Page 76 of The Wages of Sin

“You’re kidding.” A hitman that didn’t use guns—that had to be a joke.

But he kept shaking his head. “Don’t believe me? Go ahead and scour this place from top to bottom. You won’t find a single firearm or round of ammunition because guns are for amateurs.”

“I’m guessing that’s an unpopular opinion for someone in the mafia,” I said, resting my empty glass on the table and pulling my legs up to get cozier on the couch.

“Maybe, but it’s the truth,” Dorian explained, rattling off a list of reasons. “Guns might be quick and easy, but they leave behind a shitload of evidence—bullets, casings, gunshot residue, blood splatter. They’re easily traceable. Even with a suppressor, they’re loud enough to alert witnesses. There’s a reason that prisons are filled with perps who used guns.”

“I’m not gonna lie. A week ago, this conversation would have freaked me out. But now?” I let out a yawn—not because I wasn’t interested but because exhaustion was finally catching up with me.

“You’re tired,” he said, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear as I rested my head against the back of the sofa. “You should go to bed.”

“Not before I figure out your tell,” I said.

“You sure about that?” He chuckled softly before rising up from his seat. “You might be out here all night.”

“That’s okay. It’s a comfy couch.” I reached over to where he’d draped his jacket over the back of the sofa and wrapped it around me like a blanket. I drew in a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of cedar and sandalwood that clung to the fabric, and breathed out a contented sigh. “See, nice and cozy.”

“It’s cozy in the bed, too.”

“I’ll only go if you come with me.”

He shook his head. “I have to check on something first.”

He walked over to one of the bookcases and pulled a large leather-bound notebook off the shelf.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A file I’ve kept on Giuseppe’s murder,” he said, walking it back to the couch before opening it up on the table. “I didn’t remember Russo when I talked to him on the phone yesterday. I was distracted by…well, you. But speaking with him face to face jogged my memory.”

My eyelids started to flutter as Dorian hunched over the book, scanning the pages of handwritten notes inside. I was quickly losing the battle to keep them open.

“Here it is,” he said with enough force to pop them right back open again. “Russo was at the house, working security, the night Giuseppe was killed.”

I was just awake enough to lift my head off the cushion. “Do you think he had something to do with the murder?”

“Maybe. Even if he wasn’t directly involved, he still might know who was. I won’t know for sure until I can have another talk with him,” he said. “If he’s watching the twins tonight, he should be at the house until morning. I’ll go first thing to make sure I catch him.”

Closing the book with a definitive thwap, Dorian stood up again. He left the book where it was and hooked his arms under my knees, lifting me up into his arms.

“Does this mean it’s bedtime?” I asked, already snuggling into his embrace and resting my head on his shoulder.

“It is,” he answered, carrying down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“But you never told me your tell.”

“That’s the thing,” he said with a grin. “I don’t have one.”

I let out a disappointed groan. “But you said everyone has one.”

“Yeah, but I’m not everyone.”

I didn’t need to check for any tells to know that was true.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dorian

Kiera was still asleep early the next morning when the locksmith came to change the keys to the front door. Fortunately, the work didn’t take long, and the apartment was back to being secure within an hour.

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