Her face lit with a wide, ultra-white grin, and she pressed her body up against mine, her hands resting on my chest. “That’s amazing news,” she offered in a husky purr. “I’d love to celebrate with you if you’re … up for it.” She peered up at me from beneath her fake lashes and pressed her rounded silicon breasts against me. Her enhancements weren’t my ideal, but they didn’t keep me from getting a stiffy in the middle of the gym.

“Didn’t you start seeing Caleb a while back?” I wasn’t particularly close with him, but he was a decent guy.

She gave a small shrug. “It’s not like we’re married. What he doesn’t know isn’t gonna hurt him. This is a celebration after all.”

“I’ll pass.” I stepped back, grabbing a towel off a nearby bench, and started toward the locker rooms.

“That’s where you’re gonna draw the line? You suddenly a Goody Two-shoes?” she shot back, incensed at being rebuffed.

“Everyone has lines. Mine may be fucked up, but they’re there,” I called back over my shoulder.

“You don’t have lines. I know you, Nico Conti. You’re not fooling anyone.”

I didn’t look back because I had no response. I wasn’t about to argue over my rightful place on the spectrum of good and evil. She might have thought she knew me, but she didn’t know the half of it. There was no question in my mind I’d be situated firmly between rotten and unforgivable.

What did it say about me that I wouldn’t fuck around behind a friend’s back? Nothing. I was still a criminal. I’d done horrible things in my short life; some that made me feel like the most depraved sort of monster. The images of the things I’d done refused to be forgotten. They regularly haunted my dreams in graphic detail, reminding me that I had solidified my seat in hell.

Some might argue I was redeemable because I could determine the difference between right and wrong. I disagreed. I firmly believed it was that very knowledge that was my damnation. A psychopath is sick. They see no black and white, right or wrong. They don’t know any better. But a man like me, I know the difference, and I hurt people anyway.

That was the definition of evil.

If seeing Enzo was an unwelcome trip down memory lane, getting a summons later that day to meet with him at his home was a fucking nightmare. I had no idea what he wanted to speak with me about, but when the boss calls, you go, no matter how much you dread it.

Seeing that house again was a serious punch to the nuts—it literally winded me as I walked to the front sidewalk. I hated the emotions that stirred inside me at just seeing the place. It had been years since I’d walked up the steep steps to the front door.

I had truly believed I’d never go there again.