Page 117 of Sinful Sacrifice

I lift a chin in his direction, hold up the bottle in thanks, and stalk outside toward my SUV.

As soon as I start the engine, I call Leo, Antonio’s cousin. “Where are you?”

“Sitting outside Pippa’s apartment building.”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.”

It takes me twelve minutes to drive to the outskirts of suburbia and another fifteen to the city. Antonio’s home is distanced from the city, hidden behind a high fence and trees. It once belonged to some old asshole president.

The traffic becomes busier the closer I get to Pippa’s, and I parallel park behind Leo’s black BMW.

I call him back. “You’re free to leave.”

Making myself comfortable, I watch Pippa through the window as she moves around her fourth-floor apartment. When she reaches her bedroom an hour later, she closes the curtains, but I keep my eyes on her silhouette behind them.

I don’t care if she broke up with me.

If she hates me.

If I have a marriage contract.

I’m not letting her go.

41

He’s getting married.

Those three words have become a constant in my head the past week.

I’ll never forget when my phone beeped with an Evite notification. I had a strawberry milkshake in one hand and was watching a rerun of Girls. My hand shook when I opened the email, and I dropped the milkshake onto my blanket.

Join us to celebrate the nuptials of Damien Bellini and Riona Koglin.

They didn’t include a cutesy engagement photo or registry.

I stared at the screen in a daze, like someone was playing a cruel prank on me.

For so long, I’d trusted fate to determine my love life.

Turns out, fate played a cruel game with my heart.

“Today will be a better day,” I sing to myself while throwing my hair in a messy bun. “We’re already starting out better than the last two, considering I brushed my hair.”

As I’m finishing off my hair with a pink ribbon, my phone vibrates.

My mom’s name flashes across the screen.

A warning. A bad freaking omen.

She never calls or texts.

“Pippa.” She rushes out my name in one breath when I answer the call. “Can you come over, please?”

I stiffen at the alarm in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Lanie needs your help.”

All it takes is hearing my sister’s name, and I race out the door, driving to my mom’s. A blacked-out Bentley is parked in the driveway when I arrive.

---