Sinful Lies (Sinful #2)

Chapter 40

Chapter

Forty

“The meaning of life is that it stops.”

― Franz Kafka

Angelo

“The bastard’s here.”

I handed Vittori a glass of champagne. He tossed it back in one rough gulp, his eyes glinting with silent judgment as I pressed my back against the wall. My gaze drifted across the crowd, the decadence swallowing us whole.

We stood nearly hidden, half concealed by the bloodred curtains that framed the ballroom—dark and opulent, as if the devil himself had curated the place. New York’s finest played their parts to perfection. The elite, draped in feathered masks and carnivalesque silks, blurred like mirages—Venetian dreams brought to life. Women in vicious gowns strutted like queens; men in polished suits radiated smug power.

It was impossible to distinguish friend from foe. But enemies? You always recognized enemies.

That’s how I saw him.

Greg.

Descending the grand staircase like it had been carved just for him. An elaborate mask hugged half his face, but I’d know that bastard anywhere. His arm was locked firmly around his wife’s, his words slipping like poison into her ear as they descended. At the bottom, she drifted away—a pawn released—but him? His gaze cut through the crowd and found me, piercing straight into my goddamn soul.

“So, what’s your plan?” Vittori murmured.

I sipped my champagne. “Not killing him tonight.”

Vittori scoffed, unamused. “Why not? Bastard kidnapped you, stole from you, and now he’s got the audacity to show up at your event, rubbing it in your face.”

“Because it’s Jade’s night.”

The words stilled him. I caught the flicker of surprise, even behind his mask.

“And?”

“And I want her to enjoy it. She worked fucking hard for this.”

Vittori’s lip curled, disbelief painted across his face. “Lazzio?—”

“I love her, Leonardo.”

“Does she know?”

“She will. Tonight.”

If the room hadn’t been filled with murmuring socialites and orchestral violins, I knew he would have laughed in my face. Me—Angelo Lazzio—admitting something so reckless, so fucking weak. But the truth had a way of escaping when you least expected it.

I was in love with Jade Whitenhouse.

So wholly, so relentlessly in love that the mere thought of her being upset or disappointed tonight made me want to raze the whole damn ballroom to the ground.

“Finally,” Vittori muttered, snatching another glass of champagne. “Took you long enough. Six years obsessed with this girl, and you’re only just figuring it out.”

Annoyance clawed at the back of my throat. “ Stai zitto. ”

I shoved my empty glass into his hand and turned to leave—but, fuck it. A hard punch to his stomach silenced him faster. He doubled over with a groan, laughter bubbling in its wake.

“By the way, touch her again, and I’ll make you swallow your teeth, stronzo .”

He straightened with a wince, a grin splitting his face. “Noted.”

I left him there, weaving through the crowd like a man possessed. I smiled, shook hands, greeted old partners and investors, but none of it mattered. None of them mattered. My soul itched for her—the only person worth seeing.

A flick of my wrist revealed the time on my Rolex.

An hour since the ball had begun, and Jade wasn’t here. That wasn’t like her. She called me a control freak, but on nights like this? She was the one who demanded perfection—every detail, every corner, every step orchestrated to her vision.

I glanced at my phone. No calls. No texts.

Then, it happened.

The shiver.

The fine hair at my nape rose.

She was here. I fucking felt her.

My eyes snapped to the top of the staircase.

Jade Whitenhouse.

Mia diavoletta.

Emerald silk poured over her curves—- the one I gifted her for Christmas —black hair swept sleek and regal, her mask catching the light with glittering green flecks—like shards of a dangerous jewel. Her hands trembled against her small bag, those sharp eyes darting over the crowd as though the weight of the room itself might crush her.

I moved.

The violins faded, everything muffled as I pushed my way through the throng until I stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.

She froze when her gaze met mine. Just for a second—her hand clutching the banister tightly, her lips trembling, before she forced herself forward, one step at a time.

When she reached me, I held out my hand.

Slowly, her fingers slipped into mine—warm, delicate, her nails grazing my skin like fire. I lifted her hand to my lips.

“Your beauty is a ruinous thing—enough to bring empires to their knees, mine included.”

Her lips curled faintly.

I stepped closer, sliding my free hand around her waist.

I dipped my head, brushing my lips against hers—a fleeting taste before she startled, cheeks flushed.

“Angelo,” she hissed, pushing me back gently. “Stop. People are watching.”

“And?”

“They’ll think we’re … together .”

I traced my thumb along her cheek. “Aren’t we, amore ?”

She inhaled deeply, her resolve cracking as she chewed her bottom lip.

“Angelo–”

“I can still feel how tight your pussy was around my cock the other night. We can skip the pleasantries and admit it—you’re mine, Jade.”

