Page 13 of Holy Sinner

“I love you,” she whispers and the part of me that wants to crack her open and find out what she’s hiding from goes quiet. I don’t wonder about the change I saw in her, not when the soft girl, the shy girl that I love, is right here wearing my bracelet on her wrist with tears shining in her beautiful eyes. Everything mellows with those three words, like they always do.

Chapter Eight

KIT

The dress is almost too much. It’s beautiful, like something out of a dream. The second we walked through the doors of the upscale restaurant all eyes had been on me. I’m getting used to it. There’s no way having Rafe on my left and Grant on my right won’t attract people’s attention. They’re the hottest stars around and even if they weren’t, there’s something about them that draws you in. It’s what makes them so easy to watch in movies. The IT Factor. That certain magical something the greats have that the rest of us don’t.

Until tonight I would say that I definitely didn’t have the IT Factor but now…now I don’t know. Because everyone is looking at me. Not Rafe, not Grant.

Me.

I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would. Maybe because the dress is so gorgeous. I don’t even feel like I’m me in it. The neckline is lower than anything I’d normally wear, but it works in perfect harmony with the floor-length layers that dance and flow around me with every move I make, like I have my own personal wind machine. The bodice is made of lace and magic, it’s the only explanation for how it looks poured on to me the way it does. The shoes they gave me are gold strappy sandals with a heel that looks like it could be a weapon, if I was feeling creative enough.

I don’t know who helped Rafe and Grant with tonight’s outfit but they deserve a medal. I feel beautiful and strong, confident—so definitely not myself.

“They have a private dining space for us,” Grant tells me, touching my cheek before he steps back to look at me. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you,” I tell him, because it’s impossible not to. Grant looks so very handsome in his perfectly tailored suit, a dark blue that matches his eyes. He’s getting almost as much attention as me from the staff and guests at the bar where we’re enjoying a pre-dinner cocktail.

“Another whiskey?” the bartender asks Rafe and he nods. He’s quiet but that’s normal when we’re in public. It’s Grant that takes the lead when there’s people around. I get it. There’s always cameras on us now and people listening for gossip to sell. Grant’s much better at knowing just how to act under their scrutiny than either of us.

I give Rafe a sidelong look and the dark scowl on his face vanishes. He smiles back and it’s sweet, the expression at odds with the dark air he wears as well as the black dress shirt and slacks he’s in. I swallow hard when my eyes rest on the glint of the simple gold chain he wears and I smile. No suit for him, just the pure mafioso look he’s known for.

“You ready to head in?” Rafe asks me as he reaches forward and drags a finger along my bracelet. My belly flutters. I can’t believe this is my life. I’m wearing a bracelet with their names on it and it’s our anniversary.

“We’re yours forever.”

Forever. They want me forever.

I move my hand to cover Rafe’s, holding it still. “I love you.” Those three words come from my mouth easily because I mean them. I remember when saying ‘I love you’ was difficult. When the thought of letting someone else in was unthinkable. There was no way it would have been possible for the woman I’d been. Still haunted by the mother who hated her.

Mother wounds run deep. I don’t care what anyone says. No contact or contact, the damage a shitty mom can give you runs bone-deep. There’s no way to get out from under it without life-changing work.

For most people who manage it, that kind of work comes from therapy or a near death experience that inspires them to be altruistic. Maybe they give everything away and devote themselves to charity or they turn toward addiction, drugs and sex, adrenaline, anything that numbs them. For me, that numbness comes from Grant and Rafe.

My men are the cure to my mother wound.

I’m lucky compared to most. Not everyone has a pair of killers devoted to giving them the world to heal.

I smile at Rafe and lean back into Grant when he wraps an arm around my waist. “Yeah, I’m ready.” Grant kisses my cheek and ushers me to follow Rafe. It’s nice being between my men. I feel the weight of the room’s attention on us but it’s fine, because nothing can touch me with Rafe and Grant acting as a shield. It’s like being in a bubble with them in front and behind me. Rafe holds a hand back to me and I slip my hand into his. We turn down a hallway and I have to grab the flowing skirts swirling around my legs to make sure I don’t trip. Though, even if I did, I know the weight of Grant’s hand on my hip would catch me.

The light in the hallway is soft and golden. There are heavy dark wood doors on either side of the hall and when a door opens, I catch sight of a couple dining together at a beautifully made up table. Dark roses and gleaming china shine between them while a server uncorks a bottle of champagne with a flourish. I smile at the sight. A romantic dinner with Rafe and Grant without another soul is the perfect anniversary gift when I’ve already been given so much by the men I love.

Rafe doesn’t slow his steps to enter any of the rooms, though. “Where are we going?” I ask when we end up at the end of the hallway. There are no doors here, just a wall with a fancy mirror hanging in front of us in an ornate frame. It’s as tall as the wall and almost as wide but there’s nothing else there. I look behind me at Grant and he gives me a reassuring smile. He nods his head at Rafe.

“Just watch, sweetheart.”

I bite my lip but nod and do what he says.

Rafe slides his hand along the mirror. There’s a click and a second later the mirror slides to the side and I’m staring at an elevator.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

Rafe motions for me to enter. “After you,” he says with a slight bow and I giggle as Grant guides me into the elevator. If it were anyone but them I’d suggest we go back to the bar but I don’t. Because it is them. I can trust them. So I get into the secret elevator.

“Why does this feel like a spy movie all of a sudden?” I ask when the doors slide shut and the elevator starts moving. It feels like we’re going down but I can’t tell. There are no lights or buttons, or even numbers telling me what floor we are going to.

Grant rubs his knuckles against mine. “It’s very exclusive. It used to be a speakeasy during prohibition. The owners kept some of its more secretive aspects functional.”

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