Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

As soon as I step outside and onto the sidewalk, his eyes are on me, following me as I cross the street and come up before him. The unrelenting rain pelts my face as I tilt my head to meet his unwavering gaze.

“It’s cold,” he says. “Go back inside.”

“What about you?”

“I’m used to harsh conditions. Spending a bit of time in the rain has never been a problem for me.”

“You could have skipped your check-in today. You’re soaked.”

“I’ll be away for the next few days. It had to be today.”

Fat raindrops cascade down his face, falling into a puddle at his feet. He has always had this menacing aura around him, but as I look at him now, he doesn’t seem so dangerous. Just . . . lonely.

I take his hand in mine and squeeze a little. “Come on. Let’s have dinner together.”

He lets me lead him to my building and up four flights of stairs to my place. When we get inside the apartment, he stops at the threshold and looks around as if seeing the space for the first time.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He bends his head and locks his eyes with mine. “You’ve invited me into your home.”

There’s a strange quality to his voice, a hidden meaning to his words, but I’m not sure what it could be.

“Yeah. Why? I mean, you’ve been here before. Several times. Or did you forget that I gave you stitches at my dining table last week?”

“No. But I came to you then. This is different.”

“How so?”

“It just is.” He looks down at the floor. “I’ll make a mess of your carpet.”

“Don’t worry about it. Um . . . I’ll get you a towel.”

“A towel?”

“For your hair. It’s drenched.”

I let go of his hand and rush to the linen closet. A hand towel won’t do any good in his case, so I grab one of the yellow bath towels. When I enter the kitchen, I find my demon standing in front of the fridge, checking out the colorful magnets I have hanging there.

“My sister gifted me those,” I say. “She went on a vacation to Europe with her friend from school and her family and boughtme one from each city they journeyed to. I’ve always wanted to visit overseas.”

“Why didn’t you go with her?”

I bite my lower lip. Within Cosa Nostra, there is one very important unwritten rule—never reveal your weakness. People change. Loyalties switch. Friend one day, enemy the next. Whenever someone asked why I hadn’t joined Zara, I always said I was too busy to go and couldn’t fit it into my schedule.

“I’m afraid of flying,” I whisper.

He cocks his head to the side, observing me. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of something.”

“That’s a noble sentiment, and, maybe for you, it’s true.”

He looks away, his gaze traveling back to the fridge magnets. “I’m afraid of kids.”

“Kids? Why?”

“If someone is a threat, I make sure I take them before they could ever get to me. And my preemptive strike is tenfold anything they could have done. But I could never harm a child.” He takes the towel I’m holding out for him without elaborating anything further.

I hoped he was going to unbind his hair, but he just rubs the towel over the braid, drying up most of the moisture.