“Ugh, you’re so inappropriate.”

I inched closer, “Only when I’m with you. Let’s get you a drink.”

I took her hand again, unwilling to let go, and guided her through the crowd.

I found a nearby butler, snatched a glass of champagne, and pressed it into her hand.

She finished it off in three gulps.

“Angelo—”

“Mr. Lazzio! There you are!”

A man approached with a woman under his arm—young enough to be his daughter.

“Congratulations on a stunning night. It’s our first New Year’s Eve in New York, and there’s no better way to start the year than with a Lazzio exhibition.”

I released Jade’s hand, forced a polite smile, and shook his.

“It’s me. Cillian Mondeor.”

Cillian Mondeor. Europe’s golden architect. The man who had turned Paris into a modern masterpiece. A man whose work had made him the envy of the world.

“Welcome, Cillian,” I said smoothly. “It’s an honor.”

“No, the honor’s mine. What you’ve done here—renovating the museum after that fire… It’s extraordinary. You’d never know it burned to the ground.”

Smoke. Screams. Flames devouring everything in sight—the memories clawed at me, but I shoved them down.

“Thank you, Cillian. Allow me to introduce my COO, Jade Whitenhouse. She’s the mastermind behind tonight?—”

I turned.

She was gone.

The spot where she’d stood only seconds ago was empty, swallowed whole by the sea of masks and glittering chaos.

My fingers itched at my side, empty without hers in them.

I moved—cutting through the crowd with purpose, my jaw set tight as I scanned the room.

She was nowhere in sight.

The ballroom, with all its gold and velvet excess, suddenly felt suffocating. The violins hummed something dramatic in the background, people laughed a little too loudly, and I caught glimpses of feathers, lace, and painted eyes that meant nothing to me.

Where did you go, Jade?

My hand itched to pull out my phone again, but I didn’t.

Instead, I slipped through the crimson curtains lining the ballroom and into the quieter sculpture room.

The change hit me instantly. The air was cooler, the crowd thinner, voices softer—low murmurs, like secrets shared in shadows.

People lingered in small groups here, sipping champagne as they admired the sculptures. Even the marble statues were dressed for the occasion, Venetian masks perched on cold faces, their stone gazes as lifeless as the men who’d put them there.

But I didn’t stop to admire them.

The flicker of candlelight guided me as I walked deeper into the room until I reached it: Samson and Delilah , brought all the way from Italy.

I stopped.

The sculpture loomed in front of me—Samson’s body draped in defeat, his strength stripped away, the betrayal carved into every perfect line of his ruined form.

Delilah stood poised, beautiful and merciless, her hand hovering above him like a silent goddess.

Their story was simple.

She had loved him. Or at least had pretended to.

And when it had mattered most, she’d betrayed him—had sold his secret for silver, and had let the world tear him apart.

A man so strong, brought to nothing because he had put his trust and love in the wrong woman.

I stared at it for a long moment, something heavy settling in my chest.

“Lazzio.”

The voice came from behind me, and I didn’t bother to turn right away.

“Great night,” Greg began, his champagne swirling in the glass, the faint fizzing sound underscoring his smugness. “Congrats on the party. Though… I heard the masks are all falling tonight.”

I turned to him. “Is that so?”

“That’s the rumor.”

My eyes landed back on Samson and Delilah—power undone by love, betrayal immortalized in marble.

“They say every rumor has a thread of truth, Greg.” I took a step closer, towering over him. “And tonight, your mask isn’t just falling. It’s shattering. Along with you.”

He took a measured sip of champagne. “Or maybe yours, Lazzio.”

He gestured lazily to the sculpture.

“Betrayal is the cruelest of acts. That’s why no one should trust anyone —not their allies, their lovers, not even their family.” His eyes locked onto mine, darker now. “That’s why your parents should’ve never trusted me.”

A wave of nausea coiled in my gut as his words dragged me back—back to that fucking basement.

The damp stench of mildew and iron. Ropes biting into my wrists, each movement ripping the raw skin underneath. Blood streaking my arms and pooling on the cold, filthy concrete.

And his voice echoing in the darkness.

How the hell did I not recognize it sooner?

My brain must’ve blocked it out, wiping it away, trying to erase those fucking memories.

Greg tilted his head, studying me. “Those fourteen days in that basement… I suppose you think of them as your worst nightmare, don’t you?” He gestured to the glittering room, the chandeliers above catching the fractured light. “But without them, would you be here now? The grand Angelo Lazzio? Nah. You’d be just another rich little shit. Soft. Entitled. Worthless .”

A glass shattered across the room, a woman’s laughter following, cheeks red with embarrassment as butlers rushed to clean up.

