Page 45 of Made for Sinners

I leaned back, letting the moment settle before shifting the conversation. “You’re going to keep looking through the albums.”

Her brows furrowed, the sudden change in topic catching her off guard. “What?”

“The albums,” I repeated, my tone even. “You’re going to keep going through them.”

She let out a disbelieving laugh, throwing her hands up. “Dante, I just gotshot at,and you’re worried about some old photo albums?”

“They’re not just photo albums,” I said, my tone sharp enough to cut through her sarcasm. “And yes, I am.”

She shook her head, muttering something under her breath before pinching the bridge of her nose. “They’re at my house.”

I gave her a look.

She rolled her eyes. "They're at my fathers house."

"I had them brought over."

She froze. “What?”

“I had them brought over.” I repeated.

Her eyes narrowed. “When?”

“This morning.”

She let out a slow, measured breath. “So, what? You just decided I was going to live with you permanently before I even agreed to it?”

I smirked. “You married me,cara. That was the agreement.”

She made a strangled sound, turning back toward the window like she couldn’t stand to look at me anymore. “Unbelievable.”

I leaned back, letting the silence stretch for a moment before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Your mail will be forwarded, too.”

Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

“All the shit you bought with my money?” I said, tilting my head slightly with a faint grin. “Don’t worry, wife. Your packages will find you.”

Her nostrils flared, her arms tightening around herself again as she turned back toward the window. “You areinsufferable.”

“And yet,” I said, my grin widening, “you’re still here.”

She huffed, crossing her legs and turning her body away like she couldn’t even look at me anymore. Her silence was loud, her body language screamingfuck youwithout her having to say a single word.

I leaned back, satisfied.

She could be mad all she wanted. She wasn’t going anywhere.

By the timewe reached the penthouse, Emilia was still seething. She stormed inside without a word, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she made a beeline for the bedroom.

The door slammed shut behind her.

I exhaled through my nose, running a hand through my hair.

The place was starting to feel too small.

It had never bothered me before. The penthouse was sleek, modern, efficient—everything I needed. But now, with Emilia here, it felt… cramped.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found the number I was looking for.

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