Page 192 of SINS & Riley
Ridiculous, and beautiful, and loud, and dipped in every shade of pink and blue imaginable.
It’s one of the biggest parties I’ve ever seen—towers of flowers, tables groaning under food, champagne fountains sparkling like Vegas.
But a baby shower? This looks more like a royal coronation.
I should’ve helped more, but lately I’ve been bone-tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. The doctors keep nagging. Kennedy nags louder.
Stay off my feet. Rest. Blah blah.
So I let the menfolk handle it. Enzo and Dante clearly divided up the work.
I can tell by the balloon situation. Two grown men locked in an arms race over helium and ribbon.
And Dante? He won’t say it to my face, but he’s been shoving every last one of his brothers—and Trinity—at me, like a human barricade. Letting them hover, navigate, fuss to their hearts’ content.
I’m weaving through the crowd when Mateo sidles up, smooth as sin, slipping a drink into my hand. “Virgin cocktail?”
I arch a brow. “Thanks.” I take a sip—a delicious mix of peach and pomegranate, with little ruby seeds floating on top. My stomach flips. “Did Dante ask you to give this to me?”
He drags a thumb along his jaw, slow and thoughtful. “What makes you say that?”
“When I was his captive, it was my favorite drink.”
Mateo nods. “Do you want me to take it back?”
“Not on your life.” I sip again. “There’s no reason to waste a perfectly good mocktail just because I’m pissed at Peanut’s daddy.”
He chuckles. “I swear, if I avoided eating or drinking things just because I was mad at my family, I’d weigh twelve pounds.”
And then it hits me—his voice.
My ears snag on it.
I squint at him. “Okay, I know this is gonna sound insane, but… where do I know your voice from?”
The more he smiles, the more I see the D’Angelo resemblance.
“I’m the one who walked you through the crisis before Smoke and Dillon stormed into Dante’s place. I mean—Zver’s.” He rubs his neck, sheepish. “The whole thing is a little confusing.”
“I’m right there with you.”
Then he pulls a phone from his pocket and drops it into my hand.
I stare. “What’s this?”
He puffs his cheeks, lets the air out slow. “Pictures of the baby shower.”
“Huh? We’re at the baby shower.”
He smirks. “Just… take a look.”
I swipe—and almost choke on my own spit. “What the hell—this is a baby shower. For Truffles the dog.”
“Word to the wise, Riley: parents do crazy-ass shit for their kids.” Mateo nods solemnly. “Shh… Do you hear that? That’s the sound of Enzo’s brain snapping.”
I flip through photo after photo. Balloons, streamers, the damn dog in a bow tie. “I can’t believe I missed this.”
“Dante took them for you.”
