Page 7 of Made for Sinners

“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he nodded. “Papa’s been asking about you,” he said. “You’ve been...scarce lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” I lied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Marco didn’t look convinced. He took a step closer, his expression softening slightly. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten, and for a moment, I considered telling him everything. About Dante, about the fight, about the bruises that had faded but still lingered in my mind. But I couldn’t. Marco was protective to a fault, and if he knew what Dante had done—what he’d said—there would be no coming back from it.

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Really.”

He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to see through the cracks in my armor. But he didn’t push. Instead,he nodded again, stepping back and giving me the space I so desperately needed.

“If you say so,” he said, his tone laced with doubt. “But if you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me.”

I nodded, my throat tight as I watched him walk away.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of small, insignificant tasks. I forced myself to eat breakfast at the dining table, ignoring the curious glances from the staff as I picked at a plate of eggs and toast. I spent an hour in the library, pretending to read while my mind wandered. I even ventured into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea, though the act felt foreign and strange, like I was playing a role I didn’t quite fit into.

By evening, I was drained—not physically, but emotionally. The effort of pretending, of trying to stitch myself back together, had left me frayed in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

I retreated to my room, the familiar walls closing in around me as I sank onto the edge of the bed. The tea sat untouched on the nightstand, the steam curling lazily into the air. I stared at it, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside me.

I wanted to move on. I wanted to forget Dante, to erase him from my mind and my heart. But how could I, when every thought, every breath, every beat of my heart was still tied to him?

A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see Gio leaning against the frame, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Hey,” I replied, folding my hands in my lap.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he crossed the room to sit beside me. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said finally, his tone careful. “Even for you.”

I let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention.”

“I pay attention,” he said, his voice firm. “And I know something’s wrong.”

I looked at him, my chest tightening as I saw the concern in his eyes. Gio wasn’t the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but in that moment, he looked almost vulnerable.

“It’s nothing,” I said, the lie slipping out before I could stop it.

He frowned, his jaw tightening as he turned to face me fully. “Don’t do that,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t shut me out.”

I swallowed hard, my hands twisting in my lap as I struggled to find the words. But what could I say? That I’d fallen for a man I couldn’t have, a man who had left me broken and bleeding in ways I couldn’t even begin to explain?

“I’m just tired,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder.

“Whatever it is, you’ll get through it,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

The words hit me harder than I expected, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. I nodded, unable to speak, and he gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before standing and making his way to the door.

“Get some rest,” he said, glancing back at me before he left. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

I doubted it, but I didn’t argue.

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