CHAPTER 10: Love Under Sinful Ties

**Dahlia**

The cold night air felt like a sharp slap against my skin, unforgiving and merciless, much like the crime scene in front of me. The clothes I had thrown on in a hurry did little to shield me from the icy cold that crept beneath the fabric, coiling around my bones like an unwanted guest. I adjusted my jacket, pulling it tighter, but the action was useless. The cold air seemed determined to bite no matter how many layers you wore.

Needless to say, I did, in fact, not like what I was looking at, just as Officer Radley had predicted. 

The scent of rot and rust lingered in the alley, merging seamlessly with the sharp, metallic tang of blood. It was suffocating, so thick that I could practically taste it on my tongue, bitter and coppery. The smell clung to the back of my throat, almost making me choke as if the air itself had absorbed the violence that had been unleashed here. I hadn't seen this much blood in a long time, and it churned my stomach like the swirling chaos of a waterpark ride, the kind that throws you off balance and leaves you gasping for stability.

Floodlights bathed the crime scene in a sterile, artificial glow, casting long, warped shadows against the crumbling brick walls. The narrow alley seemed to shrink around us, suffocating, its silence broken only by the low murmur of officers exchanging grim observations.

I stood over the mutilated body of Alessio Romano, a capo in the Corenzo crime family—or what remained of him. His swollen, battered face was barely recognizable, but the brutal brand of the Scarlet Blinders burned into his flesh left no room for doubt who had been responsible for his death. There was not much left of the rest of him, and what was left was scattered around the alley. The way he had been murdered was intentionally cruel and was obviously meant to send a message to the Corenzo family. His eyes were wide and glassy, and he continuously stared at nothing. Frozen in the horror of his final moments, which I had no doubt had been nothing but pain and suffering.

If it wasn't already guaranteed that war was coming, this was the announcement. Loud and violent, it kicked the door wide open instead of knocking. 

I folded my arms across my chest, my fingers digging into the fabric of my sleeves as I fought the gnawing disgust twisting like a knife in my stomach. Beside me, Officer Radley droned on, listing witness statements, signs of a struggle, the positioning of the body—but her voice faded into static, blending with the hum of the floodlights above. My focus remained locked on the corpse, on the grotesque masterpiece of violence left behind as a cruel calling card, a message written in blood and brutality. 

There was no avoiding it—this was only the beginning. Blood was going to spill on my streets, and soon. 

I needed to start planning how to minimize casualties and how to contain the fallout of a war that was now inevitable. But even as my mind raced, my gut told me that once this bloodshed began, there would be no stopping it. Only damage control.

It always disgusted me—the lengths these crime families would go to in order to send a message. Alessio's death was like theater using a real human being.

"Keep me updated on everything," I said, my voice calm despite the tangled mess of nerves vibrating beneath my skin. My hands trembled slightly, the telltale sign of exhaustion, and barely contained emotion, so I folded them tighter against my chest to steady them. "The Scarlet Blinders didn't leave this message for nothing. They're back, and they're going after the Corenzo family. I want eyes on Aiden Graves. I need to know every move he's made in the last two years. Leave nothing out."

Radley nodded, her boots crunching softly against the loose gravel, shards of broken glass, and garbage scattered across the alley floor as she walked beside me. The rhythmic sound of her footsteps felt grounding, almost comforting, but the chaos in my mind roared on, unchecked and filled with what-ifs and possible scenarios. I slid into the driver's seat of my car, barely aware of the chill seeping through the night or the glow of streetlights casting pale halos over the road ahead.

The drive back to the station blurred into a haze of movement. Radley sat quietly beside me, and I was grateful she didn't try to talk. The streetlights smeared across the windshield like watercolor streaks, painting the night in hues of gold and crimson. The hum of the engine blended seamlessly with the noise in my head, thoughts crashing over one another to the point that I tightened my grip on the steering wheel to ground myself.

So many lives would be lost when this all went to hell—not just criminals caught in the crossfire, but innocent lives as well. And their blood would stain my streets, no matter how hard I fought to stop it.

By the time I reached my office, I was running on fumes. The adrenaline and anger were the only things keeping me upright, though even they were beginning to waver. My legs felt heavy as I stepped inside, my movements sluggish. I shrugged off my jacket, tossing it over the back of my chair before sinking into the seat with a sigh that did nothing to relieve me of the tension wound tight in my chest and shoulders.

