Page 73 of Made for Sinners

I swallowed, my throat tight. "Good."

His lips twitched, but there was no amusement in it. "But I do expect you to keep fighting me."

I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, don’t worry. I will."

Dante’s smirk returned, slow and knowing. "Good."

And just like that, the tension between us shifted.

Not gone.

But different.

Something unspoken settled between us, something neither of us were ready to name.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

19

DANTE

The private dining room of the Conti estate was dimly lit, the heavy oak table polished to a mirror-like sheen. It was the same table we’d sat around since we were kids, the same table where our father had once ruled with an iron fist. Every scolding, every lesson, every decision that shaped us had taken place at this table. Now, it was ours.

Rafe sat at the head, his fingers steepled, his expression unreadable. He’d inherited our father’s composure—a quiet, calculating presence that commanded respect without needing to demand it. Luca lounged in his chair across from me, one boot propped on the edge of the table, a smirk playing on his lips like he was waiting for the perfect moment to stir shit up.

The weight of our family’s empire sat on this table—every decision, every problem, every enemy waiting in the shadows for a chance to strike.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders as I leaned forward, my knuckles brushing the glass of whiskey in front of me. “I told Emilia.”

Rafe arched a brow, his gaze sharpening. “Told her what?”

“That I know she didn’t take the money.”

A faint flicker of surprise crossed his face before he leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “About damn time.”

Luca snorted, his smirk widening. “You accused your wife of stealing twenty million dollars. What did you expect? A thank-you card?”

I ignored him, my focus on Rafe.

“She’s not the thief,” I said firmly. “But someone is. And I want them found.”

Rafe nodded once, his expression giving nothing away. “And you think it’s the Russians.”

I leaned back in my chair, swirling the whiskey in my glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light. “Aleksander Romanov has been too quiet. Too careful. He’s up to something.”

Luca stretched, cracking his knuckles as he let out a low chuckle. “The Russians are always up to something. It’s their default setting.”

Rafe exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the table. “We’ve been watching them, but they’re careful. No obvious moves. No mistakes. If Romanov’s involved, he’s covering his tracks well.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re innocent,” I said, my voice flat.

“No,” Rafe agreed. “But if we move without proof, we risk starting a war we’re not ready for.”

I clenched my jaw, the thought of sitting back and waiting making my skin crawl. “Then we get the proof.”

“And how do you propose we do that, big brother?” Luca asked, his tone laced with amusement. “Walk up to Aleksander and ask nicely?”

I shot him a look, my patience already wearing thin. “We keep pushing. We keep watching. Someone knows something, and I intend to find out who.”

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