Page 1 of Sinful Sacrifice

PART I

PROLOGUE

Even after all this time, I watch her.

When I can’t, one of my men do.

I sit outside her apartment or dance studio at night.

I know she sees me.

Tonight, I need her to know something.

I open my door and step out of my SUV.

She’s still mine.

And I’m about to prove it to her.

1

Everyone has that moment in their lives when they realize they’ve truly messed up. This is my moment.

My plan was simple—go into Lucky Kings Casino, pay my father’s debt, and get the hell out of there.

The plan went straight to hell when a blackjack dealer dragged me off the casino floor and shoved me inside this room.

I hadn’t wanted to come here, but my father begged me. What he’d failed to tell me until we got to the casino was that I was going in alone.

“If I go in, they’ll kill me,” he’d said, his body trembling.

Since we don’t have all the money he owes, I believe him.

Everyone in New York knows the Lombardi mob family runs Lucky Kings. Those people also know they don’t take it lightly when people owe them money and don’t pay.

My attention whips to the door when it clicks. A pang forms in my chest, compliments of my racing heart, while I wait for whoever is behind it to reveal themselves.

Pound.

Pound.

Pound-pound-pound.

I clutch the poker chip in my sweaty hand.

The person behind that door will decide if my lack of funds means a lack of breaths in my lungs.

The door opens, a slight creak with it, inch by inch.

My pulse burns, and I suck in a breath, halfway on the exhale, when it happens.

The most gorgeous man I’ve seen fills the doorway. He's so tall that the top of his head nearly brushes the doorframe. He’s dressed in all black—from his suit to the button-up beneath to his shoes. The black of his clothing matches his thick hair and the scruff that extends along the length of his jawline and cheeks.

His face is a host of devilish demeanor. His chartreuse eyes—a color I’ve never seen before—burn into me with accusation, as if he already knows I’m short on cash. I look away and study the chip, nervous my eyes will confirm he’s correct.

He chuckles under his breath, a bully taunting their victim, and scrubs a hand over his stubbled, carved masterpiece of a jaw, determining my fate.

I’ve heard rumors, horror stories, of Vinny Lombardi, but never seen him in person.

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