Page 46 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

RILEY

“I t’s just a quick trip to the coffee shop,” I explain to Boris.

I would’ve preferred Dominic at my side today, but there’s something brewing at the house—something to do with whoever Zver’s meeting with.

And if I’m leaving Chicago again, I’m damn well stopping at my favorite coffee shop and bookstore first. Wig on, Velma glasses in place.

Boris taps the face of my watch. “One hour.”

Normally, I’d beg for more time. But Boris isn’t the teddy bear Dominic is. He’s more like the guy who ate the teddy bear.

“I’ll be close.” He points two fingers at his eyes, then at me. “I’m watching you.”

Yeah. That’s not terrifying at all.

Then he fades back, and gives me space. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I breathe.

I am going to soak in the afternoon.

Like a normal person.

I mosey around, then scout the vampire romance section.

Strangely, I’ve read most of these already—Zver keeps me stocked up like I’m preparing for a three-year book famine.

I’m about to drift over to the shifter shelves when a woman steps into my path.

I shift right.

She blocks me.

I shift left.

Blocked again.

Her voice is timid, but something about it tugs at me. Familiar.

“Hi, I’m Layla.”

I lift my eyes to her face and—oh, my God. Even under a stylish blonde wig, I know her.

“Mila?” Shit . What had Sabine told me? Her name. She'll introduce herself with her new name. “I mean…Layla.”

Her smile spreads so wide it nearly splits her face. “And you are?”

“Pom.”

Suddenly, I realize we're both here. Nervously, I glance around, scanning for threats, people out of place—anything.

But everything looks… fine.

Boris has parked himself in the automotive section, sprawled on a leather chair like he’s settling in for story hour.

I hug her tight, relief crashing through me. “I was so worried.”

“Me too. But Sabine told me you were doing really well.”

My voice drops low. “Sabine is here?”

She nods, excitement bubbling. “We arrived this morning. She said she was coming to Chicago, and I begged and begged to come see you. But I can’t stay long.”

I take the friendship bracelet from around my wrist and put it on hers. “Then we'll make the most of it.”

We drift outside, taking seats at a cafe table, catching up like no time has passed—like we both didn’t just survive the horror show of Declan Keenan’s auction.

Boris has moved so he can watch us through the glass. Kind enough to give us privacy, but watching nonetheless.

Sitting across from her, it’s impossible not to stare. Zver got Mila to safety the moment he bought her, and he kept his word.

For the first time, the fragile trust between us grips tight, threading roots that bury themselves ten feet deep.

“And what have you been up to?” she asks.

I want to laugh and say, Oh, you know. Falling for my captor. Starting a family.

Instead, I take my time sipping my coffee, hot and drowning under a mountain of whipped cream. Then I give her the only answer that feels true.

“Making plans for the future.”

She smiles at that, nibbling the edge of a biscotti, crumbs catching at the corner of her mouth.

I study her across the table, relief warring with nerves. “So… you live in Tuscany. What do you do there?”

“I mostly help others. It’s a different life. A better life. One with more purpose than I could've imagined.”

Her eyes flicker, shadows passing through them. She stirs her coffee absently, cream swirling across the surface.

“One woman came in and she was so bad off. Thin. Frail. I poured so much of myself into helping her around the clock. But, her condition was really getting to me. Sabine insisted I needed a break.”

“Wow. And you’ve been taking care of her?”

“Since she arrived. It’s only been a few days, but it’s taking a toll. The thought we might lose her terrifies me.”

A few days? Tuscany? “Elena.” The name leaves my lips before I can stop them.

Mila’s eyes meet mine, and in that instant, I know I’m right.

I lean forward, heart in my throat. “Is she okay?”

Mila shrugs, helpless. “Sabine always says trauma belongs to the person living it. But with her, something feels off. Some days she limps on one side, other days the opposite. Every time it looks like she’s improving, she slips back again.

And whenever I get too close, she wails like I’ve hurt her. ”

My stomach knots. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s going through.

It makes me sick to think what they’ve done to her.

Mila takes a small sip, eyes down. “And just when I think I’ve seen all her scars…new ones emerge.”

“What do you mean?”

“The thing is, we have to document them. Not just for medical reasons, but for identification.” Her voice frays as she stares into her cup.

“Some days I worry she’s hurting herself when we’re not looking.

