Page 94 of Made for Sinners

“About the gala?”

“About the man in the photo,” I said, my voice low.

Dante didn’t respond right away.

Then: “You think he’s the one?”

“I think he’s involved,” I said. “I think he’s been hiding in plain sight for a long time.”

Dante exhaled, his gaze flicking to the window. “Then we’ll find him.”

I turned back to him. “And when we do?”

His jaw tightened. “He’ll wish we hadn’t.”

I didn’t doubt it.

We fell into silence again, but it wasn’t the same as before. It was heavier now. Weighted with everything we weren’t saying.

The car slowed as we approached the venue—a sprawling estate just outside the city, lit up like a palace. The driveway was lined with luxury cars and photographers, the kind of scene that made my stomach twist.

Dante reached for the door, then paused.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. “You look beautiful.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Thank you.”

His gaze lingered on mine. “But if anyone touches you tonight, I’ll break their hands.”

I smirked. “Jealous?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Possessive.”

And then he was out of the car, rounding it to open my door like the perfect gentleman he wasn’t.

I stepped out, the cameras flashing, the crowd murmuring.

And Dante?

He slipped his hand around my waist, pulling me close.

Like he was making a statement.

Like he was saying: She’s mine.

And I let him.

Because tonight, I was.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow, I’d find the man in the photograph.

And when I did?

Everything would change.

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