Sinful Lies (Sinful #2)

Chapter 41

Chapter

Forty-One

“After all, it’s one thing to run away when someone’s chasing you.

It's entirely another to be running all alone.”

― Jennifer E. Smith

Jade

I crammed the last of my clothes into my suitcase—the ones that didn’t feel like they weighed a thousand pounds from guilt alone. My vision blurred with tears, and my throat tightened again, like it was punishing me for even trying to breathe.

The bathroom was next. I swiped my hygiene products into a bag.

The second I had gotten home, I’d ripped off my dress, the fabric burning against my skin, the sting of betrayal—mine, his, ours—digging deeper than I could handle.

Yoga pants and a hoodie had seemed appropriate for someone who was running away once again.

My job in New York? Over. Done. Finished.

By the time the city woke up from its champagne-soaked haze, they’d be feasting on the juiciest scandal of the year. Angelo Lazzio, the untouchable Don Juan, completely exposed.

And all thanks to me.

The one he trusted. The one he loved .

A bitter, pathetic sob broke free as I sat down on my bed, pressing my palms against my face like it could hold me together.

Years of planning, plotting, promising myself this moment would feel good, and yet here I was.

Empty. Guilty. Hating him, hating myself, hating everything.

But I’d done it. I’d done what I said I would.

So why did it feel like I was the one who’d been destroyed?

I forced myself to get up, shut off the lights, and head to my secret room.

Six years of my life stared back at me: a mess of files, photos, and every shred of evidence I’d spent so long collecting.

All I wanted to do was set it on fire and watch the flames erase me, him, and every terrible decision in between.

My eyes landed on a picture on the ground, and the second I saw it, my heart twisted like someone had taken a knife and just… twisted it.

I dropped to my knees, my hands shaking—probably from the sudden rush of guilt, probably from the realization that this was the last thing I’d needed to see.

It was a photo of Stella and me.

God, we must’ve been so young—maybe ten and five—laughing like idiots, wearing swimsuits that were too bright for anyone’s eyes. That was before the world had turned ugly, back when I’d thought we’d always be okay, that I could always protect her.

I pressed the photo to my chest, my breath stuttering in my throat.

Then I carefully set the picture down.

My fingers moved to my necklace, the gold chain catching, trembling under my touch. Two little butterflies dangled there—one for my father, the man who had once seemed untouchable. The other for Stella, the little girl who had thought I could do no wrong.

My life—my whole existence—had been reduced to a couple of charms and a picture I couldn’t even look at without falling apart.

“I did it, Stella,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. “And I’m sorry. I… I’m sorry I fell in love with the man who took you from me.”

My eyes closed, and the tears came—hot and choking.

“I hope you can forgive me.”

I got up and dusted off my pants, just as three rough knocks echoed through my apartment.

It must be Mr. Jones, my concierge, coming up to help with the suitcases.

Running away had been part of the plan, a one-way ticket to Edinburgh in my bag, and zero clue what came next.

Scotland—of all places.

I didn’t know a soul there, hadn’t even thought about the country before. But it was far enough away, and no one would think to look for me there. Not Angelo. Not his family. Not the journalists, nor his partners who’d want my head on a platter by sunrise.

I sighed, turning off the lights, the darkness swallowing up the life I was leaving behind.

Hurrying to my room, I grabbed my bags, slipped on my sneakers, and tried not to think too hard about what I was doing.

Just go, Jade.

The knocks came again, louder this time, and I rushed to the door, pulling it open.

But it wasn’t Mr. Jones.

With a gasp, I tried to shut the door, but his hand stopped it cold.

I pushed harder, leaning my whole weight into it, but it didn’t budge.

“Jesus,” I breathed as the door swung open effortlessly. “Are you the Hulk’s long-lost son or something?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

His gaze swept over me slowly, before it dropped to the suitcases on the floor.

A flicker of anger passed through his eyes, subtle but unmistakable, as his thumb brushed over his lips.

“You weren’t planning to leave without saying goodbye, were you, Miss Whitenhouse?”

