Page 114 of Sin & Sapphire

ANA

I rubbedmy hands on my skirt, checking my appearance in the mirror, confident I hadn’t forgotten how to look like a mafia princess after my weeks of freedom. Blonde hair blow-dried straight and perfectly coiffed, makeup that accented my cheekbones, but not so much that it detracted from my elegance, my gold nose ring replaced with a simple diamond stud, and a navy-blue dress with three-quarter sleeves that flared out at the waist. My legs were waxed and my—I closed my eyes. Waxing my pussy wasn’t hot, but somehow, Angelo and Valentin made it sexy as fuck to know that I was perfectly bare for them. Because they wanted me to be.

The two men waited for me in the living room, handsome in their suits. Angelo cupped Valentin’s face, murmuring soft words, his expression tender, and loneliness thrummed through my veins. They turned to me, and Valentin’s face softened.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, as if surprised.

“It’s my job to be.” I wondered if he heard the undercurrent of bitterness in my tone. I’d been so fucking close to freedom,realfreedom, only to be dragged back in because these two assholes couldn’t meet their obligations to the family.

Valentin held out his hand to me, pulled me close to kiss my forehead, and for a moment, I entertained a fantasy of a normal life with these two dangerous, violent men.

“Kneel,” Angelo rasped, the fantasy dissipating as I did as he asked, careful not to wrinkle the full skirt of my dress. “You look like a fucking princess.”

When I dared look up, his grey eyes were full of wonder, not cruelty. I leaned my cheek against his thigh, and he palmed my face, holding me close.

“Relax,” Valentin murmured, so I closed my eyes and focused on their scents, the warmth of their thighs as they pressed against me, and my confidence that I’d trained my entire life for moments like what would follow. “Up,” he said a moment later, and helped me to my feet.

“I think we need to renegotiate the rules,” I said softly.

Angelo looked at me for a long moment, searching my eyes for something, though for what I wasn’t sure. “When we get home,” he said.

The car ride to Maria Ferrari’s home was short—Valentin’s apartment wasn’t far from Costa territory. Silently, I noted that we’d have to move if Angelo was serious about consolidating power. We needed to live in the thick of where our people were.

We.

Our.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Michael Crioulo waited in the lobby of Maria’s building. He’d been one of my father’s drivers and one of the men who should have been beating down Angelo’s door to help.

I kissed him on both cheeks, ignoring Angelo’s growl behind me. “How is she?”

Michael shook his head and scoffed. “Three kids, a baby on the way, her husband dead, and nobody from your fuckin’ family stops by to pay their respects or help with the funeral expenses?”

“Angelo, Valentin, this is Michael Crioulo. Michael, Angelo’s here to help.” Reluctantly, Michael offered his hand to shake. “I don’t—” I debated how much to tell this fiercely loyal man who’d helped raise me along with an army of servants, who’d turned a blind eye to me when I hid in the garage during my father’s rages.

Was he loyal to Gio or loyal to the Costa name? I didn’t know. “We don’t have a list of everyone who was on the compound when the Russians burned it down,” I continued. It wasn’t revealing a weakness to show that we didn’t have a handle on the business—he already knew that because it was clear as fucking daylight. “If you can get me those names, I’ll do my best to make it right.”

“You?” Michael didn’t hide his skepticism. “You’ve never wanted any part of this. And you’ve already paid your dues. Get the fuck out while you can.”

“And lose Yorkfield to the bratva? And all the men and women who depend on the Costa family? Never.”

Michael scoffed again but moved toward the elevator. I followed, Angelo and Valentin trailing behind, their larger-than-life presences more reassuring than I wanted to admit.

Maria Ferrari opened the door to her apartment, a crying infant in her arms and two toddlers by her side. “Please, come in. Sorry about the mess. Let me just—” She looked around, searching for something.

“Don’t be,” I said, interrupting her. “I’m sorry it took me a week before coming to visit.”

Her gaze sharpened. “I hear you’ve been busy.”

Instead of taking the bait, I introduced Angelo and Valentin. She looked them up and down before silently stepping out of the entryway and indicating we should sit down on shabby, worn couches, the infant wailing the entire time. Michael stood sentry at the door.

Fred had been a junior soldier, but not too young to have three kids and one more on the way.

Maria tried to balance a crying baby on her hip while pouring whiskey, and my heart broke for her. I sprang up from the couch. “Let me,” I said, taking the baby in my arms and cooing softly at the cutie-pie.

With a grateful look, Maria bustled into the kitchen and returned with a tray of clean glasses. I used soothing the baby as an excuse to walk around the apartment, peering at photographs as I bounced the infant in my arms.

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