Page 91 of SINS & Temptation

“Relax, Enzo. I’m not fucking your wife. I handed her the key, dropped her off, and left.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” The gun is at his head before he can say a word, and I don’t give a damn who’s watching. Not that anyone is. The place is empty, and Helena is probably snoring behind the counter.

He shakes his head and moves the gun aside. “It’s the truth.”

The fuck it is. God, my finger itches so badly, ready to shoot him, but I can’t do it. The rage I feel in the moment is swept away under a tsunami of regret. Because what does it matter?

I’m at war with my uncle, and I’ll probably be dead in a few days anyway. If my wife is choosing Knox over me, I won’t stomp out her happiness like a petulant, sleep-deprived toddler.

Kennedy deserves love.

And, with any luck, I’ll die swiftly taking down my uncle rather than dying slowly and pathetically of heartbreak.

“Now,” Knox clears his throat anxiously, “my mark will be here any minute. Are you leaving, or what?”

With a resigned sigh, I pocket my gun and pray that the pie gives him the worst diarrhea of his life. “I am.”

I head out and send a quick text to Striker.

Me

Where’s my uncle now?

Striker

Monaco.

Me

Have the jet ready in 20.

Striker

Yes, sir.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

KENNEDY

I push open the heavy door to Dante’s club. Dim lights cast fleeting shadows over the opulent leather booths and the glistening marble bar. It’s nearly empty, a stark contrast to the last time I was here when the place buzzed, body to body, pulsing with music.

“Kennedy?” Dante emerges from a hallway, his surprise evident as he kisses me on the cheek. “I didn’t expect to see you. Enzo isn’t here. He’s”—he considers his words carefully—“a little fucked up.”

“He is?”

“Just, after your little couple’s therapy session went south, he decided to go after our uncle. Something about photographs. He’s trying not to involve us, but I’m pretty sure he’s about to get himself killed.” His eyes meet mine. He winces. “Too soon?”

I smirk. “A little.” A flutter of nerves kicks up in my chest. Stop stalling, Kennedy. Just ask. “I, um, have this flash drive, but I don’t own a computer, and I can’t risk anyone else seeing what’s on it. At least, not until I do. Do you think you can help me?”

He rubs the back of his neck, suspicion etched around a twisted grin. “You don’t own a computer? Then why do you have a flash drive?”

“It’s not mine,” I reply, sheepishly.

His eyes light up with intrigue. “Is it porn?”

Awkwardly, I shrug. “Honestly, I’m not sure. It belongs to Knox.” God help me, what if it is?

“Ooh,” He rubs his scruff, mischief burning behind his bright eyes. “Hacking into FBI property feels like a felony,” he says, chuckling as if it’s the best idea ever.

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