Page 22 of Sinful Bargains

My fists ached from the last punch I’d landed—hard enough to crack bone—but I wasn’t finishedyet. I stood back, watching Nicky slump against the brick wall, his face a mess of blood and cuts. Nicky was an associate, desperate to climb the ladder. Hungry for power and street credibility. But he knew better. He knew better than to undermine me.Or he should have.

“You thought you could steal from me? You thought I wouldn’t find out?” I squatted in front of him, grabbing his collar and forcing him to look at me. “You got balls. But not much else. Let me give you some advice, pal. You don’t steal from the boss and live to tell the tale.”

“Please…I-I didn’t?—”

A sharp crack echoed as I backhanded him, sending his head spinning. Blood splattered against the brick, the ground, and my fucking suit. I looked down, my nostrils flaring at the sight of it.

“Don’t insult me,” I growled. “You skimmed off your percent. You know you pay ten percent to the boss.Me.You thought you could keep the money? You thought you could get away with it? Outsmart me? You thought I wouldn’t notice? You thought I wouldn’t find out?” I stood up, rolling my shoulders. My long coat shifted as I reached inside, fingers brushing the cold steel of my revolver. “You got two choices, pal. I make this quick or I make this slow.”

He whimpered, hands shaking as he fumbled for an answer. I already knew what it would be—tears, begging, swearing. Itwas a mistake. They always thought words would save them. These new kids were different. Weaker. You couldn’t survive this life if you acted like that.The Sharkdidn’t deal in mercy. He dealt in reminders. He sent messages.

I turned to Paul and Marco, standing behind me. “Break his hands,” I ordered. “I’ve got to get this fucking idiots blood off my new suit.”

I began walking towards my car. I could hardly hear the screams coming from the alleyway with each step I took. I’d learned to tune it out. I turned around once I’d made it to my car, leaning against the hood. I lit a cigarette, watching as Paul and Marco went to work. The sound of crunching cartilage mixed with cries for help flooding my ears before I tuned it out again. No one was coming. Not inmytown.

Business was business. AndThe Sharkalways collected his debts.

ADRIANA

My mind drifted back to that night. The night with Joey atThe Wise Guy. I caught myself smiling, a small, unguarded moment that felt foreign.When was the last time I smiled like that?It was strange because before that night, all my thoughts had been consumed with fear. Anxiety gnawed at me every time I let my mind wander back to the night I shot him. William.The memory had lived in my body like a sickness, a constant weight pressing down on my chest. But Joey made me forget, even if only for a second.

Now, I sat in his passenger seat, the hum of the engine filling the silence between us. We hadn’t said much since he picked me up from Davidson’s. I told him the walk was only a mile ahead, but he refused, brushing off my protest as if I never had a say in the matter. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I liked it that way.

If I were being honest with myself, I wanted the alone time with him. Even if we hardly spoke. There was something about him—his presence, the way he carried himself, the way he existed in my space. And for the first time in a long time, I felt safe. And because of that, I just wanted to be around him.

I sat in the car outside his wholesale shop, waiting, myfingers smoothing over the fabric of my dress in a futile attempt to calm my nerves. My palms were damp, my pulse unsteady, and I couldn’t even explain why. There was no reason for this nervous energy twisting inside me—at least none I was willing to admit out loud. I shifted in the passenger seat, trying to get comfortable, but it was useless.

That’s when my gaze drifted to the backseat—and caught on something that made my breath hitch.

A duffel bag, unzipped just enough to reveal what was inside.Stacks of cash.Not a few crumpled bills, not a paycheck’s worth—butbundles. Wrapped in rubber bands, thick and neatly packed.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a deep, insistent pulse that I couldn’t ignore. Something was off—I felt it in my gut, that sharp instinct that had never steered me wrong. My mind raced, trying to piece it together, trying to make sense of why there was a duffel bag full of cash sitting in the backseat of his car.

Before I could process it, the driver’s side door swung open, and Joey slid in beside me. I jumped, my breath hitching at the sudden intrusion. He let out a low chuckle, but the amusement in his eyes quickly faded as his brows pulled together, studying me. He noticed the shift.

“Good news,” he said, “Gino almost got your car fixed.”

I barely heard him. My gaze flickered back to the bag, then to him.

“What’s with all the cash?”

He shifted into drive. “What cash?”

“The bag of cash in the back. It’s gota lotof money in it, Joey.”

He chuckled, the sound low and easy. “Oh, yeah. I’m just taking it to the bank once I drop you off.”

My eyes flicked back to the duffel bag. “How much money is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Just a few thousand. The business is making a good profit lately.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. It would be easier that way—to take his words at face value, to pretend there was nothing more to question. But I knew better. I’d spent years learning how to read a man, how to spot the lies hidden between his words. Joey wouldn’t look at me. That was the first tell. The way his grip tightened just slightly on the wheel, the way he feigned an easy shrug—too practiced, too casual. He was lying. I could feel it like a weight in my gut, warning me. A duffel bag full of cash wasn’t justbusiness doing well. It was something else.

“Tell me the truth,” I pressed. “Is this illegal money?”

He didn’t answer right away. That was answer enough.

He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the dashboard, tapped one out, and lit it with one hand, never taking his eyes off the road. The flame flickered, catching the paper. Smoke curled around his lips as he exhaled slowly—too slowly, like he was buying time. Like he was choosing his words carefully.

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