Page 99 of SINS & Temptation

My Belgian friend silently folds and pats me on the shoulder. He’s bowing out because he’s smart enough to know better than to tiptoe across a D’Angelo family squabble—and the line of fire of an all-out war.

Losing patience by the breath, I snap. “I’m not sliding my neck into the guillotine to try it on for size. Name your price now for every last photo, or fold.”

His fat fingers snap for an attendant, who places a pad of paper and pen in his hand. My uncle scrawls his demand on the sheet of paper, folds it up, and sets it on the pile.

As soon as I reach for it, his hand slams hard against mine. “I wrote it down. My price. We play out the hand before you look.” He leans in, taunting me with his tone. “It’s called gambling for a reason.”

The thing is, people think I’m reckless. But I’m calculated. Every step. Every angle. Strategic moves executed with patience and precision.

But with my wife here, I’m distracted. I can never concentrate when every curve of her is blocking my view of the chessboard Uncle Andre has laid at my feet.

I tap an annoyed finger on the table and scan the room.

My brothers want peace.

My uncle wants me under his thumb.

And my wife? Well, she wants me dead.

But first things first. I want something, too. And I want it so badly that I’m willing to trade anything for it. My sanity. My soul. My life.

“Enzo,” she cajoles softly. But I can’t hear her.

All I hear is the sound of blood raging in my ears.

I focus all my attention on Uncle Andre. You want me, motherfucker? Then let’s do this. In a rush of adrenaline, I go with my gut. I flip over all my cards and slam them down. “Call.”

He does the same, and my face falls as soon as I see his hand.

Fuck.

Chapter Forty-One

ENZO

Four.

Fuuuckkk.

Granted, in the grand scheme of things, he could’ve written anything down. Ten. Twenty. A hundred.

Note to self: when blinded by rage, don’t gamble on the number of men you’ll be fighting in a goddamn MMA match.

With a deep exhale, I pour another glass of Macallan 72, letting it slosh over the sides before tossing it back. It’s roughly the price of a Mercedes, but damn, it does wonders for taking the edge off.

A series of light knocks taps the door. “Go away!” I bark. When that’s followed by a thunderous round of loud ones, I get more direct. “Fuck. Off!”

Don’t they know I’m about to go balls-to-the-wall with four freakishly big men, and I don’t need to see them? What I need is to pass out and get my beauty rest.

And I definitely don’t want to see her.

It was bad enough that Bella left me, but for him? She’s been shacking up at Knox’s place all this time, and to add insult to injury, she didn’t even take Titan.

It’s a big, fat, fist-sized dildo slap in the face. So, back to my original statement.

I. Don’t. Want. To. See. Her.

I also don’t want her to see me die, so there’s that.

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