Page 7 of Sinner's Perdition

She sighs, and I follow her, every step dipped in steel confidence.

Cato has no idea what awaits him, because this cow will trample over him like a bull.

Chapter 2

A flicker of excitement seeps through me at the thought of seeing Chiara again. Surprising because leading the life I do has all but turned me dead inside. Tonight, I will take the seat as the Boss in the family, with my brother, Dario, and my cousin, Marco, ruling under me. One day, I will unite all the families under my reign—succeeding where no one has before.

Marco and Dario are seated next to me in the back seat of the Escalade, while my two trusted security men are in front.

“If she’s anything like her sister, she is beautiful,” my brother says. I refrain from smirking, knowing this already to be true.

My cousin nods, arranging his tie, and I text Kieran. My best friend is miserable, but I guess that’s what happens when your other best friend pushes you to marry his little sister to protect her.

Are you at the compound?

Yes.

I’ll be there when I wrap things up.

I put my phone in my pocket, and Dario asks with a playful grin, “No famous last words?”

“It’s not my funeral.”

“Ahem, right,” Marco says teasingly.

They chuckle, and it eludes me why they think this is funny.

“Anything new with theDeCavallarosI should know about?” They might rule New Jersey, but if they think they can come to my city, I will annihilate them. Kieran’s warning should have been enough, considering he sent them their handler’s head in the mail. However, they’re still sniffing around my port, like rabid dogs.

“That can wait. It’s your engagement party!”

I grab my cousin’s neck and pull him to my face. His obsidian eyes widen for a second, but he quickly masks his reaction. “Business comes first.”

I release him with a shove. They remain silent and on high alert. They will never be my equals, like Kieran and Cameron are. Dario and Marco will be under me for as long as I live. And by the number of enemies piling up, who fucking knows how long I will have, but until then, I will wreak havoc on anyone daring to come for me and mine.

“Understood?”

They tip their heads in reverent obedience.

“Good.”

I button my suit jacket and step outside when we reach Bertinelli’s place. My father’s sleek car is already parked. He and Domenico have become friends after a lifetime of animosity in the name of this alliance. Only an agreement could make sworn enemies into drinking buddies, enjoying the flourishing of their businesses since they started working together and not against each other. It will be my responsibility making sure it stays that way.

Inside the opulent house, every man turns, dipping their heads in respect and shake my hand, congratulating me. The last spark of conscience fires alive at the thought of sacrificing an innocent for power, for my hungry soul, but I shove it away. It is what it is. She has to accept me and our arranged marriage.

“Father, Domenico,” I greet them.

Searching around, I see a girl whom I assume, from the physical similarities, is Chiara’s sister. She smiles awkwardly, blushing innocently.

“This is my youngest daughter, Viviana,” Domenico says.

My brother takes her in, and I shoot him a warning glare. He sticks his dick in anything that has an opening, and I don’t need any more problems, especially considering Viviana is still underage.

Heels click and halt at the top of the curved staircase. I crane my neck and swallow. Fuck, if red ever looked better on anyone. I cock my head and blink, tugging at my tie as my fiancée takes one step after the other, her green eyes flickering like a thousand emeralds, never leaving mine. The fire inside her—I don’t know if I want to trample it or stoke the flame. She stops on the last step, and my lips twitch into a smile. We’re eye to eye, but she lifts her chin, defiant to the core. If she thinks she can top me from the bottom, she has another think coming.

I grip her waist, dragging her down the last step. A surprised gasp leaves her pouty mouth, and she cranes her neck to look up at me, pursing her lips.

“Fiancée.”

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