“I was supposed to kill you,” he said casually, as if recounting the weather. “I thought, what’s the best way to dismantle the great Lazzio dynasty? Take out their heir, of course! Their only miracle child after years of trying. Angelo. Heaven’s little angel.” He sneered. “If I took you from them, they’d never recover. The mighty Lazzios, ruined forever.”

I took another step forward, my fists loose at my sides.

Calm. Controlled. Deadly.

The air in my lungs turned jagged as my nine-year-old self flashed behind my eyes.

“Careful, Angelo. You wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

A low growl rumbled in my chest. “You fucking–”

He leaned in slightly. “But you didn’t die. That’s what pissed me off the most. You fought to stay alive, even at nine years old. Through the blood, the blows, the insults—you clung to life. Stubborn little thing. I knew you wouldn’t know a damn thing about your father’s business back then. Too young, too green. But I wanted to watch you sweat. To watch you break. So I kept going, days and nights, cracking that little mind of yours, until even I got fucking bored.”

I ran my thumb over my lips, fighting to stay in control.

Killing him here, with all these people watching, would ruin Jade’s night—and she deserved better than that.

“And so I let you live. I thought, let’s see what this boy becomes after the scars heal. ” He drained his glass. “Turns out, you became something worth killing after all. And when I come for you again, Angelo, there’ll be no pity left in me. Oh, and say hi to Jade for me. Hope tonight doesn’t end in another explosion of your wrath like it always does.”

A flicker of unease crossed his features as he finally noticed the corner of my mouth curl into a smile—cold, merciless, and fucked up enough to tear him apart.

“I’m counting the seconds, Greg.”

With that, I turned and walked off, the fire in me only burning hotter.

I needed to find Jade, make sure she was safe, before I came back to end Greg once and for all.

I searched every fucking room, but she wasn’t there—just faces I had no interest in. I called her phone, but no answer. I didn’t even think, just took the elevator up to my office, desperate for a glimpse of her.

The hallway was quiet, lifeless without Grace’s smile and the comforting smell of coffee. The place felt cold, empty. But then, a faint light from under the door caught my eye. Someone was in there. It must be her.

I pushed the door open, and closed it behind me.

She stood in front of the window, her back to me, arms tight around her waist like she was holding herself together. I leaned against the door, my eyes roaming over her body, taking in every curve. Her hair—so long, so dark—was the first thing that hit me the moment she’d burst into my office six years ago.

All I had been able to think about was running my hands through it, twisting it around my wrist, pulling her closer, feeling it slip through my fingers.

It was so fucking long, sometimes when she’d pissed me off, I’d pictured myself grabbing it like a leash, yanking her around until she fucking listened to me.

I took a slow step forward, my eyes tracing every movement of her body, watching the way she tensed, her breath faltering.

And then, she turned.

She crossed her arms, her gaze heavy with a sadness that twisted inside me.

She’d been different yesterday too—avoiding my eyes, pressing against me in bed like she couldn’t stand the thought of being apart, but at the same time, it was like my presence burned her.

I’d asked what was wrong, twice, and both times she had lied.

I could see it—the flicker in her eyes, the way her face paled just a shade.

I knew what it was.

We’d spent so many years hating each other that she couldn’t grasp the truth: I had never hated her. I’d always fucking wanted her. But I’d never believed she’d want me in return.

Six years in her shadow—taking care of her, protecting her, loving her in the dark, never knowing if she felt the same. But her hate? I knew that well. So I had let her give it to me—insults, barbs, petty little jabs. It hadn’t mattered. Because it meant she was close. Her pretty face inches from mine, her eyes locked on me, her voice a soft, haunting caress in my ear.

I had lived for that.

Even if it was fucked up. Even if it was twisted.

It was all I’d ever needed.

Having her by my side was all I’d ever craved.

Her mask was gone. Mine wasn’t needed anymore, so I threw it on the desk.

“Playing hide and seek, Miss Whitenhouse?”

She tilted her head, a look of confusion crossing her face.

“I’ve been searching for you for an hour, everywhere. Guess time’s up. You win.”

She chuckled ever so slightly before a sigh left her lips.

Her eyes met mine.

“We need to talk, Angelo.”

“Yeah, we do,” I murmured, stepping closer, inch by inch, until there was barely a breath of air between us.

Her head tilted up, her lips parting, quivering like she was bracing herself for what was coming.

“But first, you need to tell me what’s bothering you, so I can fix it.”

She let out a dry, biting laugh. “Fix it? What if the problem is me, Angelo? What’s your fix then? Shoot me too, like Pauline Dupont?”

My jaw tightened at the mention of that name.

“Pauline Dupont made her choices. She earned her bullet. You’re not her. Don’t ever compare yourself to someone like that.”

Her chin tilted up defiantly. “And if I did deserve it? What then?”

