Page 89 of SINS & Temptation

“A hint?” He considers it, his steps slowing to a stop. He glances at me, then down at the truffles underfoot. Truffles sneezes at him.

Then, as if by some divine intervention, a glimmer sparks in his dark brown eyes. His smile broadens so wide that I finally get why priest romance is a thing.

“Well, you’re staying with a friend, right?”

“Right.” I’m not sure where this is going.

“Sometimes the answers we seek are right in front of our face.”

“Knox?”

He lowers his voice, leaning in. “More like his desk.” He winks and walks ahead, smiling like the cat who swallowed three canaries.

I rush to catch up, bewildered. “Hang on. I never mentioned the friend I’m staying with was Knox.”

A knowing smile plays on his lips. “It’s like you said, Kennedy. I take confessions from everyone. And yes, business is indeed booming.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

ENZO

Two steps into the diner, and I instantly regret it. This place makes me want to bathe in disinfectant and gargle with straight bleach.

I slide into the booth opposite the man I’ve been hunting for, and for a long, tense beat, we just sit there.

“Can I get you something to eat?” the waitress asks, her voice grating against the dive bar’s bad lighting and crusty food.

Frankly, I don’t need to be here. I have a million things to do. Kill my uncle. Destroy his empire. Find a world-class therapist for the kids. Perfect my Snape voice because Lili is completely unconvinced and thinks I sound like a princess. And protect what’s mine. My wife. Bella. Even if she is pissing me off right now.

But to do that, I have to deal with this piece of shit.

So here I am, at midnight, taking care of business by committing a Class 3 felony—holding a gun to a Fed.

“Nothing for me,” I reply, gripping the gun under the table. Yeah, seriously, not even water from this rat infested hellhole.

“Coffee,” Knox says, casually slinging an arm over the back of his bench seat. “And what kind of pie do you have?”

Roach-filled is my guess.

“Cream,” she offers, nodding as if she admires his bravery.

“What kind of cream?”

She and her baby blue, food-stained outfit shrug, uncertain. “Vanilla?”

“Just what I was in the mood for,” he replies with way too much enthusiasm.

“Sounds about right,” I scoff.

He narrows his eyes and reads her tag. “Just coffee and pie, Helene.”

“It’s Helena,” she corrects, and I reexamine her name. Ah, I see the issue. There’s a small crust of something—possibly a booger—that makes it look like an ‘e.’

She moseys off, diligently scribbling because coffee and pie are apparently kicking her ass to remember.

Okay, fine, Booger Girl didn’t do anything to me. I’m in a bad mood because Knox offered to rescue my wife. And she accepted. As if I wasn’t right there—half-naked and dripping wet, protecting her with my life.

God, why am I not just shooting him in the balls already?

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