Page 17 of Sweetest Sin (Tempting Love #1)

Dominick

“Dominick, be reasonable,” Carlos Santiago, my father’s former business associate, says, hitting me with a glare that would scare other people. “Your father?—”

“Is dead,” I say for what feels like the millionth time in the last several weeks.

When my father died, I knew I’d have to clean up a few messes, but what I didn’t know was just how shady Andrey Antonov was.

When he allowed me to run Antonov Enterprises, I assumed he’d handed me all the reins, but the truth is, he only handed over the ones that made him look good—the property development company, import and export of legal goods, the hotels.

What I didn’t see was the shit he did behind my back, like the deal he had with Carlos.

And I say it in the past tense because it’s over whether he likes it or not.

“I don’t give a shit how much money you’re offering,” I tell him, leaning forward in my seat and locking eyes with him. “If it has a heartbeat, it’s not coming in or out of my port.”

How my father was able to juggle all the deals he made right under our noses will forever be a mystery.

And if I wasn’t so pissed at him and he wasn’t six feet under, I’d pat him on the back because he was smarter than I gave him credit for.

I didn’t know why he had thrown a fit when I insisted Matteo take over the port last year, but now, I know.

Matteo running the port made it harder for our father to go behind our backs.

“Your father took you under his wing,” Carlos says slowly, “so he must’ve taught you about the importance of making friends instead of enemies.”

“I never was one to get along with the other kids in school.” I shrug, and Matteo snorts out a laugh, reminding Mr. Santiago of his presence.

Carlos sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His intention is clear. I know I should let Matteo handle it, but the pent-up aggression simmering in my veins bubbles over, and before Carlos is all the way to his feet, I’ve rounded my desk, and I have my fingers wrapped around his throat.

I shove him back until he’s against the wall, and his eyes widen with fear.

“My father might’ve forgotten to teach me about making friends,” I spit.

“But there’s one lesson he instilled in me at a young age.

” I tighten my hold against his windpipe, and he struggles to breathe.

“If someone is bold enough to threaten you, they’re willing to act on it.

And if you knew my father the way you say you did, then you know what he did to anyone who threatened him. ”

“I-I …”

I apply pressure to his windpipe—knowing from experience that if I squeeze a little more, I’ll crush it, and it will be game over—while warring with myself. I can kill him and make an example out of him, or I can let him live and risk him making good on his threat.

My conversation with Peyton comes to the forefront of my mind—something that’s been happening since I left her in the hotel room, in shock from my father’s death and not thinking clearly.

“I’m terrified of failing.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Probably. But in my world … failure isn’t an option.”

“I’m not sure I like your world.”

Over the past several weeks, I’ve considered going in search of her, but it’s moments like this—when I’m about to kill a man because he wants to harm me and my family—that remind me why I can’t be with her.

She’s sunshine and waterfalls, laughter and happiness. And pulling her into my fold would only snuff out her light.

I watch as the life in Carlos’s eyes dims, and then I wait a few more seconds, just to ensure he’s dead. Then, using the hand not holding him up, I lower his lids and then let go, so he slumps to the ground.

This is my world.

Darkness.

Decay.

Death.

And Peyton doesn’t belong anywhere near it.

“He’s dead,” Matteo says. “I’ll call the cleaners. Why don’t you take off? Go blow off some steam?”

I look at him and scoff.

He’s one to talk.

“It wouldn’t kill you to get laid.” He shrugs.

My brother thinks the answers to life’s problems can be found in between a woman’s legs. I, on the other hand, find that women only complicate shit.

Except …

No.

I mentally shake the thought off.

“I don’t need to get laid.”

“Really? When was the last time you were with a woman?” He quirks a knowing brow. “It’s been over a month since your little rendezvous with … what’s her name?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I refuse to speak her name, not wanting the filth from my life to ever touch her, even metaphorically. “It was a onetime thing.”

“Well, maybe you should make it a two-time thing.”

“It’s not happening, so drop it.”

“I’m just saying, maybe?—”

“I left her. When you called to tell me about Andrey’s death, I left her in the fucking hotel room without even a note.”

Matteo chuckles. “Well, maybe that’s the problem. You guys have unfinished business. You know where she works. Go to her. Apologize. See where shit goes. You seemed really into her, and now that you don’t have the arranged-marriage bullshit hanging over your head …” He shrugs.

“What are you, Cupid? You don’t even believe in relationships.”

“Whoa,” he says, holding his hand up. “One”—he puts four fingers down, leaving only his index finger up—“I didn’t say anything about a relationship.

” He laughs. “I just meant maybe you guys could have a repeat of whatever you had in the Dominican Republic. And two”—he lifts his middle finger—“I have nothing against relationships.”

“So, you’re telling me if you met a woman and liked her, you’d consider being in a relationship with her?”

“Now, you’re just talking crazy.” He grins. “I said I have nothing against them, not that I’d ever want to experience one. And not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“What reason am I thinking?”

“Pussy.” He rolls his eyes. “You think I couldn’t handle being with only one pussy for the rest of my life. But that’s not true. Pussy is pussy. Once you’ve had one, they’re all the same.”

I think back to the way Peyton’s cunt felt while wrapped around my cock, and I disagree. Maybe pussy is pussy … until you’ve been with someone who means more.

“You’re thinking about that woman’s pussy, aren’t you?” Matteo laughs.

“Don’t fucking worry about what I’m thinking about.” I glare his way, and it only has him laughing harder.

“So, if it’s not pussy,” I say, getting back to the point of this conversation, “what’s your reason for not wanting to be in a relationship?”

“The same as yours,” he says simply, sobering up.

“I watched what Mom went through … what Brielle went through. And I wouldn’t want someone I cared about to be within a hundred miles of this life.

