Page 65 of Made for Sinners

His lips twitched. “Nice?”

I shrugged. “It’s veryyou.”

He stepped closer, his presence a slow-moving storm. “And what does that mean?”

I turned to face him, crossing my arms. “It means it’s controlled. Calculated. Everything in its place.”

Dante tilted his head, studying me. “And you don’t like that?”

I exhaled, looking around again. “I don’t know.”

He nodded once, like he was filing that information away for later. Then, without another word, he moved on.

The bathrooms were just as extravagant—marble countertops, rainfall showers, deep soaking tubs that looked like they belonged in a spa. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, the kind of place a professional chef would kill for.

Dante ran his fingers along the edge of the island, his gaze flicking to me. “You cook?”

I snorted. “Not well.”

His smirk deepened. “Good. I like feeding you.”

I ignored the way my stomach twisted at that, turning away before he could see the effect his words had on me.

He led me through the rest of the house, pointing out the things he liked—the open floor plan, the built-in security system, the private office with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

When we reached the backyard, he stopped at the edge of the terrace, looking out over the water.

“This,” he said, his voice quieter now, “is my favorite part.”

I followed his gaze. The lake stretched out before us, the water still, reflecting the sky like glass. It was peaceful, untouched, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded Dante’s life.

I glanced at him, surprised. “You like this?”

Dante’s jaw tightened slightly. “I like the quiet.”

I studied him, the way his shoulders held tension even now, the way his fingers twitched like he wasn’t used to standing still.

I swallowed. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

His dark eyes flicked to me, something unreadable in them. “What type is that?”

“The kind who likes peace.”

Dante exhaled through his nose, a humorless sound. “I don’t get much of it.”

I looked back at the lake, the way the water barely moved, the way the world felt still here.

I understood, then, why he’d chosen this place.

It wasn’t just about the house.

It was about the escape.

I hesitated, then said, “It’s beautiful.”

Dante nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. “So, do you hate it?”

I bit my lip, considering. “No.”

---