“If you think I’d ever kill you, you’re out of your fucking mind. But anyone else causing you problems? They’re dead the second I know their name.”

I didn’t know what the hell was tearing her apart, but I’d never seen her this wrecked—like she hated herself more than anything I could ever kill for her.

Her silence stretched, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but the words never came.

I leaned in. “Let me make this clear. If you’ve made a mess, I’ll clean it up. If someone’s hurt you, they’re already dead. But if you think for one second I’d ever hurt you, you don’t know me at all.”

She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. “You don’t get it?—”

“Then make me understand, sweetheart.”

A tear fell, but she quickly wiped it away, biting her lip. “I can’t.”

“Then listen to me, Jade. I need to say this. Something I’ve been keeping for too damn long.”

“No, Angelo. Please?—”

“I love you,” I forced out, the words breaking past all the walls I’d put up around my heart. “I’ve loved you since the moment you burst into my life—riding your high horse, throwing your big ego around, pouting like you owned the damn world. And maybe you did, because you’ve owned me from the start. I’ve never been able to look away from you ever since.”

She went still, like my words had paralyzed her.

“I’ve loved you every day, more and more,” I continued. “Working with you, arguing with you, just having you in my life… It became my routine. My anchor. You changed everything—how I saw the world, how I saw myself. And I know—” my voice cracked, barely audible now. “I know I’ve hurt you with my words over the years. God, I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. But, Jade… I never meant a single one of them. Not one.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

“I said those things because I didn’t know how to say the truth. Because the truth— this truth—terrified me. I was scared that the second I let it slip, the second my hands let go of this, you’d fly away. And I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“So, please. Let me be yours, Jade. Let me be the one for you.”

Everything I’d kept buried for years came rushing out, raw and untamed. My mask cracked, but it didn’t feel like relief—it felt like everything was slipping through my fingers.

“I can’t—We can’t—” A sob broke from her.

I took a step forward, but she stopped me.

“You can’t love me, Angelo. Not after what I’ve done.”

She turned, walking to the window, the lights of New York glowing brighter, everyone gearing up for the countdown to New Year’s Eve.

I glanced at the time.

11:58 p.m.

I moved towards her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back into me. She cried silently, her hands resting on my arms, my head pressing into her neck.

For a moment, I just held her—letting her break.

I pressed a kiss to the crook of her neck.

“There’s nothing you could do that would ever make me stop loving you, Jade.”

Another sob left her lips. “Don’t say that…”

“I mean it.”

She sniffled, her head dropping back onto my shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you too, Angelo,” she whispered. “So much. Too much, and I shouldn’t. But for some reason, my heart betrayed me and chose you.”

Relief washed over me, settling deep in my chest.

I had seen it in her eyes, felt it in the way she’d kissed me, but hearing her say it… that made it real. It erased all the fucking doubts away.

I nuzzled her neck, inhaling the scent of her— so intoxicating, so fucking addictive, that I couldn’t stop myself. I kissed her neck again, feeling her shiver under my lips.

“What do you mean?”

She stayed silent, her body trembling in my arms, eyes closed as if she couldn’t find the strength to speak.

But just as I thought she might, the sound of fireworks exploded outside, bursting in the sky in a dazzling array of shimmering colors. The flashes lit up the windows, casting fleeting shadows over her face.

I felt her heart race beneath my fingers. It matched the chaos outside—wild, uncontrollable.

My arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer.

We stood there in silence, the fireworks outside lighting up the sky in bursts of color, but the space between us felt thick, like time had come to a standstill.

Slowly, she turned to face me, and my hands dropped to her hips instinctively, pulling her closer.

She didn’t wait—her hands cupped my face, drawing me in until our lips met.

It wasn’t a kiss of love.

No.

It was hunger, fierce and unrestrained, like she needed something from me—something she couldn’t even explain. Her lips were urgent, almost desperate, as if she feared that if she didn’t let herself feel this now, it would disappear before she could grasp it.

I leaned back, my forehead dropping to rest against hers.

Her hands slowly slid from my face, fingers trailing down my neck, before they settled over my chest.

“I’ve put my resignation on your desk. Please let me go, Angelo. Don’t try to stop me.”

The moment the words hit me, it felt like acid had been poured over my skin.

My eyes landed on the envelope on my desk.

“Resignation? Why? What the fuck is going on?”

Her eyes met mine, calm, like she’d already made peace with this, and that just made my blood boil even more.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Angelo.”

“And you think I’ll just let you walk away?”

Her gaze never wavered. “If you love me, respect my choice.”

My jaw clenched.

The words hit like a fucking slap, and for a moment, I didn’t know if I was going to rage or fucking collapse.

But I didn’t move as she turned and left, the door shutting behind her like it was slamming a part of me into the dark.