Page 43 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)
ZVER
D ominic cracks open the door. “Am I interrupting?”
“No. Come on in.” I toss down the branding iron, strip off the thick rubber gloves, and grab a bottle of water. “I need a break.”
I left Pom asleep in the guest room last night. I should be out cold myself—dead to the world, wrecked and hollowed by my little Zapretnaya.
But having her this close only makes it more real.
How much I have to lose.
And how much my life with Riley is a ticking time bomb.
So I’ve been taking my frustrations out on Emilio.
Not that there’s much left of him. All his fingernails are gone. Toenails too. Most of his teeth are rattling in a bloody pile. And still, the bastard somehow croaks out a fuck you every time he opens his eyes.
Yes, he has both eyes. I don’t touch those. That’s Enzo’s area.
Dominic steps inside, an envelope pinched between his fingers. “This arrived by messenger. Poor bastard was shaking so hard I thought he was going to piss himself.”
The envelope is embossed with raised letters. Zver .
Literally an engraved invitation. My asshole uncle’s trademark.
The messenger was probably his lowest lackey. If he survives the delivery, he’ll crawl one rung up the chain. Not by much.
I tear it open.
Elena was a gesture of good faith.
Deliver Riley Mullvain in two weeks.
My place.
Midnight.
Of course. A reminder.
A ball of lead sinks to the bottom of my gut. Goddamnit, I know he’s up to something.
I should let Pom go. Shove her out of this house, out of this world, for good.
But I already tried that once. And look where it got me. Wrapped around her little fucking finger and professing undying devotion to her.
Wild horses couldn’t drag me from her now.
That’s not cocky.
That’s me knowing my girl—stubborn to the bone, reckless enough to throw herself on the tracks if she thinks I’m in danger.
Which leaves me on this perpetually fucked-up hamster wheel, torn between spanking her or kissing her.
Which is why I regularly do both.
And the truth?
When she’s gone, I miss her like a phantom limb.
I wasn’t bullshitting about the three-times-a-day. Been on that regimen since she moved in…even while I kept my distance those first two months, lying to myself that if I stayed away, I couldn’t fall for her.
But I did.
Long before I touched her.
I’ve stalked her in every room, every angle.
She is my playlist. Every gasp, every arch of her body, every furious flick of her middle finger. I’ve fucked myself to it on repeat, a thousand times over.
And still, it’s never been enough.
It will never be enough. Especially not now that my dick’s had another taste.
She’s obsession and addiction, ruin and salvation.
Every dark hunger I ever tried to deny.
And I’d bleed the world dry before I ever let her go.
“Ahem.”
Dominic’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“You okay?”
“Sorry. Just a little exhausted. Sleep-deprived.”
And fantasizing about Riley’s pussy, but yeah—I’m not saying that out loud.
I hand him back the envelope. “Burn this.”
He nods once. “The fire at Enzo’s building is all over the news.”
Fuck. “And?”
“Official line is it was an accident.”
“A what?”
He shrugs. “Old building. Faulty wiring.”
“And the bodies?” The words tear out of me, sharp with disbelief.
“Police are saying there were three vagrants squatting on the roof. Must’ve been smoking.”
“Right,” I mutter. “Because textile mills just spontaneously combust all the time.”
The story’s neat. Too neat. My guard spikes higher.
Dominic’s jaw ticks. “Sources say it’s buried. Official word: no foul play.”
“No foul play,” I bite out, each syllable tasting wrong.
His gaze hardens. “Though… it’s been ten hours, and the building’s still burning. Somebody went a little heavy-handed.”
C4 and white phosphorus? That shit burns like an all-night crematorium. My mouth twists. “A little.”
Dominic doesn’t flinch. “Point is, the investigation is closed. It’s buried. For now, at least—it’s quiet.”
“As quiet as a Stephen King town at midnight.”
He exhales, shoulders wound tight. “As much as I’m usually the one sounding the alarm, I think you’re… safe.”
“Safe?” My voice goes flat, lethal. “Were the Keenans at that press conference?” I shake my head before he can even answer. “I will never be safe. Not with Uncle Andre circling, not with the Keenans likely falling in line right behind him. The smart move is to get the hell out. All of you.”
He hesitates, then gives a reluctant nod. “I’ll get the kids and Babushka to the safe house. But I’m staying.”
“Any point in arguing with you about it?”
“No. And good luck convincing Riley.”
“I’ll take care of Riley.”
I don’t know how, but I will.
My gaze flicks to Emilio, a lump of bloodied, broken, uselessness. But, still breathing.
I smack him hard across the head.
Nothing but a faint, garbled, “Fuck. You.”
I shake my head. “I’m getting nowhere with him. I need reinforcements.”
Dominic’s brow knots tight. “You gave your word. Only as a last resort.”
I raise a finger. “Wait. Do you feel that?”
He frowns. “What?”
“The oppressive silence. The stench of blood, sweat, and piss. And the fact we’re just as fucked now as the night we dragged Emilio in here.”
I sweep a hand through the air.
“Congratulations, Dominic. We’ve arrived. The last resort.” I gesture toward Emilio’s broken body. “Now, before I run out of toys, make the fucking call.”