Page 205 of SINS & Riley
I don’t even care where I end up. Kennedy’s couch. A motel. Hell, the back seat of my car.
Though, it’s not exactly a burden. Dante upgraded me to a bigger Mercedes SUV—soft leather seats, Wi-Fi, dual monitors. Even a fridge that holds twelve bottles of breast milk.
Twelve.
Like what? My boobs are on tap.
But that’s not the point.
The point is I’m done.
Right. Fucking. Now.
The suitcase fights me—too big and heavy in all the wrong ways.
Still, I manage to drag it through two halls of the D’Angelo estate, wheels clattering over marble like a rapid-fire shots. Versailles on steroids.
By the time I hear voices, my lungs are on fire. How the hell am I supposed to keep up with a kid?
Enzo and Smoke are in the library, talking loud enough I know it’s the scotch, but low enough I can’t make them out.
Not that it matters.
You know what two big, burly men could do? Move this damn suitcase for the pregnant lady.
Hell, they could probably lift it with a finger. Because let’s be real—short of magically levitating it, there’s no way I’m getting it into the trunk.
I take a breath, square my shoulders, and wheel it straight through the door.
But then I hear Dante. Fuck a rubber duck. “Just don’t tell Pom,” he says.
I don’t know what he means. But I know he’s hiding something. Again.
My first instincts hit hard. Eavesdrop. Find a nice, thick sliver of wood to sink all my pain into. And run.
But I can’t. I’m not that scared little girl anymore. I’m done hiding in the dark, crouched in a closet, waiting to see what the monsters will do.
It’s time to step into the light. And for the first time in my life, face my fears head-on.
I’ve been through hell and back. I’m raw, hormonal as shit, and about to be a mom. A warning to all monsters: fear me.
With that, I yank on my big-girl panties. Dante D’Angelo better brace for impact, because God help him, we’re doing the one thing I’ve always been too scared to do.
We are about to have a long, hard talk. And if my inner Scots girl has a say, our conversation will be loud enough to blow off the freaking roof.
I barge in. They’re bent over the pool table, mid-laugh, when I wheel the suitcase through the door.
Dante’s blue eyes blow wide. “Is it time?”
“Yeah. Time for me to shove this suitcase right up your ass.”
He looks to the heavens for help while Enzo and Smoke grin like they’ve won the lotto. What luck—front row seats.
I don’t let up. “Dante D’Angelo, what can’t they”—I air quote—“tell Pom?”
They all clam up.
By now, I’m shouting. “Did you or did you not order a paternity test?”
