Page 52 of Made for Sinners

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

I flipped him off over my shoulder, ignoring his chuckle as I stormed down the hall.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

I tossed and turned, my mind a tangled mess of frustration and unwanted thoughts. Every time I closed my eyes, I sawDante—his smirk, his dark eyes, the way he always seemed so infuriatingly in control.

Where was he?

Who was he with?

Was this deliberate? A reminder that no matter how much I pushed, no matter how much I fought, he still held all the power?

The thought made my stomach twist.

I hated him.

I hated him for making me feel this way.

And I hated myself for letting him.

Sometime after midnight, I gave up on sleep entirely.

I threw off the covers and padded toward the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The city stretched out below, alive and pulsing, a stark contrast to the suffocating stillness of the penthouse.

I used to love the city at night.

Now, it just made me feel trapped.

I sighed, rubbing my temples.

I needed to get out of here.

I needed air.

I turned away from the window, already heading for the door.

Luca was still on the couch, his long legs stretched out, one arm draped over his eyes. He wasn’t asleep—I could tell by the way his fingers tapped idly against his thigh—but he didn’t acknowledge me as I stepped into the room.

“I’m going out,” I announced.

Luca didn’t move. “No, you’re not.”

I bristled. “You can’t keep me here.”

He lifted his arm just enough to peek at me. “I can, actually.”

I scowled. “I won’t go far.”

“Not happening.”

I crossed my arms. “Dante isn’t here. He won’t even know.”

Luca sat up, his expression turning serious. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed. You feel trapped. But this isn’t a joke, Emilia. This is survival. There are people out there who would love to get their hands on you just to hurt him.”

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