Page 41 of The Wages of Sin

DORIAN

We made love four times that day—once in the shower, once on the bed, once in the living room. Somewhere around the end of the day, we attempted to take a break to eat, but halfway through making the meal, we ended up fucking right there on the kitchen counter.

I couldn’t help myself.

Every time I looked at Kiera, I wanted to touch her. And every time I touched her, I needed to be inside her.

I’d never felt this way about a woman before.

The idea that I could have lost her, that a piece of shit like Carlo Costa could have taken her away from me, chilled me to the bone.

All day, the only way to stop that horrible aching feeling was to pull her close and feel the softness of her body against mine. The sound of her moans as she surrendered to pleasure reminded me of the vow I’d made.

I would always protect what was mine.

And Kiera was mine.

After this day of constant lovemaking, there was no way she could deny it—especially after she fell asleep, utterly exhausted, in my arms after the last round.

I carried her to my bed, hoping to slip in beside her and cradle her against me as we slept, but the moment I laid her down, my phone gently buzzed on top of the nightstand. After tucking the covers around her, I picked it up. There was a text from Gabriel.

Carlo walked into La Sera five minutes ago

My jaw tightened. Sleep would have to wait. I had work to do.

I walked into the closet and slipped on a set of black clothes and leather gloves before pulling down the large metal lockbox that held my collection of tools from the top shelf.

Swinging open the top, I looked over my options.

The thin wire garrote was tempting but too obvious. I could go with a classic—a couple of slashed wrists from a straight razor to make it look like suicide—but that would put Carlo out of his misery too fast.

After what he did to Kiera, I wanted the bastard to suffer for a good long while.

Fortunately, I had something custom-made to do just that.

A slight smile tugged at my lips as I picked up the glass vial and syringe and slipped them into my jacket pocket. Perfect.

I couldn’t resist pressing a gentle kiss against Kiera’s cheek before leaving. She made a content, sleepy sound before nestling her head deeper into the pillow, but her eyes stayed closed.

I was careful not to make a sound as I left the apartment.

I knew the place Gabriel had texted. Our brother, Matteo, was a fan of La Sera, a high-end strip club known for catering to the wealthier members of New York’s underworld. It wasn’t far from my apartment.

Instead of pulling up in front of the valet and announcing my arrival to the world the way Carlo, no doubt, had done, I quietly pulled into the back alley.

The delivery door was locked—nothing a few minutes and my lock pick set couldn’t fix. Before long, I was walking through the club’s back hallways.

The staff, used to seeing well-dressed men used to coming and going as they pleased, didn’t spare me a second glance, and I made it all the way to the walkways between the private rooms before any spoke a word to me.

“Oh, wow. Dorian Marchetti.”

I turned to see a familiar face. With flowing blonde hair and body sculpted as perfectly as any Greek statue, Helena was one of Matteo’s favorite dancers in the club.

Like all the other girls who worked the floor at La Sera, Helena was expected to do more than dance for the patrons. She also had to play the role of “personal hostess” to clients in the private back rooms—a designation that barely kept the club owners on the right side of New York’s vice laws.

Though dressed in her current black lace lingerie set, there was little doubt what line of work she was truly involved in.

“I didn’t see you come in,” she said.

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