Page 32 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

RILEY

E ight hours.

That's how long I've been trapped on a flying tube.

No flight attendants, no safety announcements, no clue where we’re going.

Just plush leather, the low drone of engines, and way too much time to think.

Oh, and booze. Plenty of it. But mixing alcohol with flying usually ends with my face buried in a barf bag.

At least they didn’t blindfold me.

In all fairness, they did hand me a tablet loaded with about a million books and movies.

As much as this girl loves options, I’m too restless to read and too keyed-up to drool over Magic Mike .

And even though the blanket draped over me is probably cashmere—paired with matching slippers and a ridiculous silk eye mask—there’s no way in hell I can sleep.

Sabine must have a sixth sense for nerves. She slips into the seat beside me, calm as a saint.

“Can I get you anything?”

I flash her my sweetest smile. “I’d love to know where we’re headed?”

“You’ll see when we land,” she says, like she’s soothing a child two seconds from a tantrum.

I study the mystery woman Dominic swore I was in “good hands” with. Sabine’s older than me—though how much is anyone’s guess.

Heavy bangs curtain her face, but faint scars slash beneath them, catching in the low cabin light.

There are three of us here.

Me.

Sabine—a total boss who’s clearly running the show.

And another woman across the aisle.

The other woman is pale and jittery. She also flat out refused the sleeping pill Sabine offered her as if it was poison.

A thick chain circles her throat, almost identical to the one I had, except hers glints green. It drags against her collarbones, weighing heavy the way mine did when they slid the tracker in it.

Or maybe it just looks heavier because she’s so thin.

Diamonds weigh a lot.

Diamonds with a tracker buried inside? They weigh a fuck ton.

“That’s Elena,” Sabine murmurs, her voice low. It’s as if every piece of the woman needs to be handled with care. Even her name.

I glance back at the chain choking Elena’s throat. My fingers ghost over my own bare skin, forgetting for a split second that the black diamond necklace isn’t there anymore.

“So… what is this? Witness protection or something?”

Sabine shrugs. “Maybe. If witness protection came with bottomless wealth and a vigilante at its disposal.”

Vigilante?

She’s telling me Zver is a vigilante.

And suddenly, all the pieces snap into place. The guards crawling everywhere, cameras up the wazoo, the fortress-level paranoia. The secrecy.

The mask.

If he’s running the kind of ops Sabine says he is, danger isn’t a possibility. It’s his shadow.

All of it makes sense.

He wasn’t just hiding himself from me.

He was shielding me. Protecting me from the fallout of knowing too much.

This isn’t witness protection.

It’s a rescue mission.

I’ve been the village idiot, dangling a lit match over a lake of gasoline.

Reckless. Careless.

Every stupid move I made put his entire operation at risk.

I press a finger hard to my temple.

No wonder he wants me gone.

Sabine leans back, her gaze drifting toward Elena, who curls tighter into herself. “She was supposed to leave last week. But she was…” A pause as she finds just the right word. “Unwell.”

I nod, though I can't imagine what she's been through. I was bought by Zver. Who is she bought by?

My eyes stick to the necklace strangling Elena’s throat. “Can't you get it off her?”

Sabine frowns. “The new ones are reinforced. Stronger. Heavier. We’re working with someone at our destination. He thinks he can remove it without an issue.”

There’s something she’s not saying, but I let it go. She pats my hand gently.

That’s when I see it. The friendship bracelet around her wrist. The cheap coin you make with a kit.

I know it instantly.

“Where did you get that?” My voice cracks.

Her eyes flick down. “Zver said you might ask. It belongs to someone you know.”

“Mila.”

Her smile softens. “Her name isn’t Mila anymore.”

“Wait… she’s alive.” My pulse skitters. “What’s her name now?”

“I can’t tell you. If you ever meet again, and I have every confidence you will, she’ll introduce herself. Just as I introduced myself to you as Sabine.”

She's telling me that's not her real name.

“But… isn’t this a private plane? Why the secrecy?”

Her head shakes with remorse. “We've learned our lesson the hard way. Information can be the difference between life and death. We go through enormous measures to make sure old identities are never connected to the new ones.”

From her bag, she pulls a sealed envelope. “Once we land, this is you. For the most part, Riley Mullvain no longer exists.”

I take it with trembling hands. I don't know if it's from the cold or my nerves.

If Riley Mullvain doesn’t exist… how will I ever see my sister again?

Visions of Kennedy flash through my head. From her laughing at the wedding, to her stepping out of Enzo’s car at the cemetery.

The two of us hiding in a closet as kids. We were each other’s worlds. And now, I’m about to have a baby, and she has no idea.

For no reason at all, Zver crashes into my thoughts. His dramatic final goodbye. His tattoo. His mask. The ache of missing him twists deeper, a knife carving slow.

Tears threaten to spill. Before I become a blubbering mess, I shove him out of my head and double bolt the door.

My gaze drifts back to Elena.

I hate that they can’t get the necklace off her. She’s asleep, chest rising in shallow, fragile pulls of air. How close was she to death’s door before they pulled her out?

Zver got to her in time.

And whatever he risked to get her here, and me with her, it was real.

He trusted me.

And I should’ve trusted him back.

“Open it,” Sabine nudges.

My fingers rip through the envelope. Inside: a new passport. Driver’s licenses for Italy and the U.S. Bank account details and two credit cards.

And, whoa. There are a lot of zeros in that account.

I stare at the address.

“Tuscany?” Another journal entry he must've read.

I dream of Tuscany like I've been there. Maybe someday.

“Technically, just outside Tuscany. It’s beautiful. You’ll see.”

My eyes slide back to Elena. “And her?”

“She’ll be… somewhere else.” Sabine’s smile tilts, tinged with something like regret. “You’ll know nothing about her, and she’ll know nothing about you. That’s the rule. It keeps everyone safe.”

I nod. I don't understand everything. But I understand enough that I don't ask anymore questions about Elena.

My gaze drops to the bracelet circling Sabine’s wrist. “Can I… see my friend?”

She slides it from her wrist to mine. “I have a feeling you will.”

“And…” I'm not exactly sure if I should ask Sabine this, but try and stop me. “Will I see Zver again?”

Her eyes meet mine, and there's so much uncertainty in them. “I don’t know.”

She slips away, and I look closer at the documents.

At first, all I see is the photo on my driver’s license. It’s me, no question. Except I don’t remember posing for it—and I look… beautiful. A serious glow-up from my last license photo. Thanks, DMV.

Then my gaze locks on the name—my name—and it’s all I can see.

A laugh bursts up, bubbling in my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth to smother it.

Seriously?

Pom Zapretnaya.

A swirl of tiny flutters rises in my chest.

Yup.

There’s my big, bad, possessive Zver.

Finally.