Page 112 of Syndicate of Sin Bundle

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

After I moved my purse out of the way, I returned back to my tablet and continued drawing the curves of the women’s bodies. Warmth spread through my core, my heart racing at the sight, at the thought of how intimate I had been with Laila.

A couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t known the first thing about being with another woman. I hadn’t known if they kissed the same, touched the same, made each other feel good the same way as a man did.

But, hell, I was so happy that she had approached me that Friday night.

Continuing to create small strokes on the screen, I finished with the first woman’s long hair that covered her breasts and started on the second woman, who was a bit bigger than the first. With a belly and smaller breasts, legs that weren’t smooth and perfect.

My lips curled into a small smile. God, I loved art so much.

“Did you go to school for art?” the lady asked me suddenly.

I snapped my gaze up to her, cheeks flushing. “Yeah, at Charter A University.”

“No way,” she said, fingertips on the table. “I went to Charter A for psychology.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, placing my tablet down and inching forward. “Really?”

“Graduated three years ago. I swore you looked so familiar.”

“I just graduated last year!” I twirled my pen and smiled. “I can’t believe this.”

She crunched on a chip. “Me neither. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Sage.”

“I’m Poppy.” She held out her hand for me to shake. “What’re you doing in New York?”

Charter A University was the newest university in the northeastern US, located in the most northern part of Maine. Not many people attended, and those who did usually stayed local because their families lived around the area.

“I came to work at an animation studio, but I’m … taking some time off,” I said.

It was against my contract to even speak about Laila and Constantino to anyone, so I didn’t know exactly what kind of excuse I would need to come up with. But … I would need to find something believable.

20

constantino

Monday afternoon, I walked with Pietro from lunch back to The Syndicate, where we had business to finalize about shipments. A slight breeze blew toward us, my tie pressing against my chest.

An eerie feeling washed over me.

While Pietro gossiped about the latest woman he had picked up from the club, I paused for a brief moment and scanned the street. Something didn’t feel right. And I swore to God, if it was another family member getting it on with an FBI—

When I spotted the black SUV with tinted windows that I didn’t recognize about half a block down from the entrance to the club, I gritted my teeth. A female sat behind the wheel, typing on her phone but gazing at us.

Hands balling into fists, I grabbed Pietro by the collar and stormed into the building with him in tow. After I slammed and locked the door, I released him and growled to myself.

Fuck the fucking police. The FBI. All of them.

Fuck!

I drew a hand across my face and stepped farther into the empty club. The lights blared overhead, the room completely silent, except for the padding of footsteps across the floor. I inhaled a waft of perfume someone must’ve fucking doused my leather bar stools in last night.

“I want them fucking out of here,” I growled to Pietro. “They’re too close.”

“They’re not close enough,” Pietro said. “You see that one out there? I’d bend her—”

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