Page 76 of SINS & Riley
Any. Fucking. Day.
I drag in a breath. Focus.
I don’t know Andre’s game. But I know this: whatever comes out of his mouth is either a trap, a lie, or the key I’ve been hunting for nearly six years.
The key to what happened to my father.
The same key that forced me to torch my life, sever all ties to my family, and live in exile.
Unrecognizable. Even to myself.
But two things are certain.
One, I will find out what happened to my father. No matter how high the bodies stack.
And two?
Riley Mullvain will never be part of the equation.
Not until the blood in my veins runs goddamned dry.
I just have to string Andre along for two weeks—long enough to see if he really knows what happened to my father.
Or if he’s just fucking with me.
Antonio D’Angelo drilled two truths into me.
Power builds alliances.
Patience gets answers.
So for now, I lead with power and bide my time.
But if Uncle Andre knows whether my father is alive, rotting in a cell, or buried in the ground, he will give it to me.
And then he’ll pay. In blood.
“Are you ready to go, sir?” my driver asks cautiously, cigarette dangling between his fingers.
“Another minute.” By their faces, they don’t like it—me insisting we hold position.
But they’ll obey.
They always do.
My men shift, restless and uneasy. A small, lethal army reduced to sitting ducks outside Casa del Asshole.
And they’re not wrong. We should’ve been on the road by now.
But in exchange for my so-called benevolence of not taking a dime upfront from Uncle Andre, I demanded one show of good faith.
Elena.
What the hell is taking him so long to deliver her? My mind spins through a dozen sick possibilities—what he might be doing to her now.
It's just like that fucker to slobber all over a cookie before handing it to me.
Or maybe he’s having second thoughts.
