Page 125 of SINS & Riley
“How soon?”
Question of the hour.
Considering I just pulled this shit out of thin air, I probably need to let Zver know before somebody else decides to do the honors for me.
I could call him, sure.
But hey, remember how we’ve never actually had baby-making sex? Surprise—you’re going to be a dad! feels like a conversation best had in person.
Especially since I need to explain to him that I'm doing it to save his stupid life. Even if he doesn't want me in it.
Enzo clears his throat. Obviously still waiting.
I sigh and lick the last trace of chocolate off my thumb. “Depends. Do these I’m a D’Angelo now privileges come with a fully fueled jet?”
He drums his fingers on the table before finally answering. “I guess it does.”
38
ZVER
The night ate me alive.
Hours pacing the streets of Chicago, the cold biting my skin, my thoughts hamster wheeling over and over again in my head.
Every wrong move I made in the last twenty-four hours clawing at me.
I fucked up.
The kind of fuckup you don’t crawl away from. The kind that makes enemies sharpen their knives and argue over who gets the honor of carving you open the slowest.
Soon enough, the Irish mob will be on high alert, sniffing for blood.
I laid out every last ounce of C4 I brought and lit that fucker up like a Roman torch.
Considering it was an old textile mill, packed floor-to-ceiling with fabric bolts and enough paint chemicals to choke the city, that blaze isn’t dying anytime soon. Two days, maybe more, before it even begins to cool.
They’ll sift through the ash eventually. And when they do, they’ll find Declan.
A fuckup, sure—but still a Keenan.
And just like me and my brothers, the Keenans look after their own. If only out of a sense of loyalty.
The sun rises. Time to disappear. A masked man doesn’t blend with Chicago daylight, so I take the long way back to the mansion.
Sleep-deprived. Starving. Mind frayed to the edge—one wrong word away from snapping.
My fingers have a steady rhythm along the steering wheel as I try to think.
I need Dominic and his family to get to safety, and if I know anything, it’s that he won’t go willingly.
Which is why I need to give him no choice in the matter.
And maybe I’m not thinking straight when I finally rolled through the gates.
Or when exhaustion clings to me like a second skin as I shove through the front door.
Dominic’s there. Waiting.
