Page 142 of Sinful Sacrifice

“Have at it.”

She grabs the cord and plugs her phone to sync it.

We listen to her music for a good thirty minutes before she puts on an audiobook with decent fucking scenes. I mentally take notes on one scene, knowing I’ll be fucking her like that later.

It’s dark when we make it back to New York.

She’s yawning as I pull up to her apartment building.

“Thanks for the last fuck.” She steps out of the SUV and rushes across the sidewalk.

If she thinks I’m letting her off the hook for her comment, my tree fucking must’ve given her a concussion.

I jump out of the car, grab the back of her neck, and haul her into my chest. “You must mean last fuck of the day, but you’ll never be my last fuck, sweet dancer. You’re my best and only fuck for the rest of my life.”

“If you’re plotting against Cernach, I need to be in the know,” Antonio says, his voice low.

We’re in the casino bar. Sometimes, we have a drink here to make sure things are running smoothly. It’s good for employees to know we’re involved. It’s also good for the patrons to know we keep an eye on things.

We’re in a separate area of the bar, away from people, and we have plenty of privacy, where others won’t overhear our conversation.

I raise my pinkie and signal for a refill to the bartender. “Would I ever plot anything without your support?”

“Past Damien wouldn’t, but this shit with Pippa is messing with your head.” He downs the remainder of his drink and taps his head with the empty glass.

I nod in appreciation when the bartender delivers another round and lean back in my stool. “So, you’d be okay if Gigi was set to marry another man?”

“Gigi was set to marry another man.” He scoops the new glass in his hand. “You know what I did.”

“Ah, I forgot about that game you played with Elijah.”

“It wasn’t a game. Gigi needed to know that a woman should never marry a man who wouldn’t die for her.” He puts the glass to his lips and smirks against it. “In fact, I think every bride should have their partner pass that test before marrying them.”

When our families were at war, Gigi agreed to find a husband to gain better connections for the Marchettis. Antonio found out, lost his shit, and shoved her fiancé, Elijah, in his trunk. After taking them to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, he shoved a gun to her head and another to Elijah’s. He told Elijah he had the choice to either save himself or Gigi.

Elijah chose himself. Antonio shot him in the head.

“War with Cernach would be quite a headache, given his weapons connections, but as your friend, if Pippa is that important to you, I’ll do it. You’ve lost a lot for my family, risked your life, and always protected us with no questions asked. You treat my daughter as if she were your own and protected Gigi, though you were never her biggest fan?—”

“The girl never stops running her mouth and watches the worst movies,” I input.

He laughs. “What I’m saying is that you deserve the same loyalty from me. If we do this, Pippa needs to understand she can’t play games. Her life will be on the line just as much as ours, and she can’t turn her back on us.”

“We can’t go to war with Cernach.” I chug my whiskey in one gulp. “I need to go. Riona is in New York. We have a dinner date.”

I meet Riona in a high-end, overpriced diner where Cernach arranged. This isn’t our first meetup. None of them have been fun or eventful. It’s always boring small talk.

The server delivers a chocolate milkshake for her and water for me. She thanks the server and removes the wrapper from the straw.

“I know you’re in love with my cousin,” she says, sliding the straw inside the shake. “I asked her not to fuck you after we marry.”

With each meetup, I’m at least getting to know a different side of Riona. It’s wild how much character comes out of women when they’re allowed to speak freely and have personalities.

Riona fits the innocent wife-in-waiting role. She’s polite, gorgeous, and well put together. Her Irish traits are much stronger than Pippa’s, but Pippa also isn’t full Irish. Paul was half-Italian, which is where Pippa inherited her darker hair from.

I scratch the back of my neck, not bothering to comment on what she said.

“When was the last time you touched her?” she pushes.

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