Page 76 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

RILEY

“W ell?” Dante asks.

When he said he wanted to take me on a date, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

He calls it a date. I call it a group hang. After too much alone time, I’m done with solitude. The more the merrier—and right now, merry looks like popcorn, M&Ms, and half the family parked in the back row.

His family does lavish Italian retreats and yachts in Monte Carlo. But this—I stare up at the vintage marquee—is heaven.

“It’s an old-fashioned movie theater. Recently renovated.” Dante’s grin is almost boyish in the dim light, and I can only imagine how much he poured into it. He kisses my hand. “I know it’s totally out of left field?—”

“I absolutely love it.” Mostly because this is him. Trying to inject a little normal into our lives. And God, I crave normal.

He guides me inside, and of course we’re late. We’re always late these days.

Mostly because baby girl thinks my bladder is her personal trampoline.

I’m big as the moon—three days from my due date and one baby kick away from toppling forward like a pregnant bowling pin.

We take our seats, which I’ll need a forklift to get up from again, as Boris hands us the essentials: one massive bucket of popcorn and every candy known to man.

I dump the M&Ms into the popcorn, give it a shake, and shove it between us.

Dante stares. “What are you doing?”

“Just, trust me.”

“Another trust exercise? Really?” He steals a handful anyway, chewing like the head chef on a cooking show. With approval, he nods. “It’s… edible.”

“Edible?”

“Mm-hmm.” Another monster handful disappears into his mouth. And just like that, it hits me—we should’ve gotten separate buckets. Because my man is going to inhale this one in six minutes flat.

And right this second, I don’t give a damn. I love us. Two messed-up people doing goofy, normal things. How that’s even possible after everything we survived? I’ll never know. But I’ll take it.

Everything Dante D’Angelo is, everything he gives—I’ll take it.

Especially our little girl. And yeah, as much as I want her out, I’m praying she doesn’t make her little debut tonight.

Enzo and Kennedy take up the back row, their girls tucked in close and their brand-new son— Mullvain —in Kennedy’s arms. Dark hair, tiny fists, lungs that own the freaking room. Perfect. Breathtaking. And—miracle of miracles for Enzo’s kid—no horns or tail.

Mullvain and our little girl will be the same age. Kennedy swears they’ll be inseparable.

Misha and Katya ricochet up and down the aisle, eyes wide. For their first movie theater, Dante went all in—from the neon glow to the sticky floors. Boris even offered to play ticket guy just to rip stubs.

By their faces, you’d think we’d taken them to Disney World.

“How many movies are we watching?” I whisper, nerves buzzing. My body feels like Cinderella’s pumpkin. Ready to pop at the stroke of midnight.

“As many as they want.” Dante tips his chair back, looking just as close to a nap as I am.

And then his mouth curves. That half-smile. The one that always means trouble.

“What?” I narrow my eyes.

“I have a surprise for you. But I can’t give it to you.” His grin deepens, wicked and boyish all at once. “I can only show it to you.”

I love that he says this in a pitch-black theater. “And when exactly will you be showing me this mystery?”

“After the show.”

He kisses me, and popcorn rains down on us like confetti. Dillon and Mateo groan from the next row.

“Get a room!”

“Oh, I intend to,” Dante fires back, his grin absolutely wicked. “As soon as the doctor gives the all clear.”

* * *

We must’ve dozed off hard. When I blink awake, the theater is empty — well, almost. Just us and Boris snoring in the back like a freight train.

Dante looks unfairly gorgeous asleep. Dark lashes, jaw shadowed with a week’s worth of scruff, muscles loose for once. I almost feel guilty for waking him.

Almost.

I trail my hand across his chest. “Dante.”

“Hmm.” A groggy smile curves his mouth.

“It’s time.”

His eyes snap open, instantly sharp. “It’s time?”

I nod. “My water just broke.”

