Page 151 of Made for Sinners

I glared at them through the gag, my chest heaving with every breath. I wanted to scream. To fight. To do something.

But I couldn’t.

Not yet.

The man in front of me finally spoke. His voice was low, accented, and laced with something sharp.

“You’re smaller than I expected,” he said, crouching to my level. “But you’ve caused a lot of trouble.”

I didn’t look away.

He chuckled, like I’d told a joke. “Your husband is a very dangerous man, Emilia Conti.”

My stomach twisted.

This wasn’t random.

This was a message.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face, and I flinched, jerking away from his touch. His smile widened.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re not going to hurt you. Not yet.”

I didn’t believe him.

Not for a second.

He stood and turned to the others. “Get the camera.”

Camera?

My heart lurched.

They were going to record something. A message. A threat. Maybe worse.

One of the men disappeared into the shadows and returned a moment later with a small tripod and a handheld camera. He set it up in front of me, adjusted the angle, and turned on the light.

It clicked on with a soft whine, and the red recording light blinked to life.

I was being filmed.

My blood ran cold.

The man crouched in front of me again, this time holding a phone. He tapped the screen a few times, then turned it so I could see.

It was a live feed.

To Dante.

My heart stopped.

The screen showed a dark room—this room—me, bound and gagged, staring into the lens like prey.

And then I heard it.

His voice.

“Emilia?”

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