Page 55 of Tasting Sin

“Who are you?” I thought I had gotten to know him so well, but now, I didn’t think I knew him at all. I didn’t think I ever knew him. The FBI’s promises that Ronan and his family were dangerous had sunk their roots into my brain, and I couldn’t shake the thought. It won’t end well for you. “Are you going to hurt me?”

His head snapped toward me, and he glared. “Do you really think I’d ever hurt you?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Tears stung my eyes, but I didn’t want to cry. Still, my chest squeezed like someone was sitting on me, and I couldn’t take a deep breath or swallow past the lump that formed in my throat.

Ronan pulled over the car, earning a honk from the angry driver behind him when he didn’t signal. He ignored the blaring horn, throwing the car in park and turning in his seat. I gasped quietly when he grabbed my face, holding me still. “Do you really want the truth?” His voice was scornful, scary enough to send a shiver down my spine.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Then you have to trust me.” His gaze was hard, but he softened his voice. “Can you do that?” Could I?

“I trust you,” I whispered, still shaking but settling into the soft leather seat.

He put the car back in drive, pulling away from the curb. His shoulders were more relaxed, but his hold on the steering wheel was still as firm. “Good,” he said, slipping back into traffic.

We drove in silence, listening only to the hum of tires against asphalt roads that desperately needed to be repaved and our mismatched breathing. Every time we passed a police car, I wondered if they were watching us, or if they knew who Ronan was. Then, I’d sink into the seat more, continuing to stare out the window.

When Ronan reached over and put his hand on my thigh, I diverted my gaze from the passing buildings to his possessive grip. When he squeezed, some of the nerves that flitted around my stomach dissipated. There was a warmth in his palm that felt like the promise he had made more than once—protection. My hand drifted over to rest on top of his, and I swore his lips twitched with the first traces of a smile. Was it relief? That was how it felt to me.

The street we should’ve turned down to go to Anthony’s passed on the right, but we didn’t turn. Ronan kept driving a few more blocks, turning left toward a collection of mostly abandoned warehouses. I watched the old brick and occasional splatter of graffiti blur outside the window before he turned again, pulling down an alleyway and into a small area between a few warehouses.

“Where are we?” I asked, resting my hand on the buckle for my seatbelt but not pushing the button to release it, even when he unbuckled his.

He looked at me then at one of the warehouses and opened the car door. “One of the buildings we own.”

“We?” I asked, finally hitting the button to take my seatbelt off. He closed the car door, rounding the front and opening mine.

“Yes. My family.” He put out his hand, and I took it, stepping out of the car. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 35

Ronan

“There you are,” Giaco said when I walked into the warehouse with Nellie right behind me. When he saw her, his eyes narrowed. “And you brought a guest.”

Nellie gasped quietly behind me, and I could feel her nerves floating from her. I reached behind me, grabbing her hand and holding it tightly. It was comforting when she folded her fingers with mine, and when I squeezed, she returned the gesture.

“The FBI came to see Nellie at her shop,” I explained, walking into the room. Giaco was seated at the head of a long table. Next to him on one side was our father, and Enzo sat on the other, looking amused already. Carlo nodded at her, and the other guys at the table stared. I cleared my throat. “She needs to know what’s going on.”

I let go of my hand to wrap my arm around her, pulling her to my side. Giaco shook his head. “Not a chance.”

“There’s no choice,” I said, looking to my father for support. He looked at Nellie and narrowed his eyes before he nodded. “It’s for her safety… and for ours.”

“Don’t say too much,” he warned. Giaco grunted in protest next to him, but I ignored it.

“You remember my brother, Giaco, and my father, Anthony?” I asked, and she nodded. “I know you already know Enzo and Carlo. The rest of these guys are other important members of our business.”

“What is your business?” she whispered.

Giaco grumbled a warning when I started, as if I would say anything that would put us—or her—in danger. “Our family has had ties in the area for a long time. Decades. We love this city.” The men at the table all nodded, agreeing with me, and Nellie scrunched her nose, clearly still unsure what to think. “It’s not like the movies. We aren’t robbing banks or blackmailing people, and nobody is waking up with a horse’s head in bed with them.” Nellie’s eyes widened, and she took a deep breath. I squeezed her hand tighter. “We protect the neighborhood. We protect businesses and people.”

She looked around, taking her time looking at each man at the table and then scanning the open room. It was undecorated and mostly empty, just an old warehouse. “So you really are the mafia?”

I sighed. I hated the term, but it wasn’t wholly inaccurate. “Yes.”

“Why does the FBI think you’re bad?” She gulped, and her fingers fidgeted against mine, but she stood perfectly still otherwise.

I shrugged, looking to Giaco to reassure him. “Sometimes, we have to bend the rules.”

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