Page 87 of Made for Sinners

He shrugged, the movement casual but deliberate, like everything he did. “You’re my wife, Emilia. You have a say in things.”

The words hit me harder than they should have, and I hated the way they made my chest tighten.

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. “Since when?”

“Since always,” he said simply, his tone as flat and unshakable as ever. “You just don’t like that your say comes with consequences.”

I turned slightly in my seat, narrowing my eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He glanced at me, his dark eyes glinting with something I couldn’t quite place. “It means that every choice you make affects more than just you. It affects me. It affects us. It affects everything.”

I stared at him, my irritation bubbling to the surface. “So, when you say I have a say, what you really mean is I have a say as long as you approve of what I choose.”

His lips curved into a faint smirk, his hand tightening briefly on the steering wheel. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant,” I shot back, my voice sharper now.

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the road as the car rounded another curve. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting shadows across his face, and for a moment, I thought he might let the conversation drop.

But then he spoke, his voice softer this time, almost thoughtful. “You think I don’t trust you.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone.

“I—” I hesitated, my fingers twisting in my lap. “I think you don’t trust anyone, Dante. Not really.”

He let out a low hum, something between agreement and acknowledgment. “Maybe. But I trust you more than most.”

The words hung between us, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

I didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to respond to the faint vulnerability I thought I heard beneath his calm exterior.

So I turned my gaze back to the window, watching as the trees blurred past.

The silence returned, but it was different now.

Not heavy, not tense.

Just… there.

Waiting.

The Conti estate loomed ahead, all stone and glass and old money. It sat like a fortress at the edge of the horizon, sprawling and imposing, a place that seemed to absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it. It was the kind of place that had seen more secrets than daylight, the kind of place where power didn’t whisper—it roared.

As Dante drove up the long, winding driveway, the estate grew larger, its sharp edges and towering windows casting long shadows across the perfectly manicured grounds. Everything about it screamed wealth, authority, and danger.

Dante parked the car near the front entrance, the tires crunching softly over the gravel. Before I could even reach for the door handle, he was out of the car, rounding it with smooth, deliberate steps. He opened my door, his dark eyes meeting mine as he extended a hand like some kind of twisted gentleman.

I raised a brow but took his hand anyway, letting him help me out of the car.

“Thanks,” I muttered, smoothing my dress as I straightened, my heels clicking against the stone path beneath me.

He didn’t respond, his hand lingering at the small of my back as I took in the estate. It hadn’t changed.

Still too big.

Still too cold.

Still too perfect.

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