Forgivable Sins (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 2)

I nodded. "I'll figure something out in the morning. I promise." Her eyes narrowed to the thinnest slits when faced with the haggard sound of my voice. She shook her head at me, the lines on her aged face looking more weathered than usual in her concern.

"You're not alone. We'll figure it out together," she sighed finally as I forced the pills down. She thrust the bag of frozen peas into my hands, and I fought to contain my wince when I pressed it to the delicate flesh of my throat. She glared at it like my throat was at fault for Connor's assault.

"Is it that bad?" I asked.

She nodded and her silver hair shook around her chin as she didn’t even bother to sugarcoat it. "It's already bruised. You won't be going to work for some time, I suspect. Unless Jasper Rowe wouldn't think it odd if you suddenly wore a turtleneck every day." I shook my head, because even if I could hide the physical signs of the injury, there would be no disguising the pathetic rasp to my voice.

I laid back, resting my head on my pillow and only letting the ice barely touch my neck. Laying on my back with the pressure of the ice on my neck sent a pulse of terror through me, and I shot to sitting upright again. "You should rest, honey."

"I won't be able to sleep," I admitted, and she sighed before curling up in my bed with me. She turned the television on and pulled up my streaming service to settle in with her favorite reality dating show. I huffed a laugh, wincing in pain. "You could have asked what I wanted to watch."

"Hush. I'm your guest," she said as she made herself comfortable. "It's only good manners to let me watch what I want since I wouldn't even be awake if you weren't so stubborn." Eventually losing myself in the show, I set the peas on my nightstand and settled in on my side.

As I was drifting off to sleep, I vaguely heard Linda talking to someone and must have smiled in my sleep.

She was always talking to her shows.

Nine

Lino

I hated hiring people, hated reviewing resumes. I looked forward to the day that my manager handled such matters for me, and I never had to concern myself with the matters of employment. The shadow that appeared in my office wasn't mysterious, but I worked hard to ignore the way Enzo lurked in the doorway, no doubt on his way out for the night. Given the ridiculously late hour, most of my employees had already gone home for the night. "You need to go home," he ordered, snapping my gaze away from the computer where my eyes nearly glossed over from staring too intently. I shook my head, rubbing the heel of my palms into my eyes to clear my vision.

"Just a bit longer," I argued, wanting to wrap up my glance over of the resum

es that had come in the last few days. Knowing it would bring me one step closer to a more normal, regular work schedule, I felt eager to persevere and get it done. I needed to be ready to give Samara the relationship she needed, the kind she would want and be proud of. A man who was there in the evenings to dote on her, to spend time with her, but still provided for her and made her life easier.

I'd spent too many years of my life living for the Bellandi name—living for the business and the success that we strove for constantly. It was the only thing that mattered when family was business and I had no hope of ever being with the woman I'd loved for as long as I could remember. But with a real chance at happiness finally on the horizon, the hope that pulsed through me was foreign. Unknown.

And it was everything. She was everything. My past, my present, my future.

"You can't keep pushing so hard for something that may or may not happen, man," Enzo sighed, scrubbing a hand over his own face.

"It not happening isn't a possibility for me. I proceed like I will soon have a wife in my home because no other outcome is acceptable," I warned. "You should refrain from discouraging me for a few days. I'm not feeling generous where you're concerned after earlier."

Enzo laughed, and I hoped I would soon get to watch him fall to a woman who was everything he never dared to dream for. I would very much look forward to the day when a woman knocked him on his ass and he never fought back. "Okay, okay." He held up two hands to placate me. "You'll get married and have six kids. You've got it."

I went to tell him he would one day be struck by a woman who just felt like the other half of his soul, but never got the words out. The sound of my cell ringing made both of us turn concerned glances at it as it vibrated along the cherry surface. The time on my computer read 3:39 a.m. I knew we both wondered who would call me at that time at night, and my first instinct was Ivory was in labor. But the name on the screen made my pulse race for an entirely different reason.

I snatched it off the desk, taking the call without hesitation. "Little Dove?"

"I—is this Angelino Bellandi?" I barely recognized the exhausted voice of Samara's neighbor as she whispered, something akin to deep-rooted, genuine fear hovering in her words.

"It is. Is Samara okay?" I asked, and I was already on my feet. My suit jacket already snatched off the back of my chair and shrugged onto my arms.

"She will be, but no. She's not. She'll be furious with me when she finds out I called you, but—"

"You did the right thing. What happened?" I asked, cutting off the older woman. I had no patience to listen to her rambles, not when my thoughts were a mess of horror. Fear. True fear was something I couldn't remember feeling, probably not since my mother had died. Or perhaps it had been the day I turned sixteen and my father told me that if I ever touched Samara, he would slit her throat while I watched. But in that moment, there was nothing but pure, blinding fear.

"Connor broke into the house. He, shit," she hissed and paused. "He strangled her, Mr. Bellandi. This has gone on for too long, and I can't just sit by and watch her suffer in silence."

My body stilled, halfway to the door of my office. The tremble started in my hand; the phone vibrating against my head as I struggled to contain the sudden rage that made my vision turn black. "What the fuck did you just say?" I whispered, and every muscle in Enzo's body locked solid at the sound of the menace in my voice.

I sounded like a savage.

I sounded like Matteo.

"It's bad, Mr. Bellandi. She's finally asleep in bed, but she can't stay here. That much is clear," Linda whispered, and I could almost picture her staring down at my little dove where she slept. She was another person who Samara sucked into her orbit and refused to release—another one drawn to the genuine sweetness that she presented.