Page 56 of Made for Sinners

By the time we pulled up to the penthouse, my anger was a low boil, threatening to spill over. Michael parked the car, and I stepped out without a word, ignoring Adrianna’s soft, “Call me later, okay?”

Inside, Luca was still passed out on the couch, his arm draped over his face, an empty beer bottle on the floor besidehim. He didn’t stir as I walked past, heading straight for the bathroom.

I needed a shower.

I needed to wash off the night—the club, the sweat, the suffocating scent of perfume. And most of all, I needed to wash away the jealousy clawing at my insides, the ugly, bitter thing that had taken root the moment I saw Dante with her.

The hot water scalded my skin, but I barely felt it.

I scrubbed at my arms, my chest, my neck, as if I could physically erase the way I felt—hurt, angry, and worst of all, vulnerable. I hated it. I hatedhim.

By the time I stepped out, the steam filling the bathroom in thick, suffocating waves, I felt marginally better. My skin was raw, pink from the heat, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface.

I wrapped my silk robe around myself, tucking the belt tightly against my waist, and ran a hand through my wet hair.

And then I heard it—the sound of the front door opening.

Dante was home.

I didn’t even think.

I stormed into the kitchen, my wet hair dripping onto the hardwood floor towards him.

Dante stood by the counter, pouring himself a drink, his back to me. He moved with that same infuriating calm, like nothing in the world could touch him.

I stopped just behind him, my anger flaring hotter at how relaxed he looked. Howunbothered.

He turned as if sensing my presence, his dark eyes sweeping over me. They lingered for a moment, taking in the short robe, the damp tendrils of hair sticking to my neck, before settling on my face.

“Something wrong, princess?” he asked, his voice smooth and mocking.

"Where have you been?" I demanded.

Dante took a slow sip of his drink, his dark eyes watching me over the rim of the glass. He didn’t answer right away, which only made my anger burn hotter.

I crossed my arms, ignoring the way the towel slipped slightly against my damp skin. “I asked you a question.”

He set the glass down with a deliberateclink, his smirk deepening. “And I heard you.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose, my patience hanging by a thread. “Then answer me.”

Dante leaned against the counter, his posture infuriatingly relaxed. “I had business.”

“Business,” I repeated, my voice flat. “At a nightclub?”

His smirk didn’t falter, but something flickered in his gaze—something sharp and knowing. “Ah,” he drawled. “So that’s what this is about.”

I clenched my jaw. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He tilted his head, his amusement only fueling my fury. “Don’t point out that you snuck out like a rebellious teenager just to spy on me?”

My stomach dropped, but I refused to let it show. “I didn’t?—”

“Oh,cara,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t lie to me.”

I took a step back, my spine hitting the edge of the counter. Heat curled low in my stomach, but I shoved it down, focusing on my anger instead. “What did Valentina say?” I snapped, my voice shaking with frustration. “Did she tell you I stole the money?”

Dante’s smirk vanished.

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