Page 4 of Sinful Hearts

“Be careful who you glare at,guaio,” he said, his tone low and lethal.

“What?” I asked—no, Isqueakedout. “Is that a threat?”

His thick lip crooked up an inch. “Pray to whatever god you believe in that you’ll never have to find out.” He shook his head before moving around me.

I gasped when his shoulder collided with mine, pushing me back, and he charged out of the building.

While our conversation had been quick, it sparked a wildfire inside me.

There was also something more—relief that my sister was the one marrying him. Not me.

Being in the same room as him gave me chills. Hard pass on sharing a bed.

That night, I couldn’t sleep as I replayed our exchange in my head. Grabbing my laptop, I searched whatguaiomeant.

Troublein Italian.

Was he calling me trouble … or warning me that I was already in it?

The priest speaking breaks me away from my thoughts. His voice sounds so distant since my ears are ringing. “We’re gathered here today …”

My gaze drifts to Emilio, standing tall in a black tux. His jaw is set, and his face is unreadable. He holds out his hand, stopping the priest, and immediately lifts the veil. To some, he may look like an eager man ready to see his bride.

But I’m no fool.

He knowsI’m a fraud.

I take a breath so deep that it hurts. That deep breath slips through my lungs like smoke, and my heart races as recognition falls on his face. I brace for the chaos, for my possible death, for all hell to break loose.

But none of that happens.

At least notyet.

Emilio tips his head down, studying me and most likely plotting my murder in his head. The muscles in his jaw twitch, but his face reveals nothing.

I wait for him to announce I’m the wrong woman.

For him to call for my family’s deaths for trying to play him.

But he doesn’t.

Seconds pass, and I hear whispers around us.

The priest’s gaze bounces between us as he waits for one of us to say something.

Maybe I’m just paranoid.

Maybe he doesn’t know I’m not Dasha.

While I’ll never forget our run-in at the engagement dinner, it could’ve meant nothing to him. For all he knows, I’m his bride. Though my gut tells me I’m wrong.

His stare is intense, like he can seeeverything. Every lie, every thought in my head, every feeling.

He signals for the priest to resume, who stutters the first few words as he does.

“And, Dasha,” the priest says.

My heart stops, panic sweeping inside me.