Page 103 of Sinful Sacrifice

“Do it for you. I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

“My mom and Lanie—they’re all I have,” I cry out. “My dad left. Her family disowned her. We’re all alone, and now, I’m turning my back on them. Hurting them.”

A slight wince crosses his face at what I said. “That’s where you’re wrong, baby. You also have me.” Another brush of his knuckle. “Amara, Antonio, Emilio, Julian, all the dancers who will come in here. You’ll change their lives and give them the same dream as you—to dance. Good things will come from this.”

“They’re your family.” I sniffle and use my arm to wipe away the snot under my nose. It’s gross, but Damien doesn’t even cringe at it.

“If they didn’t care for you, they’d refuse to be around you. Emilio wouldn’t have texted me, worried, telling me to get here to you. They might not show emotion, but they care. I care.”

“My mom?—”

He presses a finger to my lips. “She’ll be hurt at first, but eventually, she’ll realize you did what’s best for you. When Cernach screws her over, you’ll have this for her to fall back on.” His hand runs over my face once more before lowering to my trembling hand. “Come on. Let’s see your dance. Break your new studio in, baby.”

My breathing hitches when he rises to his knees, unzips the bag, and then helps me lace up my pointe shoes. I timidly smile at him while he helps me to my feet, doing the same. He makes sure I’m stable before setting me free.

Crossing his arms, he gives me a head nod and rests his back against the wall, waiting.

I inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

A grin breaks out across his face as I start to dance.

I shut my eyes, swaying into my own world.

A world of peace and passion and love.

A world I wish I could stay in forever.

35

Vincent called me into his office.

A phone call from a don out of nowhere can go one of two ways—a promotion or a death sentence. Even if you think you haven’t done anything against code, it’s still alarming. Bosses can become paranoid. Vincent could have even just a twinge of distrust regarding your loyalty and decide you no longer deserved to breathe.

While my family’s loyalty to them has never been questioned, in this life, there’s always that chance.

When I knock on the door, he yells for me to enter. He sits behind his desk, smoke swirling from a lit cigar in an ashtray, and motions for me to shut the door.

Vincent’s office resembles all the other geriatric Lombardi offices. They’re always packed with memorabilia and photos covering the walls.

My gaze slips toward one of him with the former New York governor.

Another of his grandfather standing in front of the casino at its grand opening.

Him with a young Vinny and Antonio.

So many damn photos.

Even some with men he’s killed for dishonor.

He pops open a cigar box, offering me one, and I nod.

I don’t want it, but it’d be disrespectful to decline. He cuts the tip of a cigar and passes it to me. I take it, along with a lighter, and watch the tip burn red when the flame hits it. He slides me a spare ashtray, and I take a seat near the corner of his antique desk.

“Cernach Koglin called me,” he says between deep tokes.

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