Page 90 of SINS & Riley
For once, she doesn't pull back. I stroke tender circles in the back of her hand and she lets me.
“You think she doesn’t think about you?” I ask. “You’re her blood. Of course she thinks about you.”
Her chest hitches. “Then why does she stay with him? I told her… her husband killed our Da.”
I’m at a loss for words. There’s no way to explain that away, even though I know there is an explanation. But it’s Enzo’s to tell, not mine.
So I grab a box of tissues and hand it to her. For once, I just listen.
“Somebody once told me that maybe… she loves him.”
Technically, that somebody was me. Or rather, it was Dante.
And it’s true.
Kennedy really does love Enzo…the poor, sick girl.
I wrap a hand around Riley’s shoulder, and she leans into me without a fight.
Will miracles never fucking cease?
I breathe her in, the sweet traces of honey and rose, and for a moment, I just let myself breathe.
Then I remember the baby inside her. Our baby. And the danger circling them both like wolves at a door.
Reality slams back in, reminding me why I came here in the first place.
I need answers.
And just like that, I rip our closeness away.
“Dominic mentioned gunfire. And a man… someone fighting with Enzo D’Angelo.”
Her whole body goes rigid, tension snapping through her like a brittle twig.
I lower my voice, soften it against the storm waging within me. “I need to know what happened.”
She lifts her head, those big green eyes searching mine, weighing me, trying to decide if I’m safe to trust.
And when her hand drifts protectively to her belly, I get my answer.
I’m not.
“He’s just a guy,” she says finally, lying through her teeth. “They fought. Enzo apparently won. I was just… caught in the middle. But then I saw my sister?—”
Before I can press her for more, she speaks and she’s so broken.
A fresh wave of tears break free. “When I lost my father, I thought I lost everything. But losing Kennedy… right now I just feel so… alone.”
She’s not alone.
Why can’t she see that? I’m right here.
I take her hand, press her palm flat against the hammering of my chest.
Pom is unraveling, piece by piece, in front of me—a flurry of razor-sharp cuts across my heart.
This carefully crafted life that promised her protection isn’t a cage. It’s a coffin, and it’s killing her.