Leaning back, I closed my eyes for a moment, but the reprieve was short-lived. There was still more I needed to confront. 

"What did you find on the guy I asked you to look into?" I asked the moment Radley closed the door behind her. My tone was sharp, cutting through the silence. I had no patience for small talk—not after seeing what was waiting for me back at that alley. 

Radley rolled her lips together before pressing them into a thin line. The unease etched into her expression made the knot in my stomach twist tighter. Without a word, she slid a manila folder across the desk. The way she avoided meeting my gaze sent my pulse racing even faster. 

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before my fingers wrapped around the folder. It felt heavier than it should have, as if the truth inside was already pressing down on me, suffocating. A silent warning flickered in Radley's eyes, the same look she'd given me the last time—when my date had turned out to be a wanted criminal.

But this? This was going to be worse. So much worse.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I swallowed hard and flipped it open.

Antonio's name. Bold. Unmistakable. But it wasn't just his name.

Corenzo.

Antonio Corenzo.

My breath hitched, my lungs seizing as my gaze locked onto the photograph. The room tilted, the air thinning as if the walls had closed in around me.

There he was—Antonio Corenzo—walking down the street with the kind of confidence that couldn't be faked, his presence undeniable even through the grainy surveillance shot. His dark hair was tousled by the wind, his tailored suit draping over him like it had been crafted for him alone—like the world itself bowed to his existence.

And beside him… Val.

A cold chill stabbed through my spine.

But it wasn't the photo that shattered me. It was what came after—the data. The raw, damning proof that clawed its way into my skull, into my chest, into the very core of me.

The blood drained from my face, my vision swimming as I scanned the words, the dates, the cold, inescapable reality laid out in black and white.

Dangerous connections. Secret meetings. Covert deals.

Every single line… every number… every name…

All of it led to one horrifying, inescapable truth.

"This is why I wanted to tell you in person," Radley said softly, her voice gentle and cautious, as if she could sense the emotional storm building inside me, ready to break. "Antonio Corenzo is the Don of the Corenzo family. The man leading the crime family we've been investigating all along. And next to him is Valentino Corenzo. His underboss and his brother."

I sat frozen, the weight of it suffocating me like a lead blanket pressing down on my chest. My breathing was shallow, and all I could do was wonder—how long had it been a game to him? How long had he been playing me, leading me deeper into his web while I mistook the noose tightening around my neck for something else entirely?

The room seemed to tilt, the floor shifting beneath me as her words crashed over me like a tidal wave, pulling me under. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the hum of the fluorescent lights and the rustling of papers on my desk.

I had let him in. I had let him past my defenses, into a part of me no one else had reached, and now it felt like betrayal was seeping into my veins, burning from the inside out, spreading like venom.

Had every touch, every whispered word, every lingering glance been part of a strategy? A calculated deception meant to exploit me, break me down, and use me without me ever realizing it?

I gripped the folder tighter, the rough edges biting into my palms, punishing me for the truth I didn't want to face. Val's face in the photo blurred next to Antonio's as my thoughts spiraled out of control, faster and faster, like a storm I couldn't outrun. How long had they known? How long had Val been silently observing me, watching me fall for his boss, laughing at how easy I was to deceive?

Were Val and I even friends, or was that a lie too?

My chest tightened like a vice, the pressure making it hard to breathe as memories surged forward. Antonio's hands on my skin, his touch warm and possessive. The way his dark eyes consumed me, hungry and intense, like I was the only thing that mattered at that moment. The words he whispered in that low, magnetic voice that had become my weakness—words that once made me believe in him, in us.

Lies.

They had to be lies.

But the truth, cold and cruel, gnawed at the edges of my denial, threatening to tear it apart. If they weren't lies, if even a part of what we had was real, it would hurt so much worse. And I wasn't sure which would break me faster—knowing it was all a lie or knowing that some part of it had been real and I'd never see it again.

But somewhere deep inside, a small, cruel voice whispered otherwise. I didn't want them to be lies. That was the most dangerous truth of all.