The ice in his voice was enough to send a chill straight down my spine, and I instinctively stepped back.

If I’d thought Angelo was terrifying when he was angry, this was something else entirely.

He looked deadly , yet so beautiful my heart hurt.

He stepped closer, his hands loose at his sides.

“Goodbye, Lazzio.”

“Off to hell, or something?”

“Hell can’t be worse than staying here with you.”

Another step.

“What are you running from?”

“You,” I admitted, the word slipping out in a shaky breath before I could stop it.

His head tilted slightly. “Why?”

I shook my head and spun on my heel, aiming for the safety of my bedroom, a closet, anything . But before I could make it two steps, his arms wrapped around my waist, yanking me back against his chest.

“Let me go!”

My nails dug into his skin, my elbows jabbed into his ribs, and I even tried to stomp on his foot.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t loosen his grip. And he sure as hell didn’t let me go.

“Keep going,” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. “I told you I’d enjoy the fight.”

Stronzo!

I twisted in his arms, glaring up at him. “What do you want, Angelo?”

“You,” he breathed out. “You, and only you.”

My chest tightened, and I could feel that all-too-familiar panic rising like a tide. My vision blurred, my heart thundered in my ears, and my throat felt like it was closing up.

He saw it.

I could tell by the way he let go of me, turned me around, and pulled me close. My face pressed into his chest, tears spilling down my face, soaking his shirt.

He didn’t say a word. He just held me, letting me cry in his arms once again.

Angelo Lazzio, my savior and my reaper.

The one who had carved scars into my soul, whispered promises through blood-stained lips, then dragged me back into the darkness.

Suddenly, he carried me, and my legs and arms circled his body as he walked to my sofa and sank into it, his arms strong around my back.

I cried into his neck, his hands caressing my hair, whispering words I didn’t deserve, and then madness took over.

I grabbed his face and lost myself in him.

He kissed me back, though his hands fell back at his sides, like he was surrendering to me but also scared that if he touched me, I’d stop.

I was so hot I felt like I was burning with fever.

I don’t know what took over me, but I couldn’t stop.

Overwhelming lust erupted through me, tightening in my chest before making its way between my legs.

He leaned back, eyes half lidded, lazily dropping to my lips again.

A flicker of confusion passed, like he truly was lost and didn’t know what I was playing at, but it didn’t stop me. Even though it should’ve.

But I didn’t care; I was too far gone.

I drew my tongue across his neck, sucked the skin, then bit it hard.

Then my hands grabbed his hair and yanked it back, giving me more access, and I licked my way up his neck as a low groan vibrated through his chest. The fire between my legs burned hotter.

I continued to lick and suck his neck, grinding against him, the fabric between us slowly driving me mad.

Angelo cursed under his breath before grabbing my ponytail and twisting it around his wrist—once, twice, three times.

I ignored him and let my hands drop to the zipper of his pants, lowering it. His boxers followed, and I grabbed his cock in my hands, pumping it, precum already making its way down his length.

“Fuck—”

I lowered my yoga pants until they dropped to my ankles, brought him to my entrance, and shoved him inside. Stars exploded between my legs, making me moan.

I didn’t wait—I couldn’t, as I rode him fast and rough, my hands grabbing his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as his hand yanked my head back harder.

“That’s what you needed, amore ? My cock inside you?” His accent was rougher than usual.

I moaned his name, unable to speak as my vision blurred, tears streaking down my cheeks. His cock was so deep I could feel it in my stomach.

He let go of my hair, slapped my ass hard before grabbing my hips and slamming me down hard, fast, and rough. The naughty noise filled my apartment.

His lips dropped to mine again, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, swallowing my breath. I felt it pulse between my legs when he sucked on my tongue.

I had always enjoyed kissing, making out, but with him, these were my favorite things.

I’d never admitted it before, but I was obsessed with the way he kissed me. It always felt as if his mouth was making love to mine.

I leaned back, breathless, feeling my orgasm make its way up my legs, bursting through me as my pussy tightened around his cock, my head thrown back.

