Page 67 of Made for Sinners

Because for him, maybe itwassimple.

For me? It was anything but.

18

EMILIA

Dante’s hands gripped the wheel, his fingers tapping idly against the leather as the city lights flickered past us. I stared out the window, watching the world blur, my thoughts tangled in everything that had happened today.

The house.

The way he looked at me when I told him I didn’t think he could give me peace.

The way he didn’t argue.

I shifted in my seat, crossing my arms. “You didn’t deny it.”

Dante didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Deny what?”

“That you can’t give me a peaceful life.”

His grip on the wheel tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. “Would you have believed me if I had?”

I swallowed, my fingers curling against my arms. “No.”

He let out a quiet breath, almost like he’d expected that answer. “Then why does it matter?”

“Because it’s the truth.” I turned to face him, my pulse thrumming. “You know it, I know it. We both know what this life is, Dante. What you are.”

His jaw ticked. “And what am I, Emilia?”

I hesitated, but only for a second. “A made man.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.

Dante exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. “And what does that mean to you?”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “It means you live a life of violence. It means you don’t get to have peace, not really. It means there will always be someone coming for you, always another enemy, another fight. And if I’m with you—” I swallowed hard. “Then I’ll never have peace either.”

Dante didn’t speak right away. He just kept driving, his fingers flexing against the wheel like he was considering his next words carefully.

Finally, he said, “You think I don’t want peace?”

I frowned. “I think you don’t know how to have it.”

His smirk was slow, humorless. “Maybe not.”

I turned back to the window, my chest tightening. “Then why pretend?”

“I’m not pretending.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I bought that house because I wanted something different. Something better.”

“For you?”

“For us.”

I swallowed, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Dante?—”

“I know what I am, Emilia.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “I know what this life is. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want more.”

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