Page 76 of Made for Sinners

I pulled out a dress that was barely a dress at all—black, tight, and cut so high on my thighs it was practically indecent. The neckline plunged low, the fabric clinging to every curve like a second skin. It was the kind of dress that screamed trouble.

Perfect.

I slipped it on, adjusting the straps before stepping into a pair of heels that made my legs look longer than they already were. A final glance in the mirror confirmed what I already knew—I looked like sin wrapped in silk.

Now, for the fun part.

I walked out of the bedroom, my heels clicking against the marble floors as I made my way toward the front door. Dante was in his office, the door slightly ajar, his voice a low murmur as he spoke in rapid Italian.

I didn’t slow down.

“Going out,” I called, my voice deliberately casual as I passed by his office.

There was a pause. A beat of silence where I knew he was processing what I’d just said.

Then, without missing a step, he responded.

“No, you’re not.”

I smirked, but didn’t stop.

“Bye, Dante,” I sing-songed, my fingers brushing against the doorknob.

I heard the rustle of movement behind me, the scrape of his chair against the floor.

“Emilia.”

I turned the knob.

“I’m leaving,” I said, stepping onto the threshold. “I’m doing it. I’m walking out the door.”

I took one step outside.

Then another.

And then?—

A strong hand wrapped around my wrist, yanking me back so fast I barely had time to gasp before I was spun around and pressed against the door.

Dante’s body was a wall of heat against mine, his grip firm but not painful as he pinned me in place. His dark eyes burned into me, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?”

I tilted my chin up, refusing to let him see how fast my heart was beating. “Out.”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Try again.”

I huffed, shifting against him, but he didn’t budge. “I’m bored, Dante. I need a drink. I need—” I trailed off, my gaze flicking to his lips before I could stop myself.

His grip tightened.

“You need what?” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous.

I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears. “I need to get out of this house.”

Dante exhaled sharply, his free hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. The touch was deceptively gentle, but his eyes told a different story.

“You think you can just walk out of here dressed like that?” he asked, his voice rough.

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