Page 61 of Made for Sinners

I slowed as I approached, leaning against the doorway.

Dante stood at the stove, his back to me, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his forearms. His broad shoulders were relaxed, his movements precise as he flipped something in the pan. He looked impossibly out of place yet completely at home, like he could command a room just as easily as he could cook breakfast.

It was disarming.

I let myself watch him for a moment, the tension in my chest easing slightly despite myself.

He must have sensed me because he turned, his dark eyes locking onto mine like he’d been waiting for me. He didn’t sayanything at first, just lifted his coffee to his lips, taking a slow sip before nodding toward the table.

I followed his gaze.

A plate of food was already waiting for me—eggs, toast, fruit, and a steaming cup of coffee. My coffee. Made exactly how I liked it.

The thoughtful detail caught me off guard, suspicion immediately creeping in to replace the momentary warmth. Dante wasn’t exactly known for his generosity.

I shifted my gaze back to him, narrowing my eyes.

Dante’s lips curved into a smirk, the kind that made my skin prickle with equal parts irritation and anticipation. “I didn’t poison it,Emilia.Sit down.”

My stomach growled loudly, betraying me. I rolled my eyes but made my way to the table, sliding into the chair. My robe parted slightly as I moved, but I ignored it, more focused on the man leaning so casually against the counter, his eyes never leaving me.

I picked up my fork and took the first bite, still watching him like he might pull something. The food was good. Annoyingly good.

“Where did you learn to cook?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Dante tilted his head slightly, studying me as he raised the coffee cup to his lips again. “You think I can’t?”

I shrugged, trying to seem indifferent despite the fact that I was still eating. “You don’t strike me as the domestic type.”

His smirk deepened. “You’d be surprised.”

I didn’t respond, focusing on my plate instead. The silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Dante sipped his coffee, watching me with that unreadable expression that always made me feel like he could see straight through me.

After a few minutes, he pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers moving over the screen with practiced ease. “We have an errand to run.”

I paused mid-bite, raising a brow. “We?”

He glanced up, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Yes,we.Unless you’d rather stay here again?”

The memory of being left alone in the penthouse—trapped, restless, and stewing in my own thoughts—flickered through my mind. I set my fork down, leveling him with a look. “I don’t want to be left here again.”

Dante nodded, like he’d expected that answer. “Then be ready in an hour.”

I studied him for a moment, trying to read between the lines. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something about the way he said it that felt… different. Like he wasn’t just ordering me around but including me in whatever was coming next.

I couldn’t tell if that was progress or just another one of his games.

“Fine,” I said finally.

“Good.”

He turned his attention back to his phone, his focus shifting seamlessly as if the conversation was already over.

An hour later, I slid into the passenger seat of Dante’s car, the leather cool against my bare thighs. I’d opted for a simple black dress, something comfortable but still sharp enough to match the world he lived in.

Dante started the engine, the low purr of the car filling the silence as he pulled out of the garage.

I glanced at him, then at the sleek dashboard, the polished interior. “So, as your wife, am I allowed to drive your car?”

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