Page 74 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)
RILEY
W eeks.
Weeks of me trying to keep my chin up while Kennedy runs interference. Dragging me out, finding distractions, forcing me to breathe.
I’ve been smiling through it and pretending everything’s fine, but my nerves are shot.
But today, I’m focused on our future. I trust more than Dante’s promises.
I trust us.
Dillon and Mateo are combing the globe at a snail’s pace. Okay, not totally fair. They’re moving mountains to find Fiona Keenan. But Jesus, could they hurry the hell up?
And Dante’s sent out so many teams I stopped counting. He even said he’s taking drastic measures , whatever that means.
Still, the waiting chews at me.
The truth is, I’ve never wanted to marry the man more.
But I can’t. Not yet.
Not until he gets his answers. He deserves that. They all do. And I’ll be damned if I get in the way of that.
That fucker Andre cannot win.
So distraction time. We’re at Smoke’s wife’s studio. It’s a wide-open loft downtown, sunlight bleeding through tall windows, every wall, an unapologetic barrage of color.
Tia’s a phenomenon. Her canvases hang from Chicago to Paris. And now she’s agreed to paint this one. For me and Dante. A wedding gift.
If there’s a wedding.
Stop it.
Tia slides her beautiful baby girl into my arms, and my heart trips over itself. Big blue eyes blink up at me, all trusting and perfect. She yawns, and I rub my nose against hers.
“I could eat you alive, Valentina,” I murmur, burying my face in her hair like an addict chasing a hit.
Across the room, Tia lifts the photo I brought her, angling it into the light.
“I love this one,” she breathes, soft and reverent. “It’s the only shot where they’re all together.”
The family picture.
The one Dante carried to the Zver stronghold. He walked into exile with almost nothing, but he took this. Every D’Angelo has a copy. I know, it matters.
Tia glances at me. “How big would you like it?”
“Something mantle-sized, I guess.” I shrug. “Is that too big?”
Tia giggles. “With D’Angelo men? There’s no such thing as too big.”
We all laugh, her smile stretching wider. “He’s going to lose it. And then the rest of the boys will want the Dream Team shot blown up too. Hell, Enzo will probably demand his life-size.”
“A what shot?” I ask.
“Dream Team.” She beams, ticking names off her fingers. “It’s their whole family.”
I frown. “There’s no S in Dream Team.”
Tia nods. “His name’s Mason. Smoke’s just a nickname.
” She taps the photo, reciting it like a prayer, bead by bead.
“ Dream . Dillon and Dante share the D—they’re twins, so it counts.
R for Renata, their beautiful mother. She died young.
Then Enzo. Antonio, their father. Mason.
In Team , the T is for Trinity. The E and A repeat. And Mateo closes it out.”
The letters whirl until the whole room tilts with them. My pulse skips, then slams.
Kennedy scoops Valentina before I drop into the nearest chair.
And then it hits. Full force.
Dream Team.
Etched into stone at the cliff’s edge. A lone slab that always marked my way. My guiding light.
“What is it? Your blood pressure?” Kennedy’s voice spikes, sharp with fear.
My breaths rip in and out, ribs straining like they might snap. It isn’t blood pressure. It’s my heart breaking.
“Should we head to the hospital?” Tia asks.
I shake my head. “I need Dante.”
“I’ll call him now.” Tia bolts for her phone as Kennedy mouths, What?
Tears sting hot. A lump swells in my throat, thick enough to choke me. The words scrape out anyway, barely a whisper.
“I think I know where their father is.”
“Where?”
She slips a tissue into my hand as I let the words fall, heavy and inevitable.
“I think he’s with Da.”