Page 143 of Syndicate of Sin Bundle

“Are you okay?” I whispered while we waited for Constantino’s coffee.

“I’m fine,” he answered, stoic as usual.

“No, you’re not.”

“Then, why’d you ask?” he growled.

“Here,” I said, handing him the cookie.

He glared at the cookie—yes, glared at the inanimate object—and then snatched it from me. I smirked and walked back to Laila and Constantino, hoping that the sweet would make him feel somewhat better.

“Did you just get Riccardo to eat a cookie?!” Laila asked, eyes wide.

Constantino stared at me like I was crazy.

“Yes.” I smiled. “Why?”

Laila giggled. “I’ve only seen him eat steak, rice, and broccoli.”

“Your coffee,” the barista said to Constantino.

And then we were back on the road to the private jet.

I sipped my green tea and finished off my cookie, gazing out at the pretty sunrise over the city, beams of light bounding out around the skyscrapers. I peered down at my bag on the floor and spotted the painting from the art festival. I had rolled it up and tucked it away in the Birkin bag-purse thing that Constantino had brought down for me way too early this morning.

Is it weird to give it to Laila now?

While I wanted to, I was still so unsure after overhearing her conversation with Constantino. Still, I wanted to ask her if she had really meant everything she said last night. I wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be so insecure about herself, that she was Constantino’s wife.

She’d had so much confidence, picking me up at the bar, that I could hardly believe this was the real her. Maybe it had been the alcohol that night. Sometimes, she seemed so confident around me, and other times … she was so distant and unsure.

When I peered over at Laila, she was leaning back in her seat with her coffee cup against her plump pink lips and her gaze on me. She blushed hard and looked away, grinning to herself. “Sorry.”

Warmth exploded through my body again.

God, the way they make me feel …

I pulled out the rolled-up art from my bag and handed it to her. “I bought this for you.”

“This is for me?” she whispered, eyes widening. “Really?”

“If I had known there was an art festival, I would’ve asked you to come with me,” I said, chewing on the inside of my cheek and wanting her to unravel it. “But I bought this for you there.” I shuffled my feet. “It’s, um, not worth a million dollars, like some of the paintings in your house, but … I thought you’d like it.”

She handed me her coffee and pulled off the rubber band, unrolling it. My heart raced, my mouth drying. I would never be able to afford art the way that Constantino and she could, but I hoped that she sorta liked it.

Or at least pretended that she did.

When she laid it across her lap, she widened her eyes even more. “I love it.”

“Do you really?” I asked, smiling softly at her.

“Yes,” she said, drawing her fingers across the smudges of paint. “I’m going to hang it up in our bedroom when we return home. We just cleared off a wall so I could hang up artwork I found around the city.”

“Girls,” Constantino called from the front, jaw clenched slightly while scrolling on his phone. “When we get to Italy, I need you to stay put in the villa. I have some work to do this evening with a friend.”

“I thought this was a workless vacation,” Laila said.

“A family friend is there and has a matter that he needs help with. I promise it’ll be a few hours, and then tomorrow, we’ll go sailing on the yacht.”

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