Page 190 of SINS & Riley
“Dante already has three picked out.”
Irritated, I snatch it back. “Shouldn’t you be helping Kennedy?”
“She wants me to help you. You’ve been too focused on her.” His tone sharpens. “And your baby shower?—”
“I don’t need a baby shower,” I lie. “This is Kennedy’s time. Yours and Kennedy’s,” I remind him.
“The way things are going, the two of you might be popping within weeks of each other.” His gaze drops to my belly. “And I’ve got a lot riding on it, so if you could hold off for six, that’d really help me out.” He winks.
I roll my eyes and move to the baby bath aisle.
He follows.
The mafia king picks up a diaper disposal box, and squints at the photo. “Why are they stuffing baby diapers into sausage casings?”
“They taste better that way.”
He freezes, horrified. Excellent. My good deed for the day is done.
He sets the box down a little too carefully, and clears his throat like he’s buying time.
Nerves? On Enzo?
“We’re throwing you a baby shower. You and Kennedy—side by side.”
Both of us? The words hit like a cymbal crash.
“You know. Two birds. One stone. Non-negotiable.”
I rush to the next aisle. “I am not stealing Kennedy’s thunder.” And I’m not letting Enzo D’Angelo do that. Not now. Not ever.
“Dante and I will handle everything,” he carries on, following me with his annoyingly long stride.
My chest locks so hard it steals the air. “I’m not ready for that.”
“But—”
“I can’t.”
Not just because of Dante.
Enzo and I are still two jagged rocks, sparking whenever Kennedy’s in orbit. One wrong move and we’ll slice each other open. I’ve been on my best behavior, but I can’t keep it up.
Because under all the charm and the careful smiles, he’s still the man who killed my Da. And I’ll will never forgive him for that.
He steps in front of me, closes the space between us. His eyes are suddenly raw. “Just…wait.” He sucks in a breath. “I told Kennedy I’d do this. And Dante. Give me one minute.”
I look away, but I don’t leave. If Kennedy and Dante are behind this, whatever they’ve cooked up is heavy enough to glue my feet to the floor.
“Here.” He presses something cool into my palm. A thumb drive.
“What’s this?”
“The answers you’re looking for. Watch it alone. Or with Kennedy.” His smile falters into something raw, almost apologetic. “Giving you and Kennedy this baby shower is important to me.”
Well, as long as it’s important to him.
“Then, he straightens, his mask of apathy snapping back into place, and starts to walk away.
