Page 40 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

ZVER

I storm off, boots hammering against the marble.

Dominic’s hot on my heels. Always on my heels. “You need to hear her out?—”

I whirl, slam him against the wall so hard the painting beside us rattles loose and crashes to the floor, glass splintering across the tile.

My voice is so low the words barely make it past my lips.

“I just killed Declan Keenan.”

The look on Dominic’s face says it all. The horror. The dawning truth.

I let him go and take a detached step back. “It’s time for Plan B. Get the kids. Get Babushka. Get yourselves out of here. And take Riley with you.”

His jaw locks. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

He just stares, dumbfounded. “What’s the plan?”

I stop in the hall and face him. “This. This is the plan. It always was. I’ve just… accelerated it.”

I shake my head. “I’ll squeeze whatever scraps are left out of Emilio’s Swiss-cheese brain downstairs—if there’s anything worth taking—and then…” I let out a hard breath. “I’ll wait for the storm.”

There’s enough finality in my tone that Dominic nods, stunned. No argument. No heroics. We lock eyes.

A goodbye without words. Silent seeps in until it's uncomfortable.

I break it first.

Shoving past him, I cut toward the east wing, blood starting to boil over, nerves strung razor-wire tight—when something snags my arm again.

God Almighty.

I swear, if Dominic keeps this up, I’ll kill him myself before the Keenans get the chance.

What’s it going to take to convince him that playing martyr is a bad look?

I already carry enough bodies on my conscience. I don’t need his added to the pile.

I don’t think. My kill instinct takes over.

I whip around fast, my grip already around a throat, fingers clamping tight, pulse pounding beneath my grip?—

And then the haze lifts.

Pom .

My grip eases, but only barely. I’m not about to let her think, in any universe, that I’m her safe space.

Her eyes are wide, lips parted—but instead of shoving me off, she lifts her hand and brushes it against my cheek.

That touch nearly undoes me.

I flick it away.

Her voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through me. “I have to talk to you.”

“Trust me, Pom—if you’re sticking around, the last thing we’ll be doing is talking.”

My thumb strokes her neck before I can stop it—automatic, without permission.

Her eyes glisten, lips trembling. “I just—can we just?—”

I cut her off, my voice a growl. “Unless you’re here to choke on my cock, ride my face, or get fucked into next week, it’s time for you to go.”

Her eyes go wide, shocked.

I pivot to leave—because that’s what bastards like me do—when her voice cuts the air behind me.

She shouts after me in that loud and stubborn and defiant way that always stops me dead in my tracks.

“Then I guess I want you to fuck me.”