Millions of little butterflies fluttered between my legs, my juices pooling down his shaft as he let go of my hips and I rode him slowly now, my eyes locked on his like I couldn’t look away.

“I love you,” I breathed, going down slowly, watching his length disappear inside of me before I came back up again.

“I love you too, amore ,” he said as his hands grabbed my face and his lips found mine again, this time softer, as I felt him pulse inside me.

His fingers dug into my skin before he groaned in my mouth and came inside me for the first time.

He leaned back, realizing what he’d done, and we both stared down as his cock softened and slid out of me. His cum leaked down my pussy, drop by drop. His finger reached down, smearing it on my folds, circling my clit as I hummed, pressing my forehead against his.

Then he forced his cum back inside me, his finger entering me slowly.

“Feel better?”

I shook my head, closing my eyes as a sigh escaped my lips.

I felt him reach for my thong and pants, pulling them up before he adjusted me onto his lap, settling me properly.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I did something bad, Angelo. Really , really bad.”

His lips dropped on mine again. “What did you do?”

I lied to you.

I betrayed you.

I tore apart everything we had, Angelo, even though you’re the only man I’ve ever loved.

I took a deep breath, letting it settle in my chest, before pulling away.

“I’ll be back,” I muttered.

I stood up and made my way to the bedroom, desperate to find what I needed so we could put an end to all of this.

As I rifled through my nightstand, his phone rang.

I heard him answer, his voice rough.

And then… complete silence.

My fingers found what I needed—the weight of it familiar in my hand.

When I walked back into the living room, he was standing in front of the window, facing away from me, his phone still gripped tightly in his hand. I stepped closer, and the moment he turned around, his eyes found mine.

It took no more than a second for him to understand what was happening.

The look in his eyes wasn’t surprise.

No, it was something darker—something much worse.

He knew.

He knew everything.

His gaze slid down to the gun in my hand, and for a brief, sickening moment, I thought he might actually laugh.

“Why?”

The word was simple.

Why?

Why did I betray him?

Why did I spend six years pretending we were something we never were?

Why did I let myself fall so deeply in love with him?

I didn’t have an answer. Not a real one. Not anymore.

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. “You should hurry. The feds are already looking for you. They’ll be here soon enough.”

His jaw clenched, and if looks could kill, I’d be dead ten times over.

“I don’t give a damn about the feds.” His voice dropped, the coldness sharper. “Why are you running? Why would you fuck me and then sell me out to them?”

A sick laugh bubbled up, but I swallowed it back. “Pick your poison. Murderer, cheater, liar, home-wrecker… Take your pick.”

His gaze sharpened, and there it was again. That look—the one that told me I was pushing him too far, and he hated it, but couldn’t seem to stop coming closer.

He didn’t get it. He couldn’t.

Not unless I told him everything. And I couldn’t do that. Not now.

“Answer me,” he ordered.

I almost choked on the air I was breathing, heart racing.

He took another step toward me.

Without thinking, I raised the gun, pointing it directly at his chest. “Don’t. Move.”

But of course, he didn’t listen.

He ignored me, his eyes blazing with so much anger, but there was that crack—tiny, barely visible—betrayal. Hurt.

I saw it, and it made everything worse.

Another step.

“Angelo, stop!”

He stepped closer.

And for a brief moment, everything inside me froze.

I hesitated—just for a split second—and he took another step.

“This time, I’ll aim lower, Lazzio.”

He stopped, a dark amusement flickering across his face before he wiped the ghost of a smile off his lips with the back of his hand.

“You said you were from Philadelphia.”

“I lied.”

“You swore you’d never tell a soul about my past.”

“I lied.”

His eyes darkened as he stepped closer. “You told me you loved me.”

“I do,” I breathed out.

He laughed, but it wasn’t real—it was empty, bitter, like he couldn’t even believe the words coming out of my mouth.

“You really are a better liar than I gave you credit for, Miss Whitenhouse.”

He stepped closer, his chest pressing into the barrel of the gun now, and I swear to God, I could feel his heartbeat against it.

He didn’t care. He wasn’t scared.

