Page 111 of SINS & Riley
And what the hell did it take for him to let me go?
Love?
Is it twisted that I want to believe it? That I want to believe he didn’t just love me—but the psycho killer loves me the way Enzo loves Kennedy?
With the same brutal, all-consuming fire?
God. I need help.
I glance back for Enzo one last time, but he’s already gone.
34
ZVER
“It’s a trap,” Dominic barks, pacing my office like a caged wolf.
“I know.”
That’s all I give him. A clean acknowledgment he’s right. Mostly to shut him up.
The silence lasts half a beat before he detonates, launching into a forty-five–minute tirade about how only a suicidal moron would walk into a setup like this.
I let him rant. Let him burn out.
While I keep loading my ammo.
There lies the great divide between Dominic and me.
He’s the strategist.
I’m the executioner.
And still, between the two of us, something’s missing.
Not muscle. Certainly not firepower. And not another contingency plan.
A confession.
For four months, the itch has gnawed at me. This constant sense that I am missing something.
I need a new angle. A brutal shift in perspective.
Enzo always said the only way to get it is to step into the steel jaws of a trap.
So I agree to this meeting.
Not in spite of the trap.
Because of it.
“Once again, you’re being reckless. Impulsive.”
“I call it effective.” I holster my gun and zip the bag—an arsenal built for a one-man apocalypse.
Dominic hefts it, testing the weight. “Enough firepower here to make a dictator nervous. You think you’ve got enough?”
Smartass.
