Trapped (Sinners of Boston #5)

32. Delilah

THIRTY-TWO

DELILAH

We got there too late.

The boutique was a charred husk, the half-finished mural smeared with soot and streaks of water. Firefighters milled around, packing up hoses and equipment, the last wisps of smoke curling into the blue sky. I stumbled out of the car, my heart sinking as I took in the devastation.

Santino grabbed my arm, steadying me. “Delilah, wait.”

I couldn’t. I pushed past him and into the store, my boots crunching on shattered glass and debris. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burned fabric and paint. Everything was ruined—racks of vintage clothes were reduced to damp, smoky tatters, and the beautiful fixtures I’d handpicked were scorched beyond recognition.

Only a few boxes in the back, somehow shielded from the worst of the fire and water, had survived. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Tears blurred my vision as I surveyed the wreckage of what was supposed to be my new beginning.

Santino’s hand settled on my shoulder, his touch gentle.

I shook my head, despair hollowing out my voice. “It’s all gone.”

He didn’t respond right away, just stood there with me in the ruin. “This isn’t the end. We’ll rebuild everything.”

I looked up at him, trying to breathe through my tears. “From what? Everything is destroyed. All the vintage clothing I spent months sourcing. How do I even start over from this?”

“We’ll find out what happened,” His jaw tightened, anger simmering in his eyes. “And I’ll punish the bastards responsible.”

“Dimitri did this. He wants to punish me for leaving him. He knew this would break me.”

“He won’t get away with this.”

I nodded, wiping away tears. “But even if you find him, it’s gone, Santino. All my work…my sketches.”

“I’ll help you. We’ll make it even better than before.”

A different kind of ache began to gnaw at me. The kind that whispered for a quick fix that could wash away the day’s horrors. My gaze drifted toward the remnants of the boutique’s cash register, where, once, I’d hidden a bottle.

“I need to get out of here.”

I turned away from the wreckage. The destruction was pushing me toward an edge I’d promised myself I’d never teeter on again.

Santino caught my elbow gently. “Let’s go home.”

The drive back was silent. Santino kept glancing at me, his eyes filled with concern. By the time we reached his penthouse, the craving was a live wire inside me.

In the elevator, I leaned against the wall, my thoughts racing as we ascended. Santino stayed close. As soon as the doors opened, I paced into the kitchen. My hands trembled as I grabbed a glass of water, the cool liquid barely quenching my thirst.

“Principessa, talk to me.”

“All I want is a drink. To forget just for a little while.”

“You know you can’t do that.”

I gritted my teeth. “What if it was just one?”

“You know what happens when you do that. Not an option.” Santino pulled out his phone, texting someone. “My brother’s wife will keep you company while I deal with this.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“She’s coming over,” he ground out. “Stay here and don’t do anything crazy.”

I need a drink .

The thought shot across my mind every five minutes as Violet and I played a board game called Azul. Jack, Kill’s four-year-old son, bounced around the room, periodically trying to add his own tiles to the game, which only made things more chaotic. Violet laughed, her Southern drawl thickening as she scooped him into her lap.

He giggled, squirming in her grasp before settling down to watch us play.

Violet caught my distracted glance as I fumbled with a tile, her eyes softening. “Jack’s been gettin’ into everything lately. He’s at that age where curiosity’s got him pokin’ around where he shouldn’t.”

I forced a smile. “Kids are like that, right? Always exploring.”

“Yeah, just the other day, I found him tryin’ to climb the kitchen cabinets to get to the cookies I hid. Had to give him a stern talkin’ to, but it’s hard not to laugh sometimes.”

“Sounds like a handful.” I placed a tile and tried to keep my hands steady. The smell of smoke seemed to linger, a phantom scent that refused to leave my nostrils.

“He is, but he’s also the sweetest boy. Loves to bring me flowers from the yard. Just the other day, he picked a whole bunch of dandelions and said they were for the ‘prettiest lady in the world.’ Melted my heart.”

I smiled, a genuine one this time, as I pictured little Jack with his armful of yellow flowers. “That’s so cute.”

“Jack here has always been a light in my life. Times were tough, but he always found a way to make me smile. Kids have that magic, you know? Back home, it’s all about community, helping each other out. It takes a village not just to raise a child but to keep going through hard times.”

Her words struck a chord within me. Maybe I needed to lean on others more and try not to handle everything on my own.

“Delilah, you ain’t alone here. Family, new or old, are here for you. And if that scumbag did what you think he did, well, he’ll have more than just you to answer to.”

I blinked back tears. “Thanks.”

“Sometimes life throws us these curveballs, and we just have to keep goin’. Focus on the good, no matter how small it might seem.”

I nodded, my throat tight.

Violet’s phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it, her face tightening as she read the screen. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

I watched her step away, her voice dropping to a whisper as she answered the call. A minute later, she came back, moaning. “Oh no, I completely forgot! I was supposed to take Jack to gymnastics. I’m so sorry. I need to rush him over there, or he’ll miss it.”

I smiled. “No problem, go ahead.”

She gathered Jack quickly, ushering him toward the door. “Thanks for understanding, Delilah. Santino’s on his way.”

They hurried out, and a sense of isolation crept over me, the shield of companionship fading as she closed the door.

Alone again.

The board game lay on the table, the colorful tiles blurring. My hands trembled slightly, and a haunting urge whispered seductively in my ear.

Just one drink .

The boutique was gone. My dreams, reduced to ashes. A drink would dull the pain clawing at my chest. I wandered toward the kitchen. I glanced at the cabinet, where I used to keep a bottle. My throat tightened, my body craving the warmth that alcohol would bring.

No one has to know .

I reached for the door, the cool metal of the handle under my fingertips.

“Delilah?”

Santino’s voice echoed through the penthouse, pulling me out of the haze. I froze. My pulse roared in my ears.

The door swung open behind me, and his heavy footsteps filled the space. I didn’t turn around.

“Delilah, what are you doing?”

“I wanted a drink.”

He gently pulled my hand away from the door and spun me to face him. He didn’t say a word, just pulled me into his chest.

I buried my face against him. The store, the fire, Dimitri—it was too much. But Santino was there, keeping me grounded.

“It’s okay,” he murmured into my hair. “I’m not going to let you fall.”