Trapped (Sinners of Boston #5)

34. Santino

THIRTY-FOUR

SANTINO

It took longer than I thought to get footage from the surrounding businesses. The store across the street showed several masked men breaking into her store. They hid their faces but stupidly wore jean jackets with a horned animal’s skull on the back.

The Animals.

So he’d hired out for the job. I’d scoured Boston for Dimitri, but like a rat scurrying in the sewers, he’d disappeared. The news had a field day with the fire. Headlines decried the out-of-control crime, and the mayor called my boss, threatening to hire the National Guard and shut the city down if things kept spiraling out of control. It pissed me off to no end. The boutique was Delilah’s dream, and it’d been torched because of me. Dimitri couldn’t touch her directly, so he went after what she cared about most.

The next day, police raided my warehouse. An anonymous tip claimed that I was holding someone hostage. A SWAT team burst into my underground fighting ring. Luckily, I’d canceled Thursday night’s fight in anticipation of a move against me. They found nothing, but the disruption was another message from that shit stain.

And Delilah was acting strange since the fire. She spent a lot of time in bed, barely moving. She didn’t sleep. Barely ate. I hired a personal chef and made her cook Russian food. Those little dumplings filled with beef. What were they called? Pelmeni? They sat in a bowl by the bed, untouched. I watched her curl under the blankets, her eyes rimmed with red, her lips and nose red.

Seeing her like this fucked me up inside. I had no idea how to fix this part. At least her drinking problem had actionable solutions—rehab, doctors, support. I didn’t know what to do about this . She was pissed at me. I couldn’t blame her. I’d let her down so badly. She blamed me for her store burning down, and guilt gnawed at me. I didn’t know what to do with that, either.

On the third day, she showed signs of life. She dragged herself out of bed, did her hair and makeup, and sat in the kitchen, sketching in a notepad. Shafts of golden light poured into the room, painting her beautiful face. She stopped when I walked in, her cheeks staining pink like I’d caught her cheating.

My arm curled her waist, and she stiffened. “I’m glad you’re out of bed.”

She shrugged. “I have some errands.”

“I can take you to them. I’m about to head out.”

”No thanks. I-I’d rather do them alone.”

I nodded, and she pulled out of my reach. “See you at dinner?”

“For sure.”

For sure .

I hated that. It sounded like something I used to say in my manwhore era when I was ready to ghost someone.

Except then, Delilah gave me a radiant smile, the one she always used when she wanted something. She leaned forward, grasped my shoulder, and kissed me. Her kiss was slow and thorough, and so were her hands. Gliding down my ass, circling the front of my hips, her finger tracing the head of my stiff cock.

I groaned.

She hadn’t kissed me like this in a while. Her tongue flicked mine, teasing, as she pulled away. Her fingers gave my cock another squeeze, then she smirked.

“Bye, handsome.”

She grabbed her car keys and wiggled her little fingers. Then she disappeared out the door. A dark suspicion started to weave through my head. Delilah using sex to get what she wanted didn’t surprise me, and my wallet was intact.

What was she playing at?

This . She wants you standing at the door with your dick in your hand .

I grabbed my coat and car keys.

She got into her car. So did I. I waited a few minutes before following, using the tracker I kept on all my cars to guide me onto 95-S. She kept driving past Milton and Foxborough.

She was heading back to Providence. My gut tightened. That city was a damn minefield for her, and she knew it. What the fuck was she thinking?

Delilah’s car turned into a quiet, residential area with manicured lawns and cookie-cutter houses. Every turn she took felt like a twist in my stomach. She stopped in front of a big house I’d visited not long ago. The gate opened for her, and she drove in.

I parked a few houses down, staying hidden but with a clear view of her. She got out of the car and headed toward her father’s house.

What are you doing, Delilah?

She walked up to the front door, and my heart hammered. My grip tightened on the steering wheel as she knocked. A man opened the door, older, with a presence that filled the doorway. Her father.

My mind raced with a thousand possibilities. Was she running back to her old life? Or was there something else, something deeper she hadn’t told me? My vision blurred as I watched them exchange words. Mikhail stepped aside, letting her into the house.

Fuck this.

I got out of the car, my fists clenching as I approached the gate. The sight of Mikhail’s smug face made me want to tear the door off its hinges.

What the fuck is going on ?