Page 66 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)
RILEY
R idiculous.
That’s it. That’s the word. The only word I have for this joint baby shower.
Well… fine. Maybe not the only word.
Ridiculous, and beautiful, and loud, and dipped in every shade of pink and blue imaginable.
It’s one of the biggest parties I’ve ever seen—towers of flowers, tables groaning under food, champagne fountains sparkling like Vegas.
But a baby shower? This looks more like a royal coronation.
I should’ve helped more, but lately I’ve been bone-tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. The doctors keep nagging. Kennedy nags louder.
Stay off my feet. Rest. Blah blah.
So I let the menfolk handle it. Enzo and Dante clearly divided up the work.
I can tell by the balloon situation. Two grown men locked in an arms race over helium and ribbon.
And Dante? He won’t say it to my face, but he’s been shoving every last one of his brothers—and Trinity—at me, like a human barricade. Letting them hover, navigate, fuss to their hearts’ content.
I’m weaving through the crowd when Mateo sidles up, smooth as sin, slipping a drink into my hand. “Virgin cocktail?”
I arch a brow. “Thanks.” I take a sip—a delicious mix of peach and pomegranate, with little ruby seeds floating on top. My stomach flips. “Did Dante ask you to give this to me?”
He drags a thumb along his jaw, slow and thoughtful. “What makes you say that?”
“When I was his captive, it was my favorite drink.”
Mateo nods. “Do you want me to take it back?”
“Not on your life.” I sip again. “There’s no reason to waste a perfectly good mocktail just because I’m pissed at Peanut’s daddy.”
He chuckles. “I swear, if I avoided eating or drinking things just because I was mad at my family, I’d weigh twelve pounds.”
And then it hits me—his voice.
My ears snag on it.
I squint at him. “Okay, I know this is gonna sound insane, but… where do I know your voice from?”
The more he smiles, the more I see the D’Angelo resemblance.
“I’m the one who walked you through the crisis before Smoke and Dillon stormed into Dante’s place. I mean—Zver’s.” He rubs his neck, sheepish. “The whole thing is a little confusing.”
“I’m right there with you.”
Then he pulls a phone from his pocket and drops it into my hand.
I stare. “What’s this?”
He puffs his cheeks, lets the air out slow. “Pictures of the baby shower.”
“Huh? We’re at the baby shower.”
He smirks. “Just… take a look.”
I swipe—and almost choke on my own spit. “What the hell—this is a baby shower. For Truffles the dog .”
“Word to the wise, Riley: parents do crazy-ass shit for their kids.” Mateo nods solemnly. “ Shh … Do you hear that? That’s the sound of Enzo’s brain snapping.”
I flip through photo after photo. Balloons, streamers, the damn dog in a bow tie. “I can’t believe I missed this.”
“Dante took them for you.”
My throat tightens. “What?”
“He didn’t want you to miss a thing.” Mateo gestures across the room.
And there he is. Dante. Watching me.
I forget to breathe.
And because I’m clearly a possessed pregnant woman, I keep flipping through all his photos, and lose my breath all over again.
So many shots of me. Beautiful, haunting.
If I were in my right mind, I’d probably be filing a restraining order.
But I’m not.
I’m his.
And because I’m being stalked by a psycho, the pictures aren’t all sweet and innocent.
They’re a reel of the dirtiest, filthiest fairytales ever told.
A Sleeping Beauty shot—me unaware the camera was even there. Probably because I was busy teetering on the edge of an orgasm.
Another—Snow White—me wandering the grounds, head bent, lost in thought, dress lifted just high enough for him to catch the curve of my ass in the frame.
It was sweltering that day. I remember every second of it—because it was the day I found out I was pregnant.
And I felt so unbearably alone.
It would’ve been nice to have a heads-up that I wasn’t alone.
Because Dante was there, watching from behind that black Zver mask.
Even when I thought I had no one, when it felt like the sky was crumbling all around me, he was there. Always there. Tethered to my orbit.
Keeping me safe.
God, why didn’t he just tell me? How many hours… how many days did we waste?
You’re still wasting time, Riley.
My chest tightens. Maybe that voice in my head is right.
Before I can spiral, Enzo slides in beside me, handing over a plate piled high with canapés. His gaze drops, pointed, to my stomach. “Your sister says you’re not eating enough.”
I narrow my eyes up at him. “I literally just saw Kennedy. She did not say that.”
“Fine. Then I’m saying it. You’re not eating enough. You’re five months, six days, three and a half hours, and you’re barely showing.”
I roll my eyes. “Despite your newly minted doula certification, I’m eating just fine.”
It’s strange, this closeness with Enzo. Foreign and familiar all at once. By the time he’s pushing a second plate of food at me, it’s obvious he’s protective of me.
Maybe as much as I am of him now.
He’s so different now. Hard-ass mob boss on the outside. Psychotic teddy bear on the inside. And a man so far gone in love it leaks out of him with every look.
There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for my sister. He adores Kennedy. He dotes on the girls. Half the time, he’s carrying Truffles around like an evil villain’s designer purse.
And when their baby comes, he’s going to lose whatever’s left of his damn mind.
God… it’s the kind of love I ache for. That bone-deep, head to toe love of a lifetime.
I pop another canapé in my mouth, chewing without tasting, eyes skimming the glittering, overcrowded room. Laughter, champagne, pink-on-pink balloons—everyone’s having the time of their lives.
Everyone but me.
Because no matter where I look, Dante’s gone.