Page 49 of The Wages of Sin

“Here,” he said.

“What’s this?”

“Pants.”

My eyes narrowed. “Those aren’t mine.”

“They are now,” he said, dropping them down on the bed in front of me.

I pulled them up to check the label. Until that moment, I didn’t even know Gucci made jeans.

I shook my head. “I can’t wear these.”

“Of course you can. They’re your size.”

That wasn’t the point. “They also cost more than I make in a month.”

He smiled—actually smiled.

“You don’t have to pay me back, Kiera. That’s how gifts work,” he said. “Besides, you need to wear something if you want to meet my brothers.”

There was no denying that.

“Okay.” I relented and pulled them on. “But we’re not done talking about this.”

“If you say so,” he said, holding the door open for me as I zipped up the pants…and damn, if they didn’t fit like they’d been custom-made for me.

Raking my fingers through my hair, I pasted on a smile as I walked down the hall, readying myself to meet Dorian’s family.

When I rounded the corner, I was surprised to see two of the same person looking back at me.

When Dorian had said his adopted brothers were twins, I’d assumed they were fraternal, not identical.

But even though the two men shared the same features—black hair, dark eyes, perfectly chilled jawlines dusted with a few day’s growth of beard—the way they held themselves was completely different.

One was loose and the other rigid, but both shared Dorian’s intimidating presence.

“This is my brother, Gabriel D’Angelo.” Dorian gestured to the twin lounging in the leather chair, his arms dangling over the sides.

D’Angelo? That was the name of Dorian’s adoptive family? Why did it sound vaguely familiar?

“Hello.” Gabriel’s greeting was standard enough, but something in his intense, probing stare made me uneasy.

I flashed him a tight smile, careful to stay close to Dorian’s side.

Then, turning to the second twin, who was standing against the wall with his arms crossed, Dorian said, “And this is Matteo.”

Matteo swept his critical gaze from the top of my head down to my toes, openly examining me. Whatever conclusions he came to, though, his guarded expression gave nothing away.

“Pleasure to meet you, Kiera,” he said.

The sound of my name—my real name—coming out of a stranger’s mouth made my stomach drop. I turned to Dorian, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Why does he know my name?” I asked in a panicked whisper.

“It’s okay,” he tried to assure me. “These are my brothers. I trust them with my life. More importantly, I trust them with yours.”

I shot him a pointed look. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s not me I’m worried about?”

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