Page 117 of SINS & Riley
I openly gag, loud and dramatic.
We both laugh. And it feels… weirdly good.
I’m starting to understand how much she means to him, and I’m tired of hating him. Tired of the invisible wedge it’s driven between me and Kennedy.
I push off the doorframe, and step closer. “Let me be clear, Enzo. If you ever hurt her—” my voice drops, sharp and lethal, “—I’ll kill you.”
His gaze locks on mine. Steady. Unflinching. “If I ever hurt her, I’ll let you.”
It knocks the wind out of me for half a second. Because I can tell…he means it.
“I made a vow to Kennedy,” he says, voice low but steady. “That I’d protect you the same way I protect my own sister. And I will.” He extends his hand. “Truce?”
For a flicker of a second, I swear I see it—hope. Not just for Kennedy. For him. For me. For all of us.
I eye his hand warily. “Did you wash that?”
“I did. Twice.”
I shake my head but take it, a warning sharp in my grip. “This is a baby step, not a moonwalk. We’re not braiding hair and binge-watching Bridgerton.”
For the briefest second, his mouth almost curves. “Way to crush my hope. You really are Kennedy’s sister.”
He lets go, and silence stretches between us. Barely a heartbeat.
Then, out of nowhere, he asks, “So, how far along are you?”
The question slams into me like a sucker punch.
I swat his arm, hissing, “Are you spying on my vagina now? How the hell do you even know I’m pregnant?”
My hand drifts to my stomach, instinctive. Protective.
Should I tell him? Should I say this child is Dante’s—that the most precious piece of his brother is growing inside me?
No. Not yet.
I’ve already read you’re not supposed to tell anyone in the first three months. Because what if?—
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
Nothing’s going to happen.
Still, I’m not blurting it out to the universe. And Enzo and I only just called a truce. I am not trusting him with my sweetest, darkest secret.
My pulse stutters. “How—how could you possibly know? The last time you saw me, I wasn’t?—”
“You’re a little more…” He falters, searching for a word, then gives up. “Oh, fuck it. Your bra size has doubled. At least. Just like Kennedy’s did.”
“What?” My gaze drops to my chest because—double? Really?
He only shrugs, clinical and cool. “I also own a prego-sniffing dog.”
“A prego-sniffing dog? How is that even a thing?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know. But it is.”
I swallow hard as the truth claws up my throat, desperate to get out. God, I’ve been dying to tell someone—anyone. But not him. Not before Kennedy. Even if he sees it all over my face.
