Page 73 of Sinful Sacrifice

Since it’s nine thousand degrees out here, a bounce house is a no-go for me.

“You’re on my shit list.”

My attention leaves them, and I whip around at the harsh voice to find Antonio approaching me, a drink in his hand and a glare on his rough face.

We’ve crossed paths a few times now, and this is the first time I haven’t seen him wearing a suit. Considering the weather, I don’t blame him for swapping it out for black pants and a short-sleeved shirt.

I flinch, crossing my arms. “Excuse me?”

He stops directly in front of me. “Amara won’t stop asking me to take dance classes.”

“Sorry.” I rub my forehead. “She saw my pointe shoes and asked me to show her.”

“You couldn’t say no?” He quirks a brow and takes a sip of his drink. “Maybe shown her something simpler, like how to learn a new language or puzzle?”

“Dancing would be good for Amara.” I offer a small, please don’t kill me smile. “She’d love it.”

“I see.” He tips his glass in my direction. “Congrats. You’re hired as her new teacher.”

I fan myself with a napkin I stole from a table on the walk into the yard. “I don’t teach anymore.”

“You do now.”

I open my mouth, prepared to dispute his job offer.

No, thank you on working for a made man.

They desire too much of their people. Too many of them also go missing.

“I pay well,” he continues, as if reading my mind. “And knowing Damien, he’ll probably make me pay you double since he’s obsessed with you.”

Butterflies swarm in my belly at his comment.

“You start tomorrow.” He turns and walks away without waiting for me to accept the job.

Wait until I tell him my pay is five hundred an hour.

He might let me get out of the job then.

As much as I’d love to teach Amara—hell, I’d teach her for free—I don’t want any employment tied to a Mafia-run family. It’s too risky.

I slide my attention away from him to the inflatable bounce house across the yard. Damien stands outside it, the guard of the castle, and I make out Clara and Amara jumping inside.

I head in their direction, ready to kick both out in fear of a heatstroke. Just as I reach them, Amara rolls out of the house and Clara exits behind her.

She fans her face and catches her breath. “No more bounce houses unless they start installing ACs in them.”

“Let’s get you some water,” I say, waving them toward the drink table.

We trek across the yard, and Amara tells me all the colors of her cake until we reach the table. I’m handing out waters when Antonio joins us.

Only this time, he’s not alone.

Detective Kinney is standing next to him.

23

If the heat has any positives, it’s that if I pass out, I’ll blame it on the damn sun. Because right now, I’m certain a panic attack will come in the next few minutes.

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