Of course I feel bad for the newly renovated seats. Who’s going to clean that up? Before I can dwell on it, Dante’s scooping me into his arms and whisking me away.

“Nobody panic,” he orders.

“No one’s panicking but you,” I mutter, clinging to his neck.

Boris is already bolting down the aisle as Dante barks orders. Primary and alternate routes, go-bags, contingency plans

“Hey, Mr. Control Freak. He knows.”

He growls and shoves me toward the waiting car. “Then he’d better move faster. My wife is not having this baby on the damn curb.”

At breakneck speed, we’re gone.

* * *

Six hours and thirty minutes later, she arrives.

Amelia Kennedy D’Angelo.

Seven pounds, two ounces of angelic perfection.

How someone so small can have a big, bad beast tangled helplessly around her little tiny finger is beyond me.

But the way he cradles her, breathes her in, and covers a whole head of newborn hair with soft kisses? Yeah. He’s gone.

And I absolutely melt.

Childbirth was next-level pain. It was worse than anything I could’ve imagined, short of a pirate sword straight up the vag.

But like every pain I’ve carried, on the other side of it waits everything I need.

Hope. Love.

Her.

And him .

My eyes are heavy, my body spent, but I can’t look away. Dante rocks her against his chest like she’s sacred.

“When can I hold my little girl, baby hog?” I rasp.

He growls, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “Tomorrow, if you keep it up.”

For one long, quiet minute we just stare—two wrecked people who somehow made something whole. We made her. The center of our universe.

My heart is so full I think it will break into a thousand shards of light. And love.

“Is it time for my surprise?” I ask, half-joking, half hoping.

“No. It’s time for the baby,” he teases.

He exhales, rolls up his sleeve, and my breath stops.

“For the first time in my life, I pulled the trigger,” he says.

Ink blooms along his forearm. A permanent tattoo. A serpent coiled around a skull, roses woven through the design. It’s dark and dangerous and achingly beautiful. Us.

My fingers tremble as I trace the lines.

“I left space,” he murmurs, fingertip brushing the roses. “For every kid we have. This one…” His voice drops, reverent. “This one’s Amelia’s.”

Tears burn hot. “How many kids are you expecting?” I ask, barely able to joke.

He shrugs, mouth crooked. “Standard football team.”

I snort, half-laugh, half-sob. “You’re going to need more than a tattoo if you expect me to birth a litter.”

His eyes glint. “Then you’d better set a date.”

I bite my lip because he doesn’t know I already have. Ricardo’s designing the dress.

The whole family’s in on it—Tuscany, Enzo and Kennedy’s estate—everything’s ready the second Amelia can travel.

Even Boris knows the plan. But Dante, the control-freak groom-to-be? Not a clue.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, playing coy.

“I want to make it official, Pom. Make sure the whole world knows who you belong to.”

My chest swells so big it hurts. Because he has no idea I already am his. He’s all mine.

He kisses me, soft and sure, then tucks our sleeping girl into my arms. “Maybe this will change your mind.”

And then he drops to one knee.

My throat closes, tears burning as I drink him in—his hair a dark, beautiful mess, stubble shadowing his jaw, every inch of him the perfect blend of both men I love.

“You are mine, Pom. No cages. No masks. Just us.”

He slips the ring onto my finger. Two rows of black diamonds, dark and dangerous, sweet as sin. So beautiful.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll get you any ring you want,” he says, voice rough with nerves. “But this… this was our story. It led me to you. To our new life. Our little girl.” His gaze flicks to our daughter, the tiniest piece of forever.

The dam inside me shatters. My vision blurs, chest burning with everything I never believed I could have.

Because for once, there’s no trap. No fight. No beast to outrun.

Why would I outrun him?

He’s loved me the way no one else ever could—taking every scar, every flaw, and lifting them so high they burn like stars against the darkest night.

I’m done running.

Now, I’m flying—out of the darkness, into the light.

Straight into the arms of the only man I will ever love.