Page 84 of Made for Sinners

I sighed, tossing my phone onto the couch beside me.

I didn’t want to think about Dante right now.

I didn’t want to think about the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way he made me feel like I was teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

I just wanted to pick a damn dress and get through this charity event without losing my mind.

Easier said than done.

I pushed off the couch, stretching my arms over my head before making my way toward the bedroom. The wardrobe doors were still open, the dresses Dante had bought me hanging neatly inside, each one more extravagant than the last.

I ran my fingers over the fabrics, my mind drifting.

Dante had bought me an entire wardrobe.

Not just one dress. Not just a few outfits.

An entire wardrobe.

I swallowed hard, shoving the thought away.

I wasn’t going to read into it.

I wasn’t.

Instead, I turned away from the dresses and walked toward the bookshelf in the corner of the room. The photo albums Dante had brought over from my father’s house were still stacked neatly on the lower shelf, untouched since the last time I’d looked through them.

I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the spine of the top album.

Dante had told me to keep looking.

To find the face that didn’t belong.

I exhaled slowly, then pulled the album from the shelf and carried it over to the bed.

The leather cover was worn, the pages thick beneath my fingertips as I flipped through them.

Most of the photos were familiar—family gatherings, business meetings, moments frozen in time that I barely remembered but still recognized.

But then?—

I stopped.

My breath caught in my throat.

A face.

A familiar face.

I frowned, leaning in closer, my fingers tracing the edge of the photograph.

I knew this man.

Not personally, not well.

But I’d seen him before.

Recently.

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