Sinful Lies (Sinful #2)

Chapter 22

Chapter

Twenty-Two

“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.”

― André Malraux

Jade

I sighed, feeling like I’d just completed a marathon in heels. My feet were screaming, my back drenched from hours of parade-walking through luxury stores with velvet ropes at the entrances.

We’d tried on enough outfits to open a boutique, and my arms were about to fall off from hauling all the bags.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a new wardrobe, but Monica Lazzio?

A shopping machine.

Almost sixty, and still outpacing me like she’s training for the Olympics.

“After all that, we definitely deserve some coffee. Don’t you agree, dolcezza ?”

I slumped into my seat, feeling like I’d been hit by a truck.

The butler handed me my caramel macchiato, and when it hit my lips, I almost moaned loud enough for the whole mansion to hear.

“Definitely,” I muttered, clutching the warm cup.

Forget the bags—this was the real treasure of the day.

“You know, after all these years working for Angelo, I still can’t figure out why you two never got together.”

I almost spat my drink out, coughing like I was choking on air, blindsided by her bluntness.

Well, Monica, maybe because your son is the reason I’m hollow inside, and I’m still working for him just to get my revenge.

“What do you mean?”

She gave a little laugh, adding sugar to her coffee, her spoon spinning like she was stirring up a magic potion. “You know exactly what I mean, dolcezza . You two would make a great pair. You’re exactly the woman he needs. Someone who won’t kiss his ass, and can keep him on his toes.”

I snorted. “Monica, I really like you, I do, but if I were dating a man like your son, I’d end up in prison or a psych ward. Just working for him is more energy than I can give.”

That, and maybe the knife I’ll eventually stick in his heart.

She shook her head, eyes narrowing as if she saw something I didn’t. “You don’t see Angelo for what he really is. Under all that brooding mess, he’s a good man,” she sighed, almost fondly. “Life forced him to become heartless at a very young age.”

And there it was.

Come on, Monica. Tell me your son’s darkest secret.

I leaned in slightly. “What do you mean, Monica?”

For a moment, I saw hesitation in her eyes—a storm of doubt, like she wasn’t sure she could trust me. But it faded just as quickly.

“No, I shouldn’t…” she trailed off, shaking her head, clearly torn.

Shit.

I slid my hand over hers. “What is it? You’re freaking me out.”

She sighed, breath shaking.

Her hands trembled so badly that she had to set her coffee cup down with a soft clink. Her eyes scanned the room, checking for anyone listening.

The other women? Gone. Off to the spa or lunch.

It was just her and me now—alone.

The perfect setup for something I was ready to hear.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice so low I had to strain to catch it. “I trust you, Jade.”

Big mistake.

I nodded slowly.

“When Angelo turned nine, Carlos and I planned a surprise for him. A weekend in the Hamptons—just the three of us.”

She swallowed, unable to meet my gaze.

“We wanted him to have our full attention for three days—no interruptions, no work. We locked up our phones, stashed them in the safe. It was supposed to be perfect. Mid-August, warm, sunny. We rented a private house with its own beach.” She sighed, her voice softening. “It was beautiful, Jade. A weekend that was supposed to make everything right.”

“That sounds like a wonderful birthday surprise.”

She nodded, lips pressed tightly together. “It was. We ate, laughed, painted together. But on the last day, Angelo wanted to stay on the beach. He was so content, building sandcastles, lost in his little world.” She stopped herself, and the smile faded. “Everything happened so fast, Jade…”

I leaned in, instinctively holding my breath.

A few seconds ticked by, Monica sitting there like she was carrying the weight of the world in her hands. Her lips were pressed together so tightly, I thought they might disappear.

For a split second, my cold little heart started to ache for her.

But I snapped myself out of it, quick.

“Carlos and I decided to go for a swim. Just a few minutes. Nothing too long,” she said, her breath unsteady. “We thought it would be fine. It wasn’t like we were leaving him alone. He was just playing, building his castles by the water. We were right there—just a few hundred feet away. But when we came back…”

She paused, swallowing hard, as if trying to force the words out.

I could see the pain flash across her face.

“When we came back…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. “He was gone.”

“Gone?”

Monica nodded, eyes unfocused. “We searched everywhere , Jade. We screamed his name. We ran up and down the beach, asking everyone if they'd seen him. But no one had. And then, after what felt like forever, we called the police. The moment we reported it, I knew—it wasn’t just some prank. No. It was too quiet, too calculated. He’d been taken.”

Nothing on my bingo card of Angelo Lazzio’s secrets could have prepared me for this.

Stolen money? Yeah, maybe.

Hooked up with a teacher? Sure.

But kidnapped ?

“Who took him, Monica?”

Her eyes flickered to mine. “That’s the thing, Jade. We never found out. They took him, and we spent days in hell—no ransom, no contact. Just gone. For fourteen days. Then, one day, we got a call. A man on the other end told us Angelo was safe… but he was different. Changed.”

She wiped her eyes quickly, trying to hide the tears that had fallen.

“When we finally got him back, he was never the same. He was scared, withdrawn, haunted by things I could never understand. And that’s when Carlos started changing too. The people who took him, Jade—they didn’t just take Angelo. They took something else from all of us. Our happiness.”

Angelo Lazzio—kidnapped.

The man who controlled everything , who crushed anyone who dared to cross him, had once been a helpless child, taken without a trace.

How the hell did that fit into the puzzle of who he was now?

I couldn’t speak.

My brain was racing, but my mouth? Useless. Stuck in neutral, unable to process the bomb she’d just dropped.

