Page 5 of Made to Sin

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” she sarcastically mumbled, attention already back toward the ballroom’s entrance.

I took my time at the bar, soaking up the scenes that unfolded while gingerly sipping on the alcohol reprieve. I was a serial people-watcher at these events since there was nothing better to do. Men occasionally came up to me but left as soon they found out who my husband was. A woman was considered property, and I was already claimed. If it wasn’t apparent, feminism was nonexistent in the mob.

Exhibit A was the silent fight of the couple standing by the corner. The woman with hair stacked higher than the Empire State Building dabbed her eyes every so often, certainly crying, as she whispered-yelled at the grungy man, presumably her husband, next to her. He ignored her nags and focused on the young females walking past— specifically their asses.

Exhibit B was a woman standing in a form-fitting red dress with the highest slit I wouldn’t dare to wear around this judgemental crowd. Her back was facing me, but from the line of men that approached her with cockiness in their strides and left with a defeated frown, I bet she was tired of their advances too.

For a world that prioritized the newest technology to cause chaos, theCosa Nostraloved to live in the past with their social norms.

I let myself enjoy being wallpaper for a couple more drinks before heading back to the main table. Undergoing countless performances of being public arm candy, I knew when Marco wanted me to be back. If the new boss came, I needed to make an appearance.

A little tipsy, I slid off the barstool and had accidentally gotten up too fast. My head spun, and my vision doubled. Not a second later, I ran into a brick wall.

Well, what I thought was a brick wall from the harshly chiseled planes. Though I never knew a wall to be eerily warm andsmell like expensive cologne.

I stumbled upon impact, bracing myself for the expected fall, but a heavy arm snaked around my waist to steady me.

“Watch where you’re going,” a gravelly, male voice said before dropping his hold.

Unless a wall could sprout arms and talk, I was now positive it wasn’t a pile of bricks. I looked up at the owner of the confusing illusion.

Maybe it was because I had one too many drinks, but I thought I was face-to-face with a man carved by Michelangelo himself. He could pass up as a male model with his slicked-back, raven swatch of hair and impeccable tuxedo, but it was hard to miss the Underworld’s gleam in his disinterested kohl eyes.

He was a foreign type of handsome, exuding pure, dark confidence that would scare even the strongest of the strongest men. Just being in his vicinity made me question myself.

It became worse when I noticed him analyzing me from head to toe. A small shiver ran down my body as I waited for him to finish his assessment. I was desensitized to being gawked at, considering it happened at every event, but something about this man doing it made me self-conscious.

His eyes left a smoldering, wet bead of sweat for each inch he roamed. I stood straighter and attempted to hide the unease he was putting me under.

Staying quiet was not a strong field of mine, and the passing silence between us was becoming uncomfortable. I felt the tedious urge to fill it. “What’s your name?”

He raised a brow. “Did nobody teach you how to apologize when you bump into someone?”

“I’m asking for your name, so I can apologize,” I snapped back.

In truth, I’d forgotten about my manners after getting distracted by his face, but a white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Luciano,” he answered curtly.

“Well, then, I’m sorry, Luciano…”

Although he was someone I normally stayed away from, the alcohol made me bold. Since I started the conversation, I should keep it going a bit longer. It would be creepy to ask for someone’s name and leave.

“Were you on your way to somewhere important?”

“None of your business.”

I tilted my head to the side, not impressed by his answer. “Is that a yes?”

“None of your business,” he repeated dryly.

His rudeness was a big ego-killer, but talking to him felt oddly refreshing. While all the other men talked to me with the hidden insinuation of wanting me in their beds, he looked at me like I was no more interesting than the news Maria watched onChannel 5.

“What’s with the secrecy? I was just curious.”

He brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of his tie. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

---