Page 101 of Made for Sinners

I stepped back slightly, just enough to put some space between us without making it obvious. “Well, enjoy the gala, Rocco.”

“I always do,” he said, his smile widening. “Especially when the company’s this lovely.”

There it was again—something just beneath the surface, something I couldn’t name but felt in every fiber of my being.

I didn’t respond.

I turned and walked away, my heels clicking against the marble, the sound echoing faintly in the space between us.

My pulse thudded in my ears, loud and uneven, but I kept my steps steady, my pace measured.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t have to.

I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and unrelenting, following every move I made.

I spotted Dante near the bar, talking to Rafe.

His posture was relaxed, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass filled with something dark and undoubtedly expensive. The soft lighting of the ballroom glinted off his cufflinks, highlighting the sharp lines of his suit and the effortless authority he carried. He looked like he belonged here—like he owned the room.

And maybe he did.

But I didn’t care about that right now.

I needed him.

My heels clicked against the polished marble as I crossed the room, weaving through the crowd with a single-minded determination. I barely registered the polite smiles and raised glasses of the people I passed, their voices blending into the background like white noise.

Dante turned the second I reached him, his dark eyes locking onto mine, scanning my face like he could already tell something was wrong.

“Emilia?” he asked, his voice low, steady. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, too quickly. “I’m fine.”

His brow furrowed, the faintest tick of irritation flashing across his face. “You don’t look fine.”

I forced a smile, reaching for his drink and taking a sip without asking. The bourbon burned its way down my throat, the heat grounding me for a moment. “Just needed a moment,” I said, keeping my tone light.

He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening. But he didn’t push.

Rafe, ever the diplomat, gave me a polite nod and murmured something about needing to check on Luca before slipping away into the crowd.

Dante turned fully to face me, his body blocking out the rest of the room, his hand finding its place at the small of my back. The weight of it was firm, possessive, and oddly comforting.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, his tone dropping to something only I could hear.

I hesitated.

Because how could I explain it?

How could I tell him that I’d just had a conversation with his cousin and suddenly felt like I was balancing on the edge of a trapdoor? That I recognized Rocco not from family gatherings but from the shadows of my father’s office? That somethingabout him made my skin crawl, even now, when he wasn’t standing in front of me?

I couldn’t.

Not yet.

So instead, I leaned into Dante, letting his warmth settle over me like armor. He smelled like bourbon and something darker, sharper—like control wrapped in danger.

---