Page 100 of Made for Sinners

Try me now.

Stepping back, I crossed my arms, a smug little smirk tugging at my lips. “Put it on my husband’s tab,” I muttered under my breath, amused by the very idea. Dante had told me to spend money tonight. I was simply following instructions.

The thought of his reaction made me chuckle—low and soft, a sound meant only for myself. He’d probably grunt, roll his eyes, and then pull me into his lap later, whispering something obscene about how I’d better make the trip worth it.

I was still smiling when I turned around.

And ran straight into a wall of muscle wrapped in a designer suit.

“Oh,” I said, startled, my heels scuffing against the marble as I stepped back. “Sorry.”

The man in front of me smiled—a little too wide, a little too polished. His teeth gleamed in the soft lighting of the ballroom, his dark eyes sharp and glittering.

“Emilia,” he said smoothly, his voice low and warm, like we were old friends. “It’s been a long time.”

I blinked, my brows knitting together slightly. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

He tilted his head, his smile never faltering. “Rocco. Rocco Conti.”

Ah.

Dante’s cousin.

I’d seen him before—at family dinners, meetings, the occasional gathering where everyone pretended not to be armed. He was always polite, always smiling, always just a little too smooth for my liking.

But now, standing this close, something prickled at the back of my neck.

Recognition.

Not from a dinner. Not from a party.

From a photograph.

The album.

The one with the man I couldn’t name. The man who’d been in my father’s office the day I was handed the wrong paperwork. The man who’d stood in the corner like he didn’t matter.

It was him.

I was sure of it.

But I didn’t let it show.

I forced a smile, polite but distant, my hands clasping lightly in front of me. “Of course. Rocco. Nice to see you again.”

His gaze slid over me, slow and assessing, the kind of look that lingered just a second too long. “You look stunning tonight,” he said, his tone smooth as silk. “Dante’s a lucky man.”

I tilted my head slightly, keeping my expression neutral. “Don’t let him hear you say that,” I said lightly. “He’ll get possessive.”

Rocco chuckled, but the sound was low, hollow, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “He always was. Even as a kid. Had to have the best of everything.”

“And you?” I asked, arching a brow.

His smile sharpened, a flicker of something cold flashing through his eyes. “I’ve always been more… subtle.”

That prickle of awareness turned into a chill, sliding down my spine like ice.

There was something in his tone. Something in the way he looked at me—not like a cousin or a friend of the family, but like he was cataloging me. Measuring. Calculating.

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