Page 62 of Made for Sinners

Dante laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “Not this one.”

I huffed, crossing my arms. “Why not?”

He smirked, shifting gears smoothly as we merged onto the road. “Because I like this one too much.”

I rolled my eyes. “So what, I’m not allowed to touch your toys?”

Dante glanced at me, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “If you’d like a car, wife, that can be arranged.”

I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Pick one.”

I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was messing with me. “You’re just going to buy me a car?”

Dante smirked. “Would you rather steal one?”

I scowled, but the corner of my mouth twitched. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

He nodded, satisfied, and we drove in silence for a while, the city passing by in a blur of steel and glass.

I turned to him, watching the way his hands gripped the wheel, the way his jaw tightened like he was already thinking three steps ahead.

“What’s this errand?” I asked.

Dante didn’t look at me. “You’ll see.”

I sighed, leaning back against the seat. Of course, he wouldn’t tell me.

The car glided through the gates of an exclusive neighborhood, the kind where the streets were lined with towering trees and the houses sat behind walls too high to see over. It was the kind of place where money didn’t just buy luxury—it bought secrecy.

Dante didn’t even slow as we approached the security checkpoint. The guard barely glanced up before waving us through, like he already knew who was behind the wheel.

I shifted in my seat, my fingers curling around the hem of my dress. “Where are we?”

Dante didn’t answer.

The road curved, leading us deeper into the neighborhood, where the houses weren’t just houses—they were estates. Massive, sprawling properties with manicured lawns and driveways long enough to land a small plane.

Finally, Dante pulled up to another set of gates, these ones taller, more imposing. He rolled down his window and punched in a code, the metal doors sliding open with a quiet hum.

I swallowed hard as we drove through.

The house—no, theestate—was breathtaking.

A sleek, modern masterpiece of glass and steel, it sat on a wide stretch of land, the kind of property that screamed power and wealth without needing to say a word. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the afternoon sun, and beyond the house, I could see the faint shimmer of water—maybe a private lake or a pool.

Dante parked in the circular driveway, cutting the engine before turning to me.

I stared at him, then at the house, then back at him. “What is this?”

He unbuckled his seatbelt, his expression unreadable. “Come inside.”

I hesitated.

Dante sighed, pushing open his door. “Emilia.”

I exhaled sharply, unbuckling my seatbelt and stepping out of the car. The driveway was smooth beneath my heels, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and something else—something clean, crisp, like the promise of a storm.

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