Page 51 of Made for Sinners

I shouldn’t care.

I shouldn’t care.

But I did.

And that infuriated me more than anything else.

I stalked toward the kitchen, needing to put some distance between myself and Luca before I did something reckless—like throw his phone out the window or dump my wine on his head.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the under-cabinet lights casting a soft glow over the marble countertops. I leaned against the island, pressing my palms flat against the cool surface, trying to steady my breathing.

This wasn’t about Dante.

Not really.

It was about control.

Or, more accurately, my complete lack of it.

I had no say in where I went, what I did, or who I spoke to. My life had been reduced to a series of dictated choices, each one carefully orchestrated by a man who saw me as nothing more than a piece on his chessboard.

And now, he wasn’t even here.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my nails biting into my palms.

I needed to do something.

Anything.

I turned on my heel and marched back into the living room, planting myself directly in front of the TV.

Luca sighed dramatically. “Really?”

I crossed my arms. “Turn it off.”

He arched a brow. “No.”

I grabbed the remote off the coffee table and clicked the power button. The screen went black.

Luca blinked up at me, then let out a low whistle. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

I tossed the remote onto the couch beside him. “Where. Is. Dante.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his smirk returning. “Why do you care?”

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t.”

“Sure.”

I exhaled sharply, my patience wearing dangerously thin. “You’re an asshole.”

Luca grinned. “Runs in the family.”

I turned away, my hands curling into fists. “I’m going to bed.”

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