Monica sniffed. “You know… he never—he never talked about what happened during those fourteen days. Not once. Not to me, not to Carlos, not even to the therapists we forced him to see. All he ever said was that he was fine. That he didn’t want to talk about it.”

He’d never told anyone?

Why?

Monica reached into her purse, fumbling as she pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. “The only thing left from that time are the scars on his back. Just a few, but… deep. And he’s never explained how he got them. Never.”

Scars.

My throat tightened.

Angelo Lazzio, the untouchable kingpin, carrying scars no one dared to ask about.

For a moment, I just stared at her.

The guilt she must carry as a mother—it had to be crushing. To have looked away for just a few minutes and lost her son. To have spent those fourteen days picturing every unthinkable horror, only to get him back as a silent, shattered version of the boy she’d known.

And just like that, Monica Lazzio had given me exactly what I needed—served it up on a silver platter.

The perfect way to shatter Angelo Lazzio.

“You’re not coming. End of discussion.”

I rolled my eyes, crossing my legs as the mattress dipped under me.

He yanked off his shirt, and my irritation took a quick detour south. My gaze, uninvited, traced the sharp lines of his chest, those unfairly sculpted abs, and the faint trail of dark hair leading down into the waistband of his double-lined pants.

Without a word, he gestured toward the bed.

I handed him his jumper, but not before inhaling it deeply. “Mmm,” I hummed, stepping closer.

His eyes narrowed, dark and burning, as he snatched the fabric from my hands. He slipped it on, the movement quick, but his eyes still locked with mine.

“I promise I won’t annoy you,” I said, tilting my head, lips curling into a sweet, innocent smile. “Not a word, not a peep. I’ll be like your shadow.”

He sighed, grabbing a belt and threading it through the loops of his pants. That belt buckle gleamed—fuck, it would definitely haunt my dreams tonight.

“Hunting isn’t a safe space for a woman like you, Miss Whitenhouse. I wouldn’t want your Louboutins to get dirty.”

I took a step toward him, fingers tangling in his hair as I yanked his head back.

His breath caught for a second.

“Oh, I can get dirty,” I whispered, my thumb tracing the line of his jaw. My fingers slid down, cupping his face as I leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Wanna find out?”

He shoved me back hard, and I ended up sprawled across the bed, bouncing once like a ragdoll.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

A deep, breathless chuckle that came straight from the dark, twisted part of me.

He glared down at me. “You’re seriously twisted.”

You know what?

I was feeling twisted, and in a reckless mood, and those two never really got together—never really fit together—without me itching to play with fire.

“Oh, boss,” I whispered, slowly crawling forward. “I think what’s really missing in your life is a bit of fun. A little sinful adventure.”

I yanked the hem of my jumper up, the fabric dragging over my skin as I felt his eyes scorch me. The sparkly emerald bra clung to my chest—tight, teasing, daring him to look closer.

I watched his jaw tighten, that small twitch of irritation in his eyes.

Good.

My boots? Gone in an instant, tossed aside like they were nothing.

The skirt? Yeah, that hit the floor as I stood, leaving me in nothing but black lace stockings and a matching green thong.

I turned my back to him, arching just enough to give him a full, taunting view of the tattoo crawling across my spine—the one I knew he hated.

“You know, Lazzio,” I muttered, “You’re too predictable. Always trying to be in control. But you wanna know what I think? I think you need to let go. Just a little. I think it’s time someone showed you what it feels like to get really dirty.”

I bent forward, watching his eyes follow every move, every inch of me, as I hooked my thumbs into one of my stockings.

Slowly, I slid it down, making sure to drag it over my skin.

When that one hit the floor, I did the same with the other.

Straightening up, I met his stare.

Dark eyes, furrowed brows, and the unmistakable heat creeping across his skin—whether he wanted to admit it or not, Angelo Lazzio was turned on.

With a wicked smile, I slid the bra off, tossing it aside carelessly, and it fluttered to the floor. My chest was bare now, nipples hard, practically aching for attention.

His eyes were glued to them, not moving an inch.

“What do you think? Still think I can’t come ?”

I couldn’t suppress the smug smile creeping up as his gaze flickered between my chest and my eyes, caught in the pull of both.

Then he moved closer.

I settled back onto the bed, supporting myself with my arms as I opened my legs to let him in. He didn’t hesitate, following me as I slowly sank onto the covers, my bare back pressing into them, arms resting at my sides.

To my surprise, he leaned down, each of his fists planted beside my head as he hovered above me, his face inches from mine.

“You can come, Miss Whitenhouse,” he murmured, his hot breath making my lips tingle. I couldn’t resist licking them, tasting the wrath in his words. “But if I hear one fucking word from you, I’ll dig a hole in the woods and bury you in it.”

I smiled. “Is that a promise?”

His breath danced across my skin before his lips brushed against my ear.

I felt his hand curl around my throat, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“ Sí , diavoletta . And just so you know…” He moved even closer, my tits now pressed against his chest.

For a split second, I was consumed by the heat of him—until I noticed the fabric of his jumper separating our skin. It suddenly pissed me off. I wanted to feel his naked chest pressed to mine.

Honey and dark wood draped in silk sheets.

“I’m not just your fucking boss, Miss Whitenhouse,” he said slowly, his hand tightening around my throat. “I’m a man first—and you’d do well to remember that before you strip in front of me. Next time, I won’t hesitate to take you.”

With that, as if his skin were burning, he released my throat roughly, causing me to bounce on the bed slightly.

He grabbed his coat and stormed out the door before I had a chance to blink, let alone process what the hell had just happened.