Page 68 of The Wages of Sin

He had to be. There was no other plausible explanation. They had to be pulling my leg.

But the humorless expression on the other twin’s face said otherwise. “No one jokes when it comes to Dorian,” Matteo said. “I’m surprised you haven’t realized that yet.”

Maybe they didn’t, but it was still hard to take their question seriously.

“Well, since I’m not a 19th-century suitor, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any intentions,” I answered.

Neither brother cracked a smile. If anything, my flippant answer caused a glint of steel to flash in both of their eyes, and I was instantly reminded why it wasn’t a good idea to mess with gangsters.

“So Dorian is just some fling to you?” The note of forced casualness in Gabriel’s voice made me instantly uneasy.

I shook my head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then I suggest saying what you mean,” he warned, a threatening edge sharpening his tone.

That was probably good advice. The only trouble was I had no idea what my intentions with Dorian were.

Sure, I knew how I felt about him—especially when his hands were playing my body like a philharmonic orchestra. I instinctually understood how safe his presence made me feel, and there was no way I could deny how right it felt to lay in his arms.

But something feeling right and actually being right were two different things.

Not that I wanted to have a conversation about the moral implications of those two differing concepts with two high-profile criminals.

“I’m sorry,” I said as tactfully as possible. “I don’t think my love life is any of your business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Gabriel said menacingly. Somewhere along the way, he’d picked up his glass and was now slowly rolling it back and forth between his open palms.

“I think the point my twin is trying to make is that we would really hate to see Dorian get hurt.” Even though the timbre of Matteo’s voice was less openly hostile, the undertone was every bit as threatening.

Even so, I wasn’t able to stop the laugh that bubbled out of me at the ridiculous notion.

“Wait—you’re worried I’m going to hurt your brother,” I scoffed. “The mob hitman? The deadly assassin? A man who, just days ago, murdered one of your peers with strychnine, then stuck around to watch him suffer and die.”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but the brothers didn’t so much as blink.

“That’s right,” Matteo answered matter-of-factly.

“What could I possibly do to him?”

“Break his heart,” Gabriel answered without hesitation.

Oh.

Here, I’d been expecting worries about me trying to shoot him in his sleep or rat him out to the police. You know…mob stuff.

Somehow, the last thing I’d been expecting was sincere brotherly concern for Dorian’s emotional welfare…concern that went a long way toward humanizing the pair of very dangerous men sitting in front of me.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me sleeping around or ghosting him,” I tried to reassure them. “Not only is it not my style, but now I’m terrified that Dorian would slit my throat.”

“If that’s what you’re afraid of, then you don’t know a damn thing about our brother.” Gabriel slowly leaned back on his dark velvet sofa with a groan. His expression made it clear he was disappointed by my answer, but at least he didn’t look like he wanted to kill me anymore.

Still, I couldn’t help my curiosity.

“What don’t I know?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, making it clear he didn’t think my question (or even my existence) was worthy of his attention.

But fortunately, Matteo didn’t mind talking. “Dorian’s always had a hard time connecting with people. Women especially.”

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