Page 5 of Made for Sinners

“When I told you about Kane,” she said, stepping closer, her voice quieter now but no less pointed, “you didn’t stop to make excuses for him. You didn’t care what his reasons were. You told me Michael should destroy him—and you were right. So why is it so hard for you to see the truth now?”

I didn’t have an answer. My throat felt tight, my chest aching with the weight of her words. She was right—I’d been furious for her. I’d wanted Kane to suffer. But now, when it was my pain, my bruises, I couldn’t summon the same fire. All I could feel was this hollow, aching love for a man who didn’t deserve it.

Adrianna’s jaw tightened, her frustration boiling just under the surface, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she let out a slow breath and took a step back. “I’m not saying you don’t love him,” she said finally, her voice quieter now. “I’m saying you need to figure out if this is the kind of love you’re willing to live with.”

Her words hung in the air, sharp and jagged, cutting deeper the longer I let them settle. Was this the kind of love I was willing to live with? A love that left bruises? A love that hurt?

I didn’t know.

The thought coiled in my gut, twisting tighter with every breath. I wanted to defend him, to tell her she didn’t understand, that Dante was so much more than his anger, his control. But the words stuck in my throat. All I could see were the bruises on my arm, faint but undeniable, and the way his voice had cracked when he told me I mattered more than anything else in his life.

Adrianna was wrong about him. She had to be. Dante wasn’t like Kane. He was mine. And I was his, no matter how much it hurt.

But even as I thought it, doubt crept in, quiet and insidious, uncoiling like smoke in the back of my mind. I didn’t know what scared me more—the idea that she was wrong…or the possibility that she might be right.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Adrianna stayed for a while, keeping me company and distracting me with stories about her honeymoon plans and Michael’s awkward attempts at dancing. But eventually, she had to leave, and I was left alone with my thoughts.

I spent the evening curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me as I stared blankly at the TV. The bruises on my arm had faded slightly, but they were still there, a faint reminder of the man who had left them. I traced them absently, my mind drifting back to the garden, to the way Dante had looked at me, like he was drowning and I was the only thing keeping him afloat.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream and cry and curse his name. But all I could feel was this aching, hollow emptiness, like a piece of me had been ripped away and I didn’t know how to get it back.

As the hours ticked by, the city outside my window came alive with the hum of nightlife, the distant sounds of laughter and music filtering through the glass. But I didn’t move. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I just sat there, staring into the void, wondering if Dante was out there somewhere, feeling the same emptiness I was.

And if he wasn’t...if he was perfectly fine without me...then I didn’t know how I’d survive it.

3

EMILIA

The weeks after Adrianna’s wedding passed in a haze, each day bleeding into the next until time lost all meaning. I couldn’t tell you what day it was, what I’d eaten, or even if I’d spoken to anyone. The world outside my bedroom became a distant hum—irrelevant, muted, as if I’d pressed pause on my life and was drifting through the days in a fog of exhaustion and heartache.

I wanted to call him. God, how I wanted to call him.

Every time my phone buzzed, my heart would leap, only to plummet when I saw it wasn’t him. My fingers hovered over his name in my contacts more times than I could count, my thumb trembling as I debated pressing the call button. But I never did. I couldn’t. Because what would I even say?

Why did you leave me? Why did you break me?

The questions felt too heavy, too impossible to put into words. And deep down, I was terrified of what his answers might be.

My brothers noticed something was wrong. Of course they did. Tony and Gio were as perceptive as they were overbearing, their eyes sharp and searching every time they looked at me. Butthey hadn’t said anything—not yet. Maybe they were waiting for me to crack, to spill my guts over dinner or in the middle of one of their endless arguments about business.

But I didn’t give them the chance.

I stopped joining them for meals or showing up to family events. I withdrew completely, avoiding anything that required me to face other people. The Ricci estate, once a gilded cage I’d spent years trying to escape, now felt like a sanctuary—a place where I could hide from the world and wallow in my misery without judgment.

Even my father noticed, though he was far less intrusive than my brothers. He cornered me in the hallway one morning, his expression softer than I’d ever seen, his sharp eyes scanning my face.

“You’ve been working hard, Emilia,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Why don’t you take a few days off? Rest. Clear your head.”

I forced a smile, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. “I’m fine, Papa.”

He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his brow furrowed, the way his eyes lingered on the dark circles under mine. But he didn’t push. He simply nodded, placed a hand on my shoulder, and said, “Take the time, Emilia. You deserve it.”

Did I? I wasn’t sure anymore.

I spent the next few days in bed, the curtains drawn tight to keep out the sunlight. My room became my entire world, the walls closing in around me as I lay there, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment with Dante in my mind. The way he’d looked at me, like I was both his salvation and his ruin. The way his voice had cracked when he said I mattered more than anything else in his life. The way he’d walked away, leaving me with nothing but bruises and unanswered questions.

I hated him.

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