Page 95 of SINS & Temptation

Both girls squeal and bounce around excitedly as I say thank you. They hang up in a rush of blowing kisses, and once again, and my shoulders relax. Crisis averted.

For now.

We land, and the drive to the casino isn’t long. The grand façade of the hotel comes into view, adorned with intricate carvings and lush greenery framing the entrance.

Inside, crystal chandeliers dangle from soaring ceilings, and every detail, from the gilded moldings to the exquisite floral arrangements, screams opulence. In my jeans and T-shirt, I half-expect them to show me to the DoorDash pickup entrance.

The valet helps me out, and the men lead me to a private sitting area. “We’ll split up and track down Enzo,” Dante says.

Smoke nods. “I’ll see what information the concierge has,” he adds. “Be right back, Kennedy.”

I take a seat, feeling anxious and helpless. Then I see him. I’m staring so hard I nearly fall over.

Andre fucking D’Angelo.

The man whose fingerprints are all over my father’s death.

Two beautiful women are draped over him at a private table across the way. I should tell the guys, but my feet are already moving, driven by a force I can’t control.

Then, without warning, he’s on his feet, heading down a hall. I pick up speed, rounding the corner just in time to find myself outside in a garden, grabbed by two guards.

“Well, well, well,” Andre purrs. “If it isn’t the new Mrs. D’Angelo. Here to beg for mercy?” He chuckles.

His hand grips my chin, and the second it does, a voice booms from behind. “I suggest you remove your hand before it’s shot off.”

Gun drawn and eyes blazing, it’s Dante. Not the carefree Dante I’ve come to know. This man is a thousand times more lethal.

“You and what army?” Andre sneers.

Suddenly, Andre and his men are surrounded as Smoke, Mateo, and Dillon materialize from out of nowhere.

Andre pulls his weapon, too, and now everyone has a gun except me.

A calm-looking man in a fancy suit and thin mustache strolls over, and I’m debating whether to warn him to get away from this ticking time bomb of a standoff when he says, “Mr. D’Angelo?”

Everyone turns, confident as they all respond, “Yes?”

“Mr. Andre D’Angelo,” the man clarifies, his voice steady.

Andre steps back and nods. “What?”

“Good news, sir. The high roller table you requested just had an opening. You are free to join.” He holds up what looks like an engraved invitation. “Unless, of course, there’s an incident.” His gaze sweeps over the drawn guns, disapproval clear as if a headmaster is scolding unruly students. “Then we’ll have to ask you to leave the hotel.”

“What’s the buy-in?” Andre asks, his grip on the weapon unwavering.

“Normally, a hundred thousand, but the person who can’t make it forfeited his deposit,” the man replies smoothly.

The look on Andre’s face confirms what the guys suspected: gambling is one of his greatest weaknesses. He takes the invitation, and with a final glare, storms off.

The brothers lower their weapons, and shift their focus to me.

I brace for the inevitable lecture of what the hell were you thinking, but it never comes. All they ask is, “Are you okay?”

My heart swells. It’s been so long since I’ve royally fucked up, only to have all be forgiven. Like a band of big, burly brothers stepping in for Da.

I nod, still a bit shaky. “Come on,” Dante says. “We’ll take you to the room.”

After a shower and some food, I collapse onto the bed, staring at my phone. Enzo still hasn’t called or texted, but each of my new brothers has. Dante’s last message reads:

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