Page 34 of Sinful Sacrifice

I stop in my tracks. “There’s actually something, but it’s asking a lot.”

She props herself up against the headboard. “Tell me.”

12

I’ve attended three funerals in my life—my great-aunt’s, my grandfather’s, and my sister’s goldfish, Speckles.

Sitting in the front-row pew beside Damien, I run my hands over my arms. There’s a mixture of sadness and comfort as I listen to Bishop Blake deliver the eulogy.

When I asked Damien if there was anything I could do, I didn’t anticipate him saying, “Come to the funeral with me.” Our first outing, date, whatever this is, is a funeral.

But I couldn’t say no. Damien needs emotional support. His brother, Julian, is here, but he’s just as cold as Damien, and he’s hardly spoken a word. When Damien introduced us, he tipped his chin toward me—a silent hello—and walked away.

Jesus, these men need a goddamn group therapist.

They chose to have a collective funeral for the family. I eye the framed photos placed atop the caskets.

All of them, gone way too early.

It’s heart-wrenching and tragic.

It should also be a warning sign to keep my distance from him.

But right now, I’m too dumb to listen to it.

The air is heavy with grief and quiet sobs from the people packed in the pews around us. Damien’s body is a bundle of tension. As the bishop speaks, he rolls his shoulders. I grab his hand and give it a tight, comforting squeeze.

Julian whispers something to Antonio next to him, and he casts a glance at Damien and nods.

When Antonio saw me arrive with Damien, the shock and disapproval were clear on his face. I don’t think the man likes anyone other than his daughter.

Once the service ends, a line forms as people approach Damien and Julian, offering their condolences. He introduces me to every single one.

Just as Pippa, nothing more.

I could be the funeral director for all they know.

Everyone’s bodies immediately straighten when a short, stocky man with a cane approaches us.

“Pippa, this is Vincent Lombardi,” Damien introduces.

Ah, the notorious crime boss.

He doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as I envisioned in my mind.

Vincent leans forward and shakes my hand. “Thank you for coming, Pippa.”

Just as he drops my hand, a man steps out from behind him. “And who might this be?”

Vinny Lombardi.

I recognize him from the blog post when I was stalking Damien. The photo matches him to a T. Dark black hair and handsome face. Total Ted Bundy vibes, if you ask me. His good looks serve as a cover for his madness.

Damien tightens his strong jaw, pressing me so close to him that our shoulders collide.

“Vinny Lombardi.” He extends his arm while ignoring Damien.

His arrogance makes sense.

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