And maybe I’m not cut out for this. I want to help, but half the time it feels like I’m failing. ”

I reach across the table, squeezing her hand, grounding her. “You are helping. You’re doing what’s needed. They’re so goddamn lucky to have you.”

Her eyes lift, fragile, searching. “You think so?”

“You’ve helped me more times than I can count. I know so.”

Her watch chimes, slicing the moment in two. She glances down, regret shadowing her face. “I have to go.”

The ache of unfinished words settle in my chest. “Can we…talk again? Keep in touch?”

With a slight shrug, she gives me a smile stretched between hope and doubt. “I hope so.”

Then she’s gone, slipping on oversized sunglasses and disappearing down the street.

I’m still watching her cross when movement jolts me upright—a woman ducking into the dry cleaner across the way.

Huh?

Wait. No.

Is that… Elena?

My gaze locks on her.

Not because she’s beautiful.

Not even because I can see her face—she’s doing everything possible to keep it hidden.

I know her because of the bones. Because she’s skeletal—hauntingly thin—and so impossibly fragile it makes my chest ache.

And because glinting at her throat is a green diamond necklace.

That necklace.

I would know it anywhere.

Fuck.

If that’s Elena, she shouldn’t be out here on her own. It’s too dangerous.

Was Mila supposed to be watching her? Did they get separated because she was spending time with me?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I can’t let Sabine come down on Mila for this.

I rap hard on the bookstore window where Boris is camped. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait!” His holler rattles the glass.

“It’s fine. Three minutes, tops.”

I dart across the street to the laundromat and catch sight of Elena just as she slips out the back.

My pulse spikes.

Dammit. She’s probably terrified someone’s chasing her. Not just me, but the four-hundred-pound tank thundering after us both.

I sprint harder, Boris’s boots pounding the pavement like gunfire.

“Hang on,” he barks, eyes already on the back door I'm headed to. “That alley isn’t secure yet.”

“It’s fine,” I snap, breath tearing out of me. “Just give me a minute. You’re scaring her.”

“Scaring who?”

I completely ignore him and bolt out the back door.

“Elena!” The name rips out of me as I sprint into the alley.

I dive after her?—

But the second I hit open air, arms like steel bands rip me sideways. A van screeches up, cutting off the door.

What the hell?—

I hear Boris pounding from the other side, shouting my name.

But it’s too late. Two men clamp down, yanking me back.

I thrash hard, adrenaline surging, but my fight’s no match for their weight and strength as they drag me toward another van.

Zip ties bite into my wrists, my ankles. By the time I register what’s happening, I’m already tossed inside.

The doors slam, and the van screeches off.

And right beside me—Elena.

Shit . Not only am I trapped—so is she.

“Elena, I’m so sorry, I?—”

But then I notice her. I take a long look, stunned.

She’s not zip-tied. Not restrained at all.

Elena peels off her sunglasses. Her eyes glitter, and her mouth stretches into a wide, gleeful grin.

She digs into her purse, pulls out a tube of blood red lipstick, and smears it across her mouth before leaning closer, trying to paint it on me.

“And here I thought you’d be harder to catch. God, you were easy.” Her voice drips with venom. “You need to look your best, hunny. Somebody wants to see you.”

I wrench away, throat tight. “What are you talking about?”

She laughs. And it’s not a normal laugh—it’s an unhinged, disturbing-as-fuck kind of laugh. The kind normally relegated to the psych wards and creepy clowns.

Her fingers toy with a strand of hair, twisting it around and around before she pulls it back and bares her scars.

So fucking many of them.

I watch in horror as she digs a nail into one.

Then, she peels them back.

Then another.

One by one, the scars come off in strips, smeared makeup and latex giving way to smooth skin beneath.

“I told them if I looked pathetic enough—slapped on enough painted on bruises and fake scars—you idiots would bite.”

“What do you mean, bite ?”

“Try to rescue me. Lead me right to your precious hiding place. We knew it was in Tuscany, we just didn’t know where.” She smirks, sunken eyes wild with delight. “And I was right.”

My stomach free-falls. “What?”

“You know,” she purrs, “I was really hoping for a windfall from handing over Zver’s head on a platter. But this? Oh, fuck—handing over you when you’re knocked up with his baby?” Her eyes glitter, fever-bright. “This is so much better. I can’t wait to hand your ass over.”

I choke on the word. “Over? To who?”

Her grin sharpens, razor-thin. “Andre.”