Page 53 of The Wages of Sin

“You’re not a whore, Kiera,” he said. “I bought you these clothes because you deserve beautiful things, not because I’m trying to buy your affection.”

And staring straight into the sincerity of those sapphire blue eyes, I couldn’t help but believe him.

“I’m sorry,” I rushed to say as shame washed over me. “It’s just after all the horrible things Carlo said, I was afraid all mob guys were the same.”

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can promise you I’m nothing like that bastard.” His voice was as hard and unwavering as his diamond-hard stare.

“Deep down, I know that,” I confessed. “It’s just that I’m scared. Every moment of every day, I’m just so afraid.”

“Of Carlo?”

Of everything—Carlo, Hollis, the mob, the FBI. The list went on and on.

But sharing that felt like far too much to burden him with, so instead, I simply nodded.

In a heartbeat, Dorian’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. He stroked his hand down the back of my head, smoothing my sleep-tousled hair.

“Sweetheart,” he purred against my ear. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Not of anyone. No one will ever hurt you again—especially not Carlo. He’ll never touch you again.”

“How can you know that?”

“Don’t ask,” he whispered. “Just trust me.”

And heaven help me, I did.

Chapter Nineteen

KIERA

It took me three days to get up the courage to try on all the clothes Dorian had bought.

Part of the trouble was that I’d never been all that into fashion. It simply wasn’t something that I thought about.

Back in the ER, I’d spent my days covered in plain cotton scrubs. And it wasn’t as if I’d been any more fashionable back in med school. With every penny going to tuition, books, or housing, I’d never cared that my wardrobe came from the clearance racks of big box stores.

It was intimidating for a jeans and T-shirt girl like me to be surrounded by labels like Prada and Valentino, so I started slowly.

That first day, I only dared to try on a handful of outfits—simple ones, like the button-up white poplin shirt and a black A-line skirt.

By the second day, my bravery had grown, and I slipped into some of the more daring pieces—first an unbelievably sleek red dress, then a black mini-skirt set.

By Friday, when I checked my fit in the mirror, I didn’t just feel confident; I felt good.

The bruises from Carlo’s attack had finally faded away, and I looked like myself again.

My real self.

After just a few days of living with Dorian, I was back to being Kiera again.

Some changes, like the new clothes, were purely cosmetic. Not having to work all day, every day meant I could wear my hair down instead of pulled back into the severe ponytail that I’d had for the past year and a half.

But other changes were more profound.

Without the constant worry of being recognized by the cops, I kept my head up. I smiled more. I laughed. I sang.

But surprisingly, what I enjoyed most of all were the quiet moments curled up next to Dorian. Simply feeling his strong, quiet presence beside me brought a sense of peace and security I never dared to hope for.

Those three days were like a dream.

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