Page 116 of SINS & Riley
That's when I realize he's been packing his suitcase.
He’s leaving.
Because of me.
No. No, no, no. He can’t go.
Do I hate him? Obviously.
But Kennedy is crazy about him, and I’m not about to screw this up for her.
He yanks the zipper closed, fury still radiating off him, then drops onto the bed beside the suitcase. Shoulders slumped. Defeated.
But it doesn’t last.
His head snaps up, ears perked like a predator catching the frantic breath of a ground squirrel. “If you’re going to eavesdrop, you might as well make yourself at home.”
I step in, chin up. “It’s not eavesdropping if you can hear it in Calcutta.”
When his eyes lift to mine, he studies me the way I study him—measuring, calculating, sizing up exactly who we’re up against.
In his eyes? I’m nothing but a nineteen-year-old brat interfering in his marriage. Shoving my nose where it doesn’t belong.
And I still see the cutthroat mob boss, the man who swats lives away like flies over his rigatoni. But the hard lines are blurred now, the edges worn.
It’s almost like he’s… human.
“You don’t have to go,” I blurt out. “You’re Kennedy’s husband. And the father-to-be of my niece or nephew.” My fingers twist together, restless. “I’m not throwing you out of your own home.”
He cocks his head, mouth smoothing to a tight line. “How benevolent of you.” He draws in a deep breath. “You could, you know. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
“Now who’s being benevolent, big bad mob boss?”
He smirks.
I cross my arms and lean against the French doors, letting the breeze cool the heat I usually reserve for him. “It's obvious that you love Kennedy. And Kennedy loves you. And I love her.”
He nods, and silence wraps around us. A light layer of… peace. For Kennedy’s sake.
His chin jerks toward the wall.
My gaze follows to a photo. It looks like a family gathering, and I recognize Dante in the center, flanked by his twin brother Dillon. All of them innocent and impossibly young. “I’d do anything for my brothers. Or my sister.”
“I believe you,” I whisper.
He shifts, hands buried in the pockets of his robe, eyes locked on that photo. He’s probably stared it down a million times. “You’re not my sister-in-law, Riley.”
Ouch. That stings.
He goes on. “The day I married Kennedy, you became my sister. Believe it or not, I would do anything for you, as I would do anything for her. Your status in my life comes with certain… privileges.”
“Privileges?” I snort. “What the hell does that even mean? I don't exactly need anyone taken out if that's what you're saying.”
He shrugs. “It’s an open invitation.” A small smile creeps up his cheek. “You’re a D’Angelo now. Ours to protect. Say the word, and if you need something—anything—if it’s within my power, it’s yours.”
“And if what I want is you dead?” I shoot back, teasing.
“You’ll have to go through your sister first.” His grin sharpens. “She’s very attached to certain parts of me.”
