Page 24 of SINS & Lies

Dillon leans into him. “Maybe he has a concussion.”

Smoke angles his gaze, piercing his crystal-blue eyes at my head as he assesses me. Considering he’s got more medical knowledge than anyone would ever suspect, when his brow pinches to a knot, for a moment, a flicker of concern crosses my mind.

Then, with a hint of amusement, he clears his throat. “I’m pretty sure it’s nothing. Just his head shoved up his ass,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

I smirk back, ignoring his comment because the jerk is about to pay. Fifty grand should be more than enough to wipe that smug D’Angelo grin off his face.

I push my stack of chips to the center of the table. “Call.”

“Damn it,” Smoke grumbles, flicking his cards down with a frustrated sigh. I gather my chips, feeling a rush of triumph.

But the satisfaction of winning is short-lived as Smoke takes a leisurely sip of his scotch, pointing a glass in my direction. “You gonna talk, or do we have to pound it out of you?”

All eyes are on me as Dillon crosses his arms, Mateo pounds his fist, and Dante reaches for a baseball bat. Seriously?

And, as usual, Sin simply stands by and watches, likely recording the whole thing for hours of endless amusement. And to make Trinity laugh.

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t give us that shit,” Smoke says, refilling my glass. “You’re hurt. So, we’re here. Something we agreed never to do unless it was urgent. And”—he holds up his glass—“we’re all drinking scotch, which we hate, for you, prick. Now talk.”

I drink, hoping glass number three will quell the dull ache suddenly attacking my head. Then, I talk. “Unless I become Uncle Andre’s puppet, he’ll petition the court to declare our father dead.”

Smoke’s words come out tense. Strained. “Tell me he can’t do it, Sin.”

Sin removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, determined to rein in the frustration bleeding from every line of his face. “The laws of Illinois say anyone can petition the court. But without evidence or a body—” He cuts himself off.

Our father is alive. He has to be.

Dillon’s fury explodes as his fist slams into the pile of chips, sending them flying across the room. “It’s bad enough that our father’s missing. But if he’s declared dead—without a body—we’ll lose every ally we have.”

“We own half of Chicago,” Smoke argues. “And our international footprint covers most of the globe. They can’t just pick us off, one by one.”

“You mean unless we all become spineless, ball-less doormats,” Dante spits out, swinging the bat through the air with a sharp whoosh. “Like Enzo.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about since I’m pretty sure you’ve been ball-less since birth.” I press the cool crystal glass to my head, praying it quells the throbbing.

Sin’s patience wears thin. “Yes. That’s it. Laugh it up as Andre imagines the next dozen ways he’ll demolish this family.” His stern gaze falls on me. “None of this explains the condition of your face. With Andre’s manicure, I doubt he did that.”

I hate what I’m about to say. Mostly because they’ll never let me live it down. “It was Rocco.”

Dillon’s hand flies up. “Hang on. Rocco? The man is slow as dirt. Not to mention you shot him in the hand.” Dillon sniffs the air around me. “Someone smells like a big, fat liar. Which means it’s about a woman.”

Mateo shakes his head. “I distinctly remember Enzo saying we weren’t going to war over a girl, and yet, look at him. The battered face of war.”

I clench my jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “It’s a complication I’m dealing with,” I insist, my voice edged with stay out of my fucking business. “I just need a week.”

“This girl has an expiration date, does she?” Smoke asks, unconvinced.

“Something like that.” When all eyes fix on me, I add, “I’m taking care of it.” My features harden enough that this is the point in the conversation they know not to pry further.

Well, everyone knows that but Dillon because he lives to poke the bear. He pats me on the shoulder. “Gonna fuck her and forget her?” He nods in agreement. “That’s what I would do.”

I glare up at him. “Considering you’d only be pounding two inches of man meat into her, I’m sure it would be easy for both of you to forget.”

Smoke raises a brow, suddenly suspicious. “Tell me you’re not leaving town.”

Leaving town...hmm. Maybe that’s exactly what I need. A little breathing space.

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