Page 22 of Made to Sin

Without the normal group of rich housewives walking their posh Pomeranians, we made it in thirteen.

This place was nicer than the old studio. Unlike the previous hole-in-the-wall, this was a glass floor-to-ceiling unit. The lobby,alone, seemed to have modernized furniture and technology the old one lacked. I wouldn’t be surprised if the price tag was double.

It was a good thing, I wasn’t the one paying.

I might not go often, but when I had the motivation, Pilates made me feel like I had my life together. Since today was one of those rare days, I was going to take full advantage of it.

—

A draining hour workout later, I was sitting in the back of Arnold’s SUV again as he pulled through the gates of Hell.

An unfamiliar black sports car parked in the driveway caught my attention when we rounded the corner.

God, don’t tell me Marco had people over.

While this studio was nicer, the instructor was also stricter. My abs hurt to breathe and my limbs were strained to their limits. Needless to say, I was a mess and not ready to greet people.

“Arnold, who’s parked in front of the house?” I asked.

My driver was at the estate as much as I was, so he knew most of the visitors we had.

His eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror. “I have never seen that car here,Signora.”

I take that back. Guess I was on my own.

I sighed. “Thanks anyway. And how many times have I told you to call me, ‘Katarina?’ It’s been five years!”

Arnold chuckled from the front seat, but the old man was too proper to change. He would call meSignoraas long as he was working for my husband.

“Call me if you want to go anywhere else today,Signora.”

“You wound me, Arnold.”

I debated going through the servant’s entrance to avoid the company, but right as I slammed the weighted door, Marco walked out with none other than Luciano.

Someone give Lady Luck a trophy for her spotless timing.

Before I could hop back in and pretend I forgot something, Arnold sped off.

Traitor.

Spinning around to face my dear husband and his wretched company, I gave them a tight-lipped smile and a curt greeting.

“Katarina, come here,” Marco commanded.

Every fiber in my body wanted to try and make a run for it, but the black glint of guns tucked in the men’s waistband cut the idea short. The best choice I had was to listen and walk over.

As I neared where they were standing on the shaded porch, my eyes widened at the sight of Luciano. I tried not to gawk, but it was the first time I saw him sans suit jacket. His dress shirt stretched against his broad muscles— there was no denying he had a lot— and hugged his slim waist. My knees were wobbly from Pilates, but that wasn’t the reason I was having a hard time walking straight.

On top of everything, I couldn’t help but zone in on the various inks he had running from his right wrist to under his cuffed sleeve.

Merda,two of my weaknesses both adorned flawlessly by someone I hated to admire.

“Katarina, you’re home just in time. Luciano was asking about you,” Marco said as I stepped onto the stone porch.

My brows furrowed in confusion. “He was?”

“Yes, I wanted to see you,” Luciano drawled, an insinuating edge lacing within his tone. His phrasing could be considered a coincidence, but something in me knew he said those specific words on purpose.

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