Page 55 of The Wages of Sin

“Kiera.” He reached out and took my hand, stilling me instantly. “I don’t want to go.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t want you to be miserable.”

“I could never be miserable while I’m with you.” He sounded like he meant it. “You’re the only person I can imagine coming here with.”

My cheeks started to heat up, so I covered my blush by dipping my face down to grab some prosciutto. “Tell me about your dad.”

“Which one?”

“Both, I guess,” I answered before popping the thin slice of ham in my mouth along with a shard of pecorino.

Dorian picked up his glass, his gaze focusing on the wine as he softly swirled it.

“My biological father was a street soldier for the D’Angelo family,” he said. “I don’t know how he first got involved. He knew better than to talk about it, not even to my mother and me. Growing up, all I knew was that, while he always wore a suit, he didn’t work in an office.”

“How did he die?” I asked.

“The way most made men do,” he said. “He was shot.”

“Oh God, Dorian.” I reached out and cupped my hand over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

He tilted his head down, resting his cheek against the back of my hand. It was a small gesture but a surprisingly intimate one.

“Twenty years ago, there was a war between the Costa and the D’Angelo families,” he said. “They put a hit out on Gabriel and Matteo’s father, Giuseppe. My father was there the night the Costas showed up to take him out. He managed to push Giuseppe out of the way but ended up taking the bullets meant for his boss.”

My mouth fell open, but no words came out. I had no idea what to say to a story like that. Nothing could make it better.

So, instead, I simply moved across the blanket to be closer to him.

“And that’s how Giuseppe became my second father,” he said.

Finally relaxing, he laid down on the blanket, resting his head on my lap. I didn’t think twice before brushing my fingers through his hair. It was a surprisingly sweet moment and one at odds with the terribly dark tone of the story he told.

“I don’t understand how that follows,” I admitted.

“When Giuseppe discovered that the man who saved his life had left behind an orphan, he knew the only right thing to do was to bring me into his family. So he legally adopted me.”

“But you didn’t take his family name?”

“It didn’t seem right,” Dorian said. “And Giuseppe agreed. He didn’t want to erase my past but help me build my future. He understood that keeping my father’s name was an easy way for me to honor him and keep his memory alive.”

“That’s sweet,” I said, my fingers still twirling and playing in his short hair.

“And Giuseppe’s way to honor my father was to have his soldiers kidnap the bastard who killed him. Then he cut off the man’s ears and nose and left him choking on his own blood for hours before finally slitting his throat.”

My hand stilled.

Yeah, that was significantly less sweet.

But not surprising. After all, it wasn’t as if Giuseppe D’Angelo had become a world-famous gangster by rescuing kitties.

Not wanting to kill the lovely mood of the picnic, I quickly refilled my wine glass and tried to shift the conversation toward something more pleasant.

“And how did Gabriel and Matteo take getting a new brother?”

“Surprisingly well,” he said. “Their uncle Sal, on the other hand, was another story.”

“He didn’t like you?”

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