Page 28 of Taken By Sin

“They brought them here earlier; I wanted to talk to you tonight about things, too.”

I tilt my head. “Like what?”

“I just want to get to know you better, but you deserve answers more than I do.” He grabs his glass and sits down on the cushioned chair. “So go ahead, Magnolia,” he drawls, “ask me anything.”

I don’t hesitate. I forgo the champagne, wanting all my senses to be alert. A grueling game of twenty questions is about to commence.

“Don’t lie,” I say simply.

Sin nods appreciatively. “Honesty is at the forefront of my personality.”

All I can do is hope that he’s telling the truth, but it seems to me that this is a man who lives by his word. “Where are you from?” I start simple.

He peers down a moment, recalling a memory. “A tiny village called Portofino,” he says with a heady accent.

“When did you move here?”

“I was twelve when my parents decided to stake a claim inNew York, and my father...” He leans back, his eyes darkening slightly. “Well, he always gets what he desires." I sense a touch of resentment in his tone.

Sounds familiar, I want to say, but I don’t. “Okay, you don’t sound happy about that.” I sink further into the soft, cushioned seat.

“It was the worst mistake my family ever made.” This sounds touchy, and I’m not sure if I should brush on that topic just yet. “What is Zeik’s deal?” I ask about instead.

“His family is one of the richest in town, but they cut him off because he only spent it on women and drugs. I hired him.”

“Do you have bad blood with his family?”

“Not at all; they’re like my own. Zeik really is like an annoying little brother. Bria wasn’t wrong.”

I nod, wanting to direct the conversation back. “Why don’t you just go back to Italy?”

“We’re entrenched here. New York is what it has to be for now.” He shrugs as if there is no other choice in the world.

“You have endless money, Sin. Why don’t you just go?”

He laughs, tossing back the rest of his champagne. “I wish it were that simple,Bella.” (Beautiful)

I try not to anger knowing he called me by another woman’s name, but the fact that one of his answers leaves me with more questions helps. “Explain why it’s not.”

He gazes up at the sky, devoid of stars, mirroring the chill in his stone-cold eyes. His gaze shifts to the city lights, and I observe the tightening of his jaw. Finally, he turns to me and says, “My father is a hitman.” He speaks flatly. “Among other things. I deal with those otherthings.”

“Wow,” I reply in a whisper.

“You’ll meet him soon. He’s coming for a visit next week.”

“And your mother?” I ask.

“Dead,” he says simply, setting down his empty glass.

“I’m really sorry.” I don’t push him; he gestures to shift the topic, eager for a distraction. I nod, understanding. “Among other things?” I inquire, attempting to curb the evasive answers he’s sharing. It must be difficult for him—a man who lives and breathes power and answers to no one—to discuss matters with an orphan girl who struggles to grasp his world.

“I run multiple businesses. After my mother’s... demise, my father left to go back home, but I couldn’t go with him. Bria will stay with me, as she and I are what we have.”

“I take it you don’t like your father?”

“I love him,” he says with a fervent tone, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t blame him for what happened.”

“Whatdidhappen?”

---