Page 64 of Psycho Sinners

My curiosity and nosiness had landed me in countless situations in the past. You'd think I'd have learned by now.

I guess I was a slow learner.

I tiptoed to my door, leaning against it to listen for any other sounds, but only heard minor clattering downstairs.

The smart thing to do would be to return to bed.

Being smart was not really me either.

I turned the handle silently, slinking out into the hall and over to the stairs.

Someone was in the kitchen, and as I strained over the rail to look down into the section I could see, I wondered who had made the utter mess that was visible. It was like a bomb had gone off, utensils and bowls strewn all over the place.

Curiosity won out, and I crept down the staircase, pausing on the final step at the sight before me.

Cristian stood in the kitchen, completely nude, whisking furiously at a bowl like a goddamn madman. Flour coated the countertops and even dusted his tanned skin, while an open bottle of whiskey sat on the counter beside him.

"What the hell are you doing?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. He whipped around, those dark eyes widening briefly before he smirked.

"Baking, sweetheart. What does it look like?" He took a swig from the bottle, not even flinching at the burn of the liquor before he set the bowl down heavily. My eyes moved to the gauze patch over where I'd stabbed him. I wondered who had patched him up, maybe Julian.

"Like what you see?" He wagged his brows, and I scoffed at the absurd question.

I crossed my arms, averting my gaze. "You've got some issues."

He barked out a laugh. "Don't we all, kitten?" His eyes raked over me shamelessly. "Couldn't sleep?"

"You woke me up with all the noise," I shot back, forcing myself to meet his stare. He was still smirking, that infuriatingly cocky grin that made me want to slap it right off his face.

"Hmm. Right." He shrugged before turning back to the bowl, muscles rippling beneath his skin as he resumed whisking.

I couldn't tear my eyes away, a strange sort of fascination taking over. How could someone so beautiful be capable of such ugliness? It made no sense.

The things he'd done to me, followed by those weird moments, it twisted me into knots, confusing the hell out of me.

Right now, though, it was like he was another person. The raging, hurtful man from earlier now replaced with this rather intoxicated mess of a human.

"Aren't you worried about, I don't know, messing up your reputation as a big bad crime family?" I asked, knowing I was toying with fire by questioning him. "Baking naked and drinking doesn't exactly scream 'feared mafia boss.'"

He snorted, not even looking over his shoulder. "Tyrone manages the majority of the business dealings. Julian is pretty good at keeping things in order too. I'm more just a pretty face."

I rolled my eyes at his arrogance. And yet...I couldn't deny the appeal of Cristian's toned body, no matter how much I wanted to. Although one flash of his brutality in my mind had that stomped out. As for pretty faces, as much as I hated to admit it, all three of them were not too shabby. They had blessed genetics.

"Tess pulled a stunt like this once. When I wouldn't tell her I loved her." His voice was quieter now, almost wistful as he turned to me, still holding the bowl and whisking, his smile now softened.

"Who's Tess?" I dared to ask. He froze, staring down into the bowl as he ceased whisking, a strange look on his face. He swallowed, his smile vanishing as he shook his head. Pain and agony seared across his face, startling me.

Who exactly was Tess? Did she play a role in why he was a damn psycho?

"Did she hurt you?" I asked softly, moving closer to the kitchen. He didn't deserve my sympathy, hell, he deserved to be shoved out of the goddamn window, and yet, I couldn't help myself.

I watched as his expression contorted with raw pain, his eyes squeezing shut as if to block out some terrible memory. When he spoke again, his voice was strained.

"She did, more so than your fiance did to you."

A lump formed in my throat at the anguish in his tone. Despite the hell he'd put me through, in that moment, a flicker of sympathy sparked within me. Whatever had happened with this Tess woman, it had shattered him. It was visible in the lines etched across his face, his despair on show for the entire world, like he couldn't maintain the mask, not with the booze and his current state.

"It's been two years since she died. Two years today," he said, his eyes opening to meet mine with a haunted look.