Page 395 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

He was the one reminder of that light that I had left to cling to.

And these people are somehow responsible for extinguishing it.

“Anya, when would you like to start?” Heaven asks.

I force a smile. “I don’t have any other obligations, so the sooner the better!”

“Fabulous!” Heaven says. “I already have a room set up for you. Wishful thinking, I guess.” She chuckles. “Would you like to see it?”

“Oh, sure,” I say. “I’d love to!” I say with false brightness.

Over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Dante and Matteo talking, their heads close together. I really wish I was a fly on the wall behind them. I wonder whose murder they’re plotting right now.

My gaze lingers on Dante for a second longer than I mean for it to. The muscles in his bicep flex when he runs his hand through his hair, his jaw tense. Despite my knowledge about him and this family, a shiver of desire shuttles through me.

“It’s just down this hallway,” Heaven says, pointing. I guess she may have said it earlier, but because my gaze was all tangled up in Dante, I missed it.

Dante looks up, his blue eyes narrowing at me. He flashes a half-smirk that makes my knees wobbly and I twist away, my breath hitching.

I really have to get this body of mine under control and in line with my head.

These carnal sensations are very distracting and I need to focus on the task at hand.

My own specialty…destruction.

I hurry out of the room behind Heaven, taking stock of my surroundings. Lots of closed doorways. One of them must be an office, right? Not that I have any idea what I’m looking for or who I need to deliver it to, for that matter.

There is always the possibility that the Villanis don’t keep their criminal dealings documented on paper.

That will be a challenge.

It will force me to come up with some other creative way of getting what I need. I could always figure out a way to get Dante spilling some incriminating secrets while he sleeps…

A tingling sensation in my belly accompanies the delicious vision of Dante’s hard body tangled up in a stark white bedsheet dancing through my mind.

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

How twisted am I?

I need to hate these people!

I need to hatehim!

Heaven pushes open a door and waves her hand around. “I hope you like it,” she says in a soft voice.

My breath catches as I take in the space. It’s three times the size of my bedroom back in Brooklyn, decorated in soft creams and blues with gold accents.

Blue is my favorite color.

She could never have known that.

I walk in, running my hand over the plush comforter and throw pillows. Sheer white panels with gold threads weaves into the fabric hanging next to the window overlooking the Strip. The furniture is cream with crystal knobs that glimmer in the overhead light.

It’s gorgeous.

And another tiny shred of resolve falters as I turn to say thank you, but I choke on the words before I can get them out, an unexpected gaggle of tears gathering in the back of my throat.

My mother and I decorated my bedroom back in the Ukraine in this exact way. She wanted me to wake up in a place that was as bright and shiny as I was.

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