Page 96 of Sinful Sacrifice

I crack my neck to each side, wishing I were doing it to his turkey neck instead. “I’d never force her hand.”

“You don’t want to marry her?”

I go quiet, working my jaw. Just like I told her, I’d marry her in a damn second. But I’m not a man who forces devotion on a woman. I’d rather lie in bed alone at night than next to someone who wishes they weren’t there.

He runs a hand over his jaw, as if thinking. “Maybe I’ll kill Paul, making her fall right into my hands, and I’ll find her a new husband. A useful one to me.”

I stare at him in indifference.

My blood boils inside, ready to explode and scorch the fucker’s skin off, but I won’t prove his words affect me.

I don’t show my emotions. He could stab me and pull out a fucking kidney, and I’d stare at him coldly without muttering a word.

Eh, I might laugh in his face.

“If we merge our families, we could do great things,” he says, bouncing back to idea number one. He rubs the skin around his mouth. “I’m sure you’re aware, I have outstanding weapon connections. Men would fear us as allies, which is exactly what all of us want in this world.”

No, I’d rather have his niece than power.

But to each their own.

Cernach has been trying to strike a deal with the Lombardis for years.

Four families run New York—the Marchettis, Cavallaros, O’Connors, and Lombardis. Rumor is, Cernach wants to expand out of Boston and add himself to that list.

I rest my palm on my desk and stand. “Your five minutes have passed, Cernach. I have a meeting.” I button my suit jacket. “Go play a round of blackjack on me.”

32

“I have great news,” I squeal to my mother over speakerphone. I sound so similar to the other day when she called me and had me meet her at the studio space. I called her four times this morning, ready to tell her we don’t have to be under Cernach’s thumb. “You don’t need to open a dance studio with Cernach. Damien is helping me open one for us.”

I take a bite of my peanut butter toast and wash it down with a sip of OJ before smiling in satisfaction. Cernach will be out of our lives.

Good freaking riddance.

“Your boyfriend of only a few months?” she asks around a scoff.

My smile collapses.

“Going with Cernach is a better idea,” she adds with too much confidence for a woman in her position.

“Damien said he’ll put the studio in my name.” I shift on the island stool, dragging my knees to my chest.

“Who’s to say he’ll actually do that? That he won’t take it when you break up?”

When you break up.

Not if.

My mother has an ugly outlook on love, yes.

But not every man is like my father and Cernach.

After what they put her through, I don’t know if anyone will ever be able to convince her otherwise.

“He said he’d put it in my name,” I repeat, shoving my plate up the island, my appetite now gone.

“Like a man would do that with no strings attached.”

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