dante ushered me inside, his hand firm on the small of my back, guiding me with a sense of urgency that made my pulse spike again.

He slid in beside me, slamming the door shut before the car peeled away from the restaurant, the city lights blurring past in a dizzying rush.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, but my heart wouldn’t slow. It pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird, desperate to escape.

Dante watched me, his gaze heavy, unyielding.

“You’ll never be without a guard now,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The finality in his tone sent a shiver down my spine.

I let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a strangled choke. “It’s not my fault a lot of men want to kill you.”

A lot was probably an understatement.

“And now you,” he replied simply.

I froze, my brows knitting together. “What?”

“They’ll want to kill my wife too,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he were stating the weather.

The words settled over me like a lead weight, pressing down on my chest and stealing the air from my lungs.

I turned to him, my pulse hammering. “You dragged me into this.”

His expression didn’t change, his face as unreadable as stone. “I warned you.”

“Warned me?” My voice rose, shaking with anger. “You didn’t give me a choice, Dante. Younevergave me a choice.”

His dark gaze didn’t waver. “You always had a choice. You chose me. You chose this.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms so hard it hurt. “I hate you.”

Dante smirked, leaning back against the seat, his calm demeanor only fueling my rage. “You’ll get used to it.”

I glared at him, my heart still racing, my mind still reeling. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, to get as far away from him as possible.

But I couldn’t.

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to this—this chaos, this violence, this life.

One thing, however, was certain.

I wasn’t safe.

Not from the men who wanted Dante dead.

---