Page 104 of Sinful Promise

I roll my eyes. “I got out of one prison. I don’t want to jump into another.”

“Not even for the right man?”

“I don’t know what right is. I’ve been with one man. I might not know much, but I know that. You and Irina are incredible. I never knew women could be involved in the men’s world.”

“It’s not the norm, trust me.” She puts a hand on the sofa and leans on it. “Well, I’m going to rest and call Sal. I’ll see you later.”

I read over the titles as I walk down the bookcase. I findMade in New Yorkwritten on a spine and pull the book. I begin to read, and before I know it, it’s late, and Roman is in the doorway. He’s dressed in black and wearing his boots. A gun is clipped to his belt.

“Am I interrupting?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“We’re getting ready to head out.”

“Oh, my.”

“Yeah, well.” He nods in the direction of the hallway, and I follow him. Everyone is in black gear, but Irina looks exactly like me. She’s my identical twin, from the light mole on my right cheek to the color of my hair and how it’s curly with the humidity.

“You look incredible, Irina. I never doubted you, but holy shit.”

“Great. I did a good job.” She smiles. “It takes hours to do this.”

She’s wearing jeans and white sneakers.

“Change into workout wear. It’s flexible,” Irina suggests.

I nod. Then I swallow my saliva as if it’s a pill and choke.

“We’re heading out. Francesca has the house covered,” Roman informs me.

I nod, and he gives me a hug and a short kiss. I hug Irina as she passes me on her way to the door. She returns my embrace and proceeds to the SUVs waiting in the driveway.

Roman pauses at the door. “Keep your gun by you, and if anyone comes through that door, shoot them.”

That’s it. Those are his final words to me?

Francesca locks the door and bolts it.

“Where is the staff?” I ask.

“All of them have the night off. It’s just us now.”

Francesca has knives, a handgun, and numerous magazines strapped to her legs.

Holy shit.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I think so. I’m going to change quickly and put on sneakers. Roman gave me the Beretta.”

“Good man. I knew I liked him.”

I’m nervous and try to get my foot in the leggings twice. I pull a long-sleeved dry-fit shirt over my sports bra. I need to be able to move. I tug my socks iver my toes. My old sneakers worked for me once before. I walk to the close and pull them out of their hiding place. I slip them on, taking care to tie them perfectly. I grab the gun from the bathroom counter and the box of bullets. It’s wise to be prepared.

When I return downstairs, Francesca has a pot of coffee going and is drinking hers in the kitchen.

“Coffee?” she offers.

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