Sinful Lies (Sinful #2)

Epilogue

“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway.”

― Sade Andria Zabala

Angelo

Detective McLauren sank into the chair at the far end of the table, her eyes narrowing as she brought her cup of coffee to her lips, still suspicious, but there was a flicker there—something more than just professionalism.

She hadn’t changed since the last time I’d seen her, back when I had gotten arrested. Same tight bun, same subtle makeup, but the dark circles under her eyes suggested she wasn’t getting much sleep. Guess the job was wearing on her. Pity.

“I have to admit, Mr. Lazzio,” Detective McLauren began, her voice carrying that same sharp, calculating edge I remembered from the night she’d slapped cuffs on me. “I didn’t expect to see your name on my schedule. Especially since your wife nearly handed you over on a silver platter last time. Seems like the kind of thing that would make a man swear off the FBI for life.”

Her words were sharp, but her gaze softened just enough to betray her curiosity—or maybe something else. She leaned forward, her eyes dragging over me, lingering longer than they should have.

“Jade has always had a flair for theatrics. Keeps life… interesting.”

Her lips curved, just slightly. “Oh, I bet it is. You know, I believe the last time we spoke, you said she was the devil who took possession of your soul?”

I leaned back. “I wasn’t lying.”

Today was our anniversary. Our two-year mark, and while the world had seen our wedding in Portofino as the event of the decade—complete with The Times calling it the wedding of the century—Jade and I knew the truth. The grandeur, the guest list with royals, business moguls, and celebrities—it was all just the icing on the cake. What really mattered was the quiet, private ceremony in Aspen weeks before, where it had just been us.

And it felt like that moment set the tone for our life together.

Our honeymoon was a masterpiece. We tore through Europe like a storm—Paris at night, Rome drenched in history, Vienna with its quiet elegance.

When we came back, I bought us a house in New York. Not some penthouse in the sky, but a two-story place with a garden she could fill with flowers. She loved it. Loved that it was close enough to Alexsei and Caia’s house that we could walk over for those chaotic family dinners. Their twin girls ran wild through our backyard, and Jade looked at them like they were a glimpse of our future.

Sometimes Volk and Sofiya visited from Moscow, their kids bickering in Russian while we’d sit back, amused.

Work was thriving—Lazzio Exhibits tripled its visitors, and was now one of the top three tourist destinations in New York. But the real spectacle was Jade, and her empire.

She launched her luxury brand, S it was a coronation.

Scarlet showcased her pieces on tour, propelling the brand into the spotlight, but Jade hadn’t needed the boost. She was a force all on her own.

Seeing her like this—thriving, conquering, fucking glowing—it did something to me I couldn’t even explain.

I’d never been the kind of man to believe in fairytales, or bliss, or whatever bullshit they sold you in the movies. But now? Now I understood it. Leaving her in the morning felt like I was ripping myself apart, and the second I was gone, all I could think about was her.

She was my obsession, my salvation, and the one thing I’d never fucking deserve, but would fight like hell to keep.

Jade made me believe in forever.

And somehow, someway, I’d gotten her.

How the hell did I get this fucking lucky?

She let out a low scoff. “What’s this, Mr. Lazzio? You here to rub it in—how you found love and the rest of us didn’t?”

“Something like that.”

I put the file on the table.

Her brow lifted. She grabbed it, flicking it open.

Inside was the sum of James Greg’s pathetic life: every penny he’d stolen, every woman he’d shattered, every blackmail scheme, everybody in the ground with his name written all over it. The man had been rot personified, and I’d wrapped it up with a bow just for her.

She didn’t look up as I stood, buttoning my blazer and flicking a glance at my cufflinks.

“I don’t get it.” Her voice was laced with confusion.

“Greg was a fucking bastard,” I said, my voice calm, even. “He made his wife’s life hell. Mine and my wife’s too. So, I dealt with him. Found everything you need to close the file on him and start giving his victims what they’re owed. His widow, Laurie? She’s keeping half his money. The other half’s going to the people he destroyed. Consider it my good deed for the year.”

Her head tilted, eyes narrowing. “You dealt with him? Who made you God, deciding a man’s fate?”

I lifted a shoulder. “He tried to rewrite mine. I just returned the favor. And in the process, I found the only thing that matters. My wife .”

I took a step toward the door, my shoes echoing against the cold tile floor. But just as I reached the threshold, I stopped. Turning slightly, I glanced over my shoulder, catching her eyes still fixated on the file.

“Good luck, Naomi. Hope you find the love you’re searching for.”

Her head shot up, her expression flickering between surprise and something else she didn’t quite manage to mask.

I smirked. “I know I did.”

And with that, I walked out, leaving the past where it belonged—behind us.

THE END.