Page 25 of Made for Sinners

He was actually taking me seriously?

That was… unexpected.

Me:Fine. But I was actually planning to do some damage on this credit card you so generously provided.

His response was instant.

Dante:Do both.

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding.

No matter how much I tried to fight it, Dante was always there. Pulling me in. Dragging me deeper.

And I hated that part of me—the part that still cared.

The part that stillhurt.

I clenched my jaw, shoving the phone into my pocket.

Fine.

If Dante wanted to play games, I’d play.

But I wasn’t going to forget what he’d done.

And I sure as hell wasn’t going to forgive him.

Not now.

Not ever.

Me:What’s the limit?

This time, the pause was longer. I could almost picture him on the other end of the line, his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing as he read the message.

Dante:The limit is your stamina. Swipe until the chip or strip falls off to find out.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. A real, genuine laugh that felt foreign after the last few weeks of stress and misery.

Me:Careful what you wish for, Conti. You might regret giving me this much power.

Dante:I don’t regret anything.

The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I hated the way my body reacted to them. Hated the way he could get under my skin so easily, even through a text message.

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet of the house. I flinched, my pulse jumping as I glanced at the clock. Too soon for a courier. Too late for anything good.

Setting my phone down, I moved toward the door, my steps slow, hesitant. The weight in my chest hadn’t eased in days,pressing down like something tangible, something I couldn’t shake. When I opened the door, a man in a sleek black suit stood on the other side, holding a leather-bound photo album.

“Delivery for Miss Ricci,” he said, his voice clipped and professional.

I stared at the album, my fingers cold as I reached for it. The leather was smooth, expensive, but it might as well have been stone for how heavy it felt in my hands. “Thanks,” I muttered, my voice dull, lifeless.

He nodded and left. I closed the door, locking it out of habit, though it didn’t make me feel any safer.

In the living room, I set the album on the coffee table and just… stared. The silence of the house pressed in, thick and suffocating. A month ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. A month ago, I would have called Dante and demanded answers, would have laughed at his arrogance, would have?—

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. That version of me didn’t exist anymore.

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