Page 102 of Sinful Sacrifice

Unfortunately, he doesn’t.

“As a man in the business of knowing your odds of winning, you should know you’ll lose this game.”

I smack my palms on my desk and rise to my feet. “Watch how you’re speaking to me, Cernach.”

“Pippa will always choose her mother. They’ve been through too much together. Keep playing games with me, and I’ll get Enya so far in my grips that Pippa will end up marrying any bastard I want. Might as well use the whore for something.”

I circle my desk and charge toward him. Before he can make a move to grab for a weapon, I snatch him by the collar and shove him against the wall.

He laughs when I get in his face. “I’m a boss, boy. You’re a worker.” He grunts out a laugh. “Vincent Lombardi will raise hell if you harm me because he knows it’d start a war. I’ll ask him for your head, or I’ll kill half the Lombardi men and everyone in this shithole casino.”

I grind my teeth, hating the accuracy of his words.

“Leave Pippa alone.” I slam my hand against the wall, only inches from his face. “Boss or not, I’ll destroy you.” I swiftly pull back, the blood in my veins on fire. If I don’t get away from him, I’m bound to do something that’ll cause a shit ton of problems.

Cernach straightens his suit. “You’re disrespecting the wrong man, Damien.”

“And you’re underestimating the wrong man, Cernach.”

34

Three.

That’s how many times I’ve been to the studio this week.

It’s empty, and I’ve yet to select a name.

Damien came home yesterday with a new name brainstorming notebook, as he called it.

Ten.

That’s how many times I’ve begged my mother to see the studio, but she refuses. She won’t even let Lanie come.

My back is against the mirrored wall, my knees pulled to my chest, and tears fall down my cheeks as I stare ahead at the blurred moving traffic.

Fucking broken.

That’s been my state nearly every day.

This should be the happiest time of my life, but instead, I’m falling apart.

My gaze slips to the door when it opens. Damien’s loafers squeak against the hardwood as he moves across the room toward me. His perfect face falls slack when his eyes meet my sorrow-filled ones. I peer down, an attempt to hide my pain from him.

He places my dance bag on the floor before sitting across from me.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, “look at me.”

I shake my head, glaring at the floor as if it were my worst enemy.

“I can’t,” I sob. “I want this. I want it so, so bad, but I can’t have it.”

He scoots closer, our knees brushing.

I shudder when he slides his hand between my thighs to capture my face in his hand. My chin shakes as he lifts it with two fingers.

He waits until I meet his eyes before brushing his knuckle against my cheek. “Yes, you can. You deserve this, Pippa.”

I shake my head violently.

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