My fingers trembled as I gripped the desk for balance, the weight of betrayal pressing down on my heart and lungs. The air felt heavier and thicker like I was drowning in the aftermath of something that had been building for months. The betrayal wasn't just professional—it was personal and intimate. It sliced deeper than any wound I'd ever endured.

Worst of all, I wasn't sure if I wanted to confront him for the truth or run far enough to escape it.

But there was no escape. Not now. Not ever.

My throat tightened, heat and fury coiling in my chest, battling the cold, hollow ache of betrayal. It felt like two forces tearing me apart from the inside, one demanding vengeance, the other just wanting to break. I clenched my jaw and forced the emotions down, stuffing them into a place I could lock away—at least for now.

I kept them bottled just long enough to spit out the only word I could manage.

"Out."

Radley hesitated, her eyes flickering with concern, her lips parting like she wanted to say something—ask something. She wanted answers, too; I could see it. But she was smart enough to know I wasn't ready. Not yet.

With a small nod, she turned and left the room without another word.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed wasn't peaceful—it was deafening, the kind that rang in my ears like the eye of a storm, deceptively calm before everything came crashing down.

I stood frozen, staring at the photograph in front of me, my vision blurring as my mind spun with a thousand thoughts, none of them coherent. They clashed against each other like shattered glass, fragments of memories, questions, and regrets slicing through me.

I could still hear his voice and see the way he looked at me like I was his salvation. But now those memories were tainted. Every glance, every touch, every stolen moment replayed itself, warped by doubt. Had he been playing me the whole time?

My breath hitched, but I forced it down. There was no room for weakness now. Not when the man I thought I knew had shattered the walls I'd built—and walked away without a scratch.

Had Antonio ever planned on telling me the truth? Or had I been nothing more than a calculated move, a step closer to whatever goal he had in mind?

The image of his face stared back at me, that familiar, dangerous mix of charm and power that had once felt irresistible. I hated how well I knew that face—how much of it I had memorized, from the curve of his jaw to the slight quirk of his lips when he knew he had me hooked. I hated how easily it had drawn me in, how his touch had unraveled my defenses like a single thread pulled loose from a fraying seam, unraveling everything I thought I was.

The chair creaked beneath me as I leaned back, my fingers gripping the armrests so tightly they ached as if the wood was the only thing tethering me to reality. But even then, I couldn't escape the memories—the sound of his voice whispering promises I had wanted to believe, the feel of his lips brushing against mine, the warmth of his hands that had once made me feel safe.

The betrayal stung sharper because I had wanted it to be real.

My breath hitched as anger flared inside me, burning away any trace of vulnerability. I shot up from the chair, the metal legs scraping harshly against the floor as I shoved it back. When it clattered to the ground behind me, the sound only fed my rage, like fuel tossed onto an already roaring fire.

My hand hovered over the folder—the damning evidence of everything I'd ignored, everything I had refused to see. My fingers twitched as I stared at it as if the truth itself was mocking me. With a sharp intake of breath, I slammed it shut and shoved it aside, the noise cracking like a gunshot in the stillness of the room.

I needed answers. And if Antonio Corenzo wouldn't give them willingly, I'd drag them out of him.

The fire inside me exploded into an uncontrolled inferno. Everything on my desk—files, reports, my laptop—went flying as I swept my arm across its surface. The crash of my computer and the dull thud of papers hitting the floor filled the room, but the noise wasn't enough. It didn't touch the chaos raging inside me.

My breath came in short, erratic gasps as I grabbed the edge of the desk and flipped it over, the deafening impact echoing off the walls like thunder. The noise ricocheted through the empty space, but it didn't even closely replicate my fury.

My vision blurred, the sharp sting of tears threatening to spill over. My throat burned, but I bit it back, forcing the tears down because I refused to let them fall. Not for him. Not for this.

I crouched by the overturned desk, yanking open the drawer and retrieving my gun and ammunition with trembling hands. The cold steel pressed against my palms, grounding me, a solid reminder of the resolve hardening like cement inside my chest.

I strapped the gun to my hip, secured a pair of handcuffs to my belt, and stormed out of the office, my boots pounding against the floor with the same force as my angry heartbeat.

I was done being played.

