Page 115 of Made for Sinners

The Conti estate was a fortress—stoneand steel and legacy. It had been in our family for generations, carved into the hillside like a monument to power. It was where we held our meetings, where decisions were made and enemies were buried.

This morning, it felt heavier than usual.

The war room was exactly what it sounded like—a long table, high-backed chairs, and walls lined with maps, monitors, and weapons we didn’t pretend were for decoration. The air smelledfaintly of leather, espresso, and something metallic beneath it all. Blood, maybe. Or memory.

My brothers were already there when I walked in.

Rafe sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, posture perfect, expression unreadable. He looked like a man who’d been born to rule—because he had. He’d inherited our father’s calm, but none of his cruelty. At least not on the surface.

Luca was sprawled in his chair like he owned the place, one boot propped on the edge of the table, a toothpick between his teeth and a smirk playing on his lips like he was waiting for someone to give him a reason to start shit.

They all looked up when I entered.

The room fell into silence.

I didn’t waste time.

“It’s Rocco,” I said.

No one spoke for a beat.

Then Rafe leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “You’re sure?”

I nodded once. “Emilia recognized him. From the photo at the estate. From the album. From her father’s office.”

Luca’s brow furrowed. “She’s certain?”

“She’s not the type to guess,” I said. “She remembered his face. The day she was given the wrong paperwork. He was there. Standing in the corner. Watching.”

Luca let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, dropping into the chair across from Rafe. “That about covers it.”

“She told you this last night?” Rafe asked.

“After the gala. She was shaken. I thought someone had touched her. Hurt her.” My jaw clenched at the memory. “But it was worse. She saw him. And he saw her.”

Luca sat up straighter now, the smirk gone. “And he said something?”

“No. But he tried to pull her aside. I stepped in before he could.”

Rafe’s fingers tapped against the table, slow and deliberate. “If it’s him, we need proof. We can’t move on blood without it.”

“I know,” I said, pulling out my phone. “That’s why I’m calling Valentina.”

Luca groaned. “Do we have to?”

I shot him a look. “She’s the best chance we have at tracing the money. And she already suspected Romanov was involved.”

That shut him up.

I dialed her number and put the call on speaker.

She answered on the second ring, her voice smooth and amused. “Dante. Calling me before noon? I’m flattered.”

“Cut the shit, Valentina,” I said. “We have a problem.”

“I assumed,” she replied. “You only call when someone’s bleeding or about to be.”

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