Page 37 of Sinful Sacrifice

I detest her relation to him. I’m not stupid. I recognized the familiar look in Cernach’s eyes when he saw us together to know what’s coming. He might’ve kicked her mother to the curb for disobedience, but he now sees Pippa as a bargaining chip. It’s how men like him think.

Years ago, I swore I’d never drag a woman into this world. I saw what it did to my mother. And even though she handled it well—the woman was a goddamn saint—I saw the burdens she endured.

But Pippa is changing my mind.

I want to drag her into my purgatory.

Make her shine some light in my darkness.

Antonio advised me to end it with her after learning about Cernach. He isn’t a Koglin fan, so that doesn’t surprise me. But even though I know her bloodline will create a trifecta of issues, I can’t bring myself to let her go.

14

I drop my dance bag on the floor with a thud and collapse on the couch in exhaustion. It’s been more than a week since I last saw Damien, but he’s stayed in touch through texts and calls.

He calls every night before I go to sleep.

And every morning, like clockwork, he texts.

In this short time, he’s become a staple in my life.

He’s also a different man than the one who dragged me out of the casino. While he’s doing a decent job of hiding his pain, I notice it beneath the surface and hear the sorrow in his voice.

Losing his family broke him, but with his upbringing, he won’t allow himself to expose it. Mafia men aren’t allowed to be broken.

They’re only allowed to do the breaking.

I’m also pissed the fuck off at everyone in the Lombardi family for not forcing Damien to take time off to mourn his family. Instead, he’s been busy nonstop. Coldhearted Mafia bastards.

I stand and head toward the kitchen for a glass of water. A knock on the door interrupts me. Making a detour, I peek through the peephole.

Oh, hell to the no.

“How the hell does he know where I live?” I grumble.

Cernach has never visited my apartment.

He’s here for a reason.

I have a strong suspicion it has something to do with my new Mafia friend.

Sorry, Uncle Demon, not today.

Or tomorrow, or the next, or the next.

I tiptoe away from my door, trying my hardest to stay quiet, but my creaky floorboards become traitors. God, how I wish he’d remove me from the family tree and toss me aside like a rotten apple.

“I know you’re in there, Pippa.” He pounds his fist against the door. “Open the door, or I’ll break it down.”

Knowing my uncle, that’s not an empty threat.

He’d kick it down and get me evicted.

“Asshole,” I mutter as I yank open the door.

There he stands.

Certified asshole uncle of the century, wearing a posh navy-blue suit, alligator shoes, and his Celtic knot pin. My mom told me a story once about him mercilessly plunging the pin into a man’s eyeball until it became a pulpy mess.

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