But I was.

“You’re going to tell me, Jade. Now . Why are you doing this?”

The question shattered me, cracked the last mask I’d been holding on to.

And I screamed, a raw, jagged sound that felt like it tore me apart. “Because you killed my sister!”

Then confusion flashed in his eyes. “What?”

“Nine years ago. Lake Kendrick, Boston.”

He took a step back, his hand running through his hair.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I lowered the gun, my hand trembling, and tucked it into the waistband of my pants at the small of my back.

My breath hitched as the memories clawed their way to the surface.

“The Cyrus Project.”

“The Cyrus Project? That’s—” He stopped mid-sentence, his words cutting off as realization flickered in his eyes.

The Cyrus Project, the key to the ache in my chest.

“You sent men to plant mines,” I said, my voice breaking. “Because Lucius Cyrus stole that project from you. You wanted to ruin him, ruin everything... but you ruined me instead.”

His silence stretched, suffocating and heavy.

“My sister…” My throat tightened, the pain clawing up my chest, making it impossible to breathe. “She and her boyfriend had a fight that day. She called me crying, told me to come find her at the lake, and I—” My voice cracked as tears blurred my vision. “I went to her. I tried to bring her home, but they stepped on your mines.”

“Jade—”

I shook my head, stumbling back. “The sirens from the police spooked us. She stepped back, and the ground—” A sob ripped through me, jagged and uncontrollable. “It exploded. She was right in front of me, Angelo. One second she was there, and then… she wasn’t. She was gone, and I?—”

My knees buckled, and I hit the floor, gasping for air, my hands clawing at my chest. “She b-burned alive. She d-died because of you .”

His footsteps thundered toward me, and then his arms were around me, pulling me against him no matter how hard I pushed.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t—” My voice cracked as the fight left me, replaced by the unbearable weight of grief. “You k-killed her, Angelo. You killed my sister. And when y-you did, you killed me too.”

The room felt too small, his arms too strong, the air too thick to breathe.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

His hand moved in slow, soothing circles on my back.

But I didn’t want comfort.

Not from him.

I tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened, his fingers steady as they found my chin. He tilted my face up, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“Jade, I’m not the one who put those mines there.”

“Stop lying, Angelo!” My voice was raw, shaking as I shoved against his chest. “I’ve spent six years digging through your dirt, six years tearing my life apart to find proof. And I did. Emails, texts, contracts—everything.” My breath hitched. “So don’t stand there and tell me you didn’t do it.”

His thumb dragged across my cheek, wiping away a tear.

“Jade,” he murmured. “I’m not claiming to be innocent. God knows I’m not. I’ve done things you can’t even begin to imagine. But I’ll tell you this—I didn’t put those fucking mines there. You can hate me, you can shoot me, you can burn my entire goddamned world to ash, but don’t accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

His hand cupped my face, his fingers warm against my skin, his grip unrelenting as he forced me to meet his eyes.

They were dark, heavy, not with anger, but something far deeper, something raw, something that seemed to tear at him just as much as it was tearing at me.

“You want revenge?” he murmured. “I can help you get it, amore .”

My heart hammered against my chest, my head spinning.

I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hope, not like this—not after everything, but the possibility that he might be innocent… it gnawed at me.

“How?”

“I know who did it, Jade. And I’ll give you everything you need to make him bleed. But only if you trust me.”

I shook my head, confusion clouding every thought, but there wasn’t time to process it.

Just as I opened my mouth, the front door burst open, slamming against the wall. Four FBI agents stormed in, guns raised, red lasers slicing through my apartment as shouts filled the air.

“Angelo Lazzio, you’re under arrest for the murder of Pauline Dupont.”

Angelo barely reacted.

Instead, he turned to me, his hands threading into my hair, his lips finding mine in a kiss that stole the air from my lungs.

Before I could even register it, he pulled away, his fingers brushing down my neck.

One last glance—cold, unreadable—and then he walked out, calm as ever, following them.

The door slammed shut, and my hands flew to my neck.

Gone.

He had taken my necklace.