We might have to be a part of this world, but that doesn’t mean I would bring someone else into it.

And add in the fact that I’m not exactly husband material.

” He laughs humorlessly. “What kind of life could I even give a woman?”

Well, shit. I guess I got him all wrong.

“Matteo …” I start.

My brother might be rough around the edges, but I know how far he’ll go to protect the people he loves. I have no doubt, if he had a woman he cared about, he’d stop at nothing to make sure she was safe and protected.

“Besides,” he says with a smirk, not letting me finish my thought, “relationships come with expectations. Sex would turn into dates and trips and jewelry.” He mock shivers. “One night, no expectations—besides the promise of multiple orgasms—that’s what’s best for me and my bank account.”

“You say this like you’re not worth fucking millions.”

“And I plan to stay that way.”

He’s deflecting, avoiding the heavy conversation, and I let him because now isn’t the time or place to have a heart-to-heart.

“You got this?” I say, nodding toward the dead body.

“You already know I do.”

Since I drove into the office today, I head down to the private garage and unlock my Aston Martin. It’s not often I drive myself, but I knew I’d be meeting with Carlos this evening, and I wasn’t sure how it would go, so I sent Janet home early and told Fernando he had the day off.

I slide into the leather seat and push Start. I had the car customized, so it has B6-level armor, making it completely bulletproof.

I pull out of the garage, but instead of going left, which would take me in the direction of home, I go right, refusing to think about why. Until I get to the airport and park in short-term parking.

I’m just going to apologize , I tell myself.

The way I left things was fucked up. Maybe Matteo’s right, and Peyton and I have unfinished business. Once I explain, she’ll forgive me, and then we’ll go our separate ways. Hell, she might not even be here. This isn’t even where she’s based out of.

Since I can’t get into the terminal without having a ticket, I book one that’s leaving in a few hours and then go through security.

When I get to the right terminal, I go in search of her. It’s been weeks, so she might even be on a different route, but I won’t know unless I try.

“Excuse me,” I say to the woman standing at the counter. “I was wondering if you know where I can find Peyton. She works for this airline. Red hair, green eyes. We’re friends, and I’m hoping to get in touch with her.”

She looks at me in confusion, but her coworker next to her says, “I know her.”

I recognize her from the flight to the DR.

“I’m Ericka.” She extends her hand. “Peyton and I used to be on the same crew.”

Shit. “Used to be?”

“She quit. A couple of weeks ago. Something about her mom being sick and her needing to stay close to home.” She frowns sympathetically. “Sorry.”

“Any chance you have her number?”

“I do.”

“You’re just going to give it to him?” the other woman says.

“I know who he is.” Then, to me, she says, “Peyton spent that night with you in the Dominican Republic, and then you left her without a word.”

Fuck.

“It’s not like that,” I say. “It’s actually why I was hoping to get her number. I wanted to explain.”

“Tell you what …”

“Dominick.”

“Dominick,” Ericka says with a smile. “You give me your number, and I’ll pass it along. If she wants to talk to you, she’ll call.”

The woman next to her grins smugly, and I internally roll my eyes.

“Fine.” I sigh.

I rattle off my number, and she types it into her phone, then hits Send.

Almost instantly, her phone dings with a text.

“What did she say?”

“She wants to know if I’m with you.” She types something back, and a few seconds later, it goes off again.

“Sorry,” she says. “She said not to give you her number and asked that you please leave her alone.”

Fuckin’ A. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

“I know she’s probably pissed about how things ended, but if you can call her so I can talk to her, I can explain what happened.”

Ericka sighs. “Fine.”

She hits Call, and the phone rings several times before Peyton’s voice comes through the speaker.

“Ericka!” Peyton hisses. “Please tell me you didn’t give him my number.”

“She didn’t,” I say, plucking the phone out of Ericka’s hand and taking it off speaker.

“Dominick,” Peyton breathes, and with my name on her lips, somehow, all the stress from the past several weeks evaporates.

“I need to talk to you,” I tell her. “I need to explain.”

“No, you don’t,” she says, her tone devoid of all emotion. “There’s nothing to say. I need you to leave me alone.”

“I know I fucked up, but?—”

“I’ve moved on.”

“If you could just—” Wait, what the fuck did she just say? “What?” I ask because there’s no way I heard her right.

“I’ve moved on,” she repeats. “I met someone else, and I need you to please leave me alone.”

Well, fuck …

“Okay,” I tell her since there’s nothing else to say. “But?—”

I pull the phone from my ear, and the display is showing.

She hung up on me.

“Sorry,” Ericka says, reaching over and taking her phone from my hand. “I tried.”

The entire way back to my car, I replay Peyton’s words.

She’s moved on.

She met someone else.

She needs me to leave her alone.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, answering it without checking who it is.

“It’s done,” Matteo says, getting straight to the point.

“Thanks.”

“But there was a little problem. Apparently, there was some miscommunication with the building security, and a woman made it up the elevator and onto the floor where your office is located. I don’t know who she was looking for, but after a few minutes, when Janet didn’t appear, she left.”

“Is it possible she heard anything?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Find out who she was and make sure she doesn’t know anything.”

“And if she does?”

“Then, we’ll take it from there. Let’s hope she doesn’t. I’m on my way home from the airport now, so if you need anything, let me know.”

“That was a quick trip.”

“She’s moved on.”

Matteo is silent for several seconds before he says, “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Yeah,” I agree, even though it feels like it really fucking isn’t.

“I was thinking about hitting up Kings Point tonight. You down?”

Kings Point is a club downtown. Because cell phones aren’t allowed inside—a rule that doesn’t apply to us since we own the club—it’s where the elite go to drink, party, and oftentimes fuck, knowing anything that goes on there stays within those walls.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s time to move on.”

The same way she did.