Page 38 of Sinful Bargains

I shook my head again, resisting the pull I felt toward him. “You can’t just show up here and expect me to fall into your arms. I have to think about Antonio. Abouthislife. Aboutourfuture. We’re finally in a good place. I can’t screw that up.”

He nodded. “I don’t expect anything, Adriana. I never expected anything from you. I just can’t pretend anymore. I need you to know how I feel. It’s hard for someone like me to even express this to you. But it’s the truth. I care about you. More than I even understand.”

I stared at the table, unsure if his confession made everything simpler or infinitely more complicated for us. I was almost certain it was the latter.

“That’s not the only reason I came, though,” he said. Our eyes met, and I searched his face, trying to read him, but he gave nothing away. “Where’s the gun?”

The question knocked the air from my lungs. My fingers tightened around the arms of my chair. His question sent goosebumps crawling up my arms. The gun? How did he know about that? I swallowed hard. “What gun?” I murmured.

He sighed, the scent of cigar smoke lingering on his breath. Then, without warning, he grabbed the legs of my chair and pulled me closer. My knees brushed against his, and suddenly, I was trapped between his legs. His gaze held mine, and it was impossible to focus when he was this close. His fingers trailed up my legs—slow, deliberate—before settling on my thighs.

I should tell him to stop. I should push him away. But I couldn’t.

“Where’s. The. Gun?” he asked again, each word a slow, measured demand.

He knew. Somehow, he already knew.

“Sweetheart, I don’t give a damn what you’ve done—or what youthinkyou’ve done. I need that fucking gun.” His eyes locked onto mine. Unrelenting. I felt cornered with those ice blue eyes piercing straight through me.

I frowned. “What do you mean, what IthinkI’ve done?”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face before tugging at his bottom lip. His hesitation told me everything—whatever he was about to say, he didn’t want to. “You didn’t kill him,” he said. “But I will.”

My breath caught. Everything felt as though it came to a standstill. Frozen in place.

“I just need the gun,” he continued. “Because if the feds come sniffing around and they find it? Adriana, sweetheart, you’re going down. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull you out of it.”

My pulse pounded in my ears. My body was hot. Burning with fear. Anxiety.

“I’m going to clean this up for you,” he said, softer this time. “I told you—you don’t need to worry aboutanything. I’ll handle it.”

I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened, my vision blurred, and the walls were closing in. I hadn’t killed him? I didn’t know what was worse—that I hadn’t killed William, that the cops weren’t coming because William would make sure to finish what I started himself, or that Joey knew and was willing to kill for me.

My fingers tangled in my hair as I shoved the chair back and shot to my feet. I paced the kitchen, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. My pulse pounded, my stomach twisted, and then—Joey’s arms were around me, pulling me against him.

And just like that, I felt safe.

Safe. But not for long.

Because Joey would leave. He’d go home. Back to Renee. And William wouldn’t stop until he found me. I couldn’t tell Joey the truth. He couldn’t protect me if he wasn’t here, and I had to protect Antonio if—when—William came back.

Joey’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Sweetheart, he can’t hurt you. Just give me the gun, and I’ll take care of it.”

I swallowed hard, fighting the nausea curling in my gut. “I don’t have it,” I whispered, stepping back, slipping from the warmth of his embrace. “I tossed it into the water when we got onto the ferry.”

A lie. But a good one.

Joey studied me, his eyes searching mine. And then—he nodded. He believed me. “Good,” he said. His hands came up, cupping my face, his touch gentle. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “That was a good move.”

Tender. Safe.Just not for long.

ANTONIO

Ihad left while Ma was cooking dinner to grab my jersey from Coach Artie. I’d saved up enough money to get on the school baseball team, and now, it was finally real.

“There you go, number three.” Coach Artie grinned, handing me the white and blue baseball jersey.

Ma might’ve been having an epiphany, but as far as I was concerned, life couldn’t get any better. I had friends. We had a brand-new ride. I was on the baseball team.

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