The sound of my boots against the tile floor was like gunfire—sharp, firm, and final. Staff members and officers parted before me like the ocean before Moses, their eyes wide with confusion and unease. No one dared stop me. They wouldn't have survived the attempt.

An hour later, I was standing in front of Antonio's house. My breath fogged the air, and each exhale was sharp and quick, as if my body couldn't keep up with the anger surging through me. I debated knocking, the thought flickering briefly before disappearing entirely. He didn't deserve that courtesy.

I kicked the door open, the force of the impact splintering the wood and sending it crashing against the wall. The sound reverberated through the quiet apartment, shaking picture frames and rattling furniture. I drew my weapon, the weight familiar and steady in my hands.

"Antonio Corenzo!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the silence.

Footsteps echoed from down the hall, heavy but measured like he already knew who had come for him. He appeared at the end of the corridor, stepping out of a dimly lit room that carried the faint scent of whiskey and tobacco, a scent that once felt comforting but now reeked of deceit. His dark hair was slightly disheveled as if he'd been running his fingers through it in thought—or maybe frustration. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the intricate tattoos that snaked down his forearms, a permanent reminder of the life he lived—the life he had fucking lied to me about.

His gaze locked on me, and in that moment, his entire posture shifted. The gun in his hand lowered, though he didn't holster it. His dark, intense eyes widened, flickering between shock and something softer—regret.

"Dahlia?" His voice was cautious, layered with confusion and a tinge of something else—maybe guilt, maybe sorrow. His steps slowed, measured like he was approaching a wounded animal ready to lash out. "What's going on? Put the gun down." His tone was gentle as if he was trying to soothe the chaos vibrating between us. 

He'd soon learn what trying to soothe a hurricane felt like.

I let out a bitter, humorless laugh, the sound sharp and broken as if it had been ripped from my chest against my will. "What's going on?" I repeated, my voice cracking like glass under pressure. "You fucking lied to me. A mafia don? A criminal?"

Regret deepened the lines on his face, shadowing his jaw and softening the dangerous edge I had once found comfort in. And I hated how much I wanted him to deny it, to tell me this was all a mistake, a misunderstanding, a nightmare I could wake up from.

But he didn't.

"Dahlia," he said softly, his voice threaded with something raw as if my name hurt coming out of his mouth. He took a cautious step closer, his eyes locked on mine like they held some desperate truth. "I was going to tell you. Today. I swear."

I scoffed, the bitter taste of betrayal heavy on my tongue as I gripped the gun tighter, my knuckles aching and turning white as the rage flared hotter inside me. "Did you know I was the chief of police the whole time?"

His gaze darkened for a moment, but then, the flicker of vulnerability returned, softening the storm in his eyes.

"I found out just after the hospital incident," he admitted quietly, the words falling from his lips like they carried the weight of an anchor pulling him down. "I tried to stay away, but—" He exhaled sharply, the sound ragged and raw as if speaking the truth caused him pain. "I couldn't. And neither could you."

Memories of him flashed through my mind like a film reel spinning out of control: his hands tracing my skin, leaving a trail of warmth and promises; the way his gaze locked on me, dark and consuming, as though I was the only thing that mattered; the way I had let myself fall into him, not realizing until now how deep I had gone.

"Did Val know?" My voice cracked, the vulnerability seeping through despite my desperate efforts to not show it.

His silence was all the answer I needed.

He took another step closer, slow and cautious, as his tattooed hand gently curled around the barrel of my gun—but he didn't move it. If anything, he pressed it more firmly against his chest, like he was daring me to pull the trigger.

"Look at me," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, soft enough to melt through the cracks I was fighting to keep closed. "Do I look like I'm lying to you now? If you think I am, pull the trigger. But you know this thing between us—it's real. It's beyond our worlds, beyond what we are."

I searched his gaze, desperate for a hint of deceit, something that would justify the rage burning inside me, a reason to reject him and everything he represented. But all I found was the same dark vulnerability that mirrored my own, the same raw, painful truth that had been eating me alive.

This thing between us—it wasn't meant to exist. It wasn't clean, or right, or safe. It was a sinful tie, tethering us to something we shouldn't want but couldn't resist. Lust was love under a sinful tie, and it was suffocating, devouring me with every breath.

My breath hitched, and I hated myself for how badly I wanted to believe him, to let him pull me under again.