Page 40 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

Chapter

Thirty

“I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.”

― Charles Dickens

Théo

“Appreciate you showing up, LeRoy. Days like this, I only trust men who know how to keep the wolves smiling while they bleed.”

I took the glass he handed me, but didn’t drink. My fingers tightened around the stem as my gaze swept over the church. The scent of lilies clung to the air, masking the salt of roasted meat and champagne.

Six of my men stood scattered among the crowd. Some near the stained-glass exit. Others flanking the buffet with a plate they wouldn’t touch. The last posted beside the cellist. Not a single one smiled.

That wasn’t in the job description.

Sawyer had called me six months ago, mouth full of chocolate donut, and said he was tired, old, and done with the bullshit.

Gave me half the company, took his wife, and flew to Asia.

Stayed a few months, then disappeared to some beach where he’d been smoking, tanning, and pretending emails didn’t exist.

Lucky bastard.

“Didn’t take you for the domestic type, Lazzio. Thought marriage was either beneath you?…?or bad for your dick.”

He scoffed. “It was. But love doesn’t always knock. Sometimes it breaks the fucking door down and lights a cigar while your life burns around it.”

I hummed. “ L’amour arrive quand on ne s’y attend pas. ”

He tapped his glass to mine. “Exactly, my lord.” He winked as I rolled my eyes.

Fucker didn’t know how to keep a fucking secret.

My eyes returned to the crowd. I wasn’t looking. I was hunting. Searching for the only person in the room who fucking mattered to me.

And then I saw her. Her hair caught the light like blood on silk. The same shade I’d memorized in the dark, soaked through with rain, twisted in my fist. That fucking red hair I was so obsessed with it made me sick.

She stood with her back to me, the shape of her waist framed too easily by the arm of some asshole who didn’t know what he was touching. His hand rested low, too casually, like he thought he had a right to be there.

I stared, jaw tight, the glass still full in my hand. And for a second, I pictured snapping it at the joint and feeding it to the dogs.

Not because I was jealous. But because she was mine in ways he’d never understand. In ways she didn’t even fucking know.

“My offer still stands, LeRoy,” Lazzio said, tilting his glass. “I owe you my life. That makes me a debt in your hands.”

I shook my head. “Keep your debt. I don’t fucking want it.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re the only bastard I know who’d walk away from two hundred million dollars and a seat at my table. So, what is it? Pride? Or is there something darker rotting under that silence of yours?”

“Something else.”

He set his glass down and crossed his arms, gaze drifting to where his wife was laughing with a very pregnant Sofiya Melov. Volkov’s wife.

I’d met the man last year, on a day I wouldn’t ever forget. Hated to admit it, but he was lethal. The kind of lethal that didn’t need noise or knives to get what he wanted.

“I’m listening.”

“I want her back under my watch.” I didn’t say her name. Didn’t have to. He knew exactly who the fuck I meant.

Angelo laughed, slow and dry.

“ Dio mio . You’re still on that? After everything?”

“I never got off it.”

“She’d rather bite off her own tongue than let you near her again.”

“Then I’ll be the one to stitch it back.”

“She thinks you helped her father lock her away. That you stood there and did nothing.”

“She’s fucking wrong.”

But I’d let her believe it. I had to. I wasn’t there. That was the part she’d never forgive. Not what I’d done.

What I fucking hadn’t done.

He leaned against the table, eyeing me like I was some puzzle with pieces missing.

“You’ve done your part, LeRoy. Walk away. Hell, run. Find another job. Another mess to clean. Anything less exhausting than a superstar diva.”

“No.”

“Why?” he asked. “You think she needs protecting again?”

I met his gaze, cold and steady. “She’s trouble. She burns everything she touches.”

Angelo tilted his head. “So, what’s the pull then?”

I finally looked up. My eyes found her, and everything else disappeared.

That mouth, the one that used to beg and bite in the same breath. That fucking dress that should’ve had my hands on it, not his. The same blue eyes that once looked at me like she knew she belonged to me, even when she hated it.

My beautiful shooting star.

“Guess I’ve always enjoyed a good burn.”

She frowned. Not at anyone else. At me. Like she felt me watching. Like my name still tasted like blood in her mouth.

Good. I wanted her to feel it. Every second of it.

Let her hate me. Let her curse me. At least then I was still under her skin.

She turned away a heartbeat later, but I was already gone.

Buried in the heat that had passed between us before she forced herself to look away.