Sinners Anonymous (Sinners Anonymous, #1)

by Somme Sketcher

Visconti men in particular don’t fall in love. Because falling suggests it was accidental, and everything this family does is cold and calculated.

Mama is lowered first and I find myself sinking with her; the only woman I’ll ever get on my knees for. My balled fists disappear into the mud. Another hand rests on my shoulder, and by the glint of the citrine ring, I know it’s Rafe’s.

I know what they are all thinking. The death of my father marks a new era for the Cosa Nostra, and it starts with me. The new capo of Devil’s Dip.

A strike of lightning flashes across the horizon. God trying to smite me down. “It’s like that scene in The Lion King,” Rafe murmurs into the collar of his shirt, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Whatever the light touches is your kingdom now, or something like that. It’s all yours, bro.”

“The Dip brothers have this hotline. Anyone can dial it and confess their secrets. Max probably called it. Snakes like him usually have a guilty conscience.” No. No, no, no. “A hotline?” I croak. “Yeah, you’ve probably seen the cards around.” Please god, no. “It’s called Sinners Anonymous.” Not for the first time today, my world goes black.

But as I sat there eating lunch, listening to Rafe describe his latest poker game with the Hollow clan, I was watching them—the way he was all over her like a fucking rash, how she squirmed uncomfortably under every touch—and I realized I was wrong. But I was going to kill him anyway. Like I said, utterly fucking insane.

She lets out a hiss of breath. Studies me with sadness in her eyes. “Can I ask why?” The smile on my lips feels bittersweet. “No,” I say softly. “Because I’m sick of telling lies.”

And for the first time since we met, I see her smile. I think I like it when she smiles.

He shoots a wink at me. “What’s your type, cugino?” Curly-haired and unavailable.

Feeling heat on my back, I turn around and see Rafe standing in the shadows, glaring at me. As I walk past, he pulls a hand out of his pocket and grabs my arm. “Vicious Visconti is back,” he murmurs in my ear. I stare straight ahead, spine steeled, until he lets me go and moves off into the crowds. Maybe Vicious never really left.

I’m utterly, madly, unacceptably obsessed with Angelo Visconti. My fiance's nephew, near-stranger, and keeper of my darkest secrets. And suddenly, my sin isn’t so funny anymore.

“Look,” he says, lowering his voice so I can barely hear it over the Marvin Gaye song blaring out the house. “I’ll always be your ride-or-die, and I know Gabe feels the same way. You want to burn this fucking coast down, I’ll lend you my lighter. But please, for the love of God, don’t make me go to war with our cousins over a piece of pussy.”

“I was wrong about you, Magpie,” he says huskily, licking his lips. “You are a bad girl.”

“Don’t test me today, Aurora. I’ve spent nine years resisting temptation. You’re making it very hard for me to get to a decade.” The moment I dare to look up at her, I immediately wish I hadn’t. She’s gazing up at me under those thick lashes, breathing heavily through her plump, parted lips. I harden my glare. “I mean it.”

“What happened to the line in the sand?” “Ask me for a sin.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I—What?” “A sin, Aurora. I know you’re familiar with the term.” A cold cocktail of confusion pools in my stomach, peppered with a dash of annoyance. His tone is hard and the way he calls me by my formal name is even harder. I grit my teeth, staring at the priest’s moving mouth, despite not being able to hear a word that comes out of it. “Okay, tell me a sin, Angelo.”

“I killed her too. That’s not my worst sin, though.” “It’s not?” I choke out. “No. Not telling my brothers is. They have no idea.” Air leaves my lungs in a puff of condensation. The rain brought a cold snap with it, and the icy chill coasts down the neck of my dress, taunting me. As if it’s telling me that, although the cliff face is being battered by wind and rain, it’s safer out there than it is under the umbrella with Angelo. My gaze burns into the mud. “Why are you telling me this?” Angelo pulls the umbrella down tighter around us, trapping me in his world of darkness and deceit. He leans closer, his hot breath grazing my cheek steals mine. “Because you should know what type of family you’re marrying into.

They are made men, Aurora. Cheats and liars.” “And you? You’re a cheat and a liar, too?” I turn to face him so quickly, that my bottom lip swipes against his, sending a jolt of electricity to my lower stomach. I’d forgotten he was so close. I jerk back, like I’ve been shocked. Angelo stills. I stare at the distorted version of myself in the reflection of his sunglasses, wishing I could see his eyes. He swallows. “Like father like son, Aurora. I’ve cheated on every girlfriend I’ve ever had, lied to everyone I’ve ever known.” Then he uncoils to his full height and turns back to the priest. Anger rolls off him in waves. “You were right to want to draw a line in the sand. Because I’m no better than them.”

Because I know the old adage: from the deepest desire comes the deadliest hate. If Angelo stays on the Coast much longer, I’ll hate him most of all.

“You’d look good in my bed.” My moan leaves my mouth like melted butter. In another life. But I’m living in this one, and in this one, I need to save myself and my father.

“Rory?” His thumb pad carves a trail over my jawline. It stops at the corner of my mouth, but I turn my head to catch it between my lips. He lets out a soft moan, watching me, eyes half-lidded with lust, as I slowly lick it. “Yes?” Danger sparking in his eyes, he pushes his thumb further into my mouth, and with wetness pooling between my thighs, I open my mouth wider to take him all in. “Out of all my sins, you’re my favorite.”

“Our hotline is for sins committed, not sins you’re thinking about committing.” His voice is dry, indifferent, but his words immediately make my cheeks flame. “I-I don’t understand?” “You do.”

His eyes are dark and dangerous, smoldering like a sea-green sun. “If Angelo doesn’t come back, I expect another call.” My temples thump. What? How sick and twisted can this man be? Behind me, Tor blasts his horn. Gabe looks over my shoulder, irritation crossing his features. “And this time, I hope your sin won’t be hypothetical.”

We stare at each other for three painstakingly long beats. He flicks his tongue between his teeth. Draws in a deep breath and shoots a dark look in the direction of the house. Then he pushes off his car, flicks the cigarette, and drops something at my feet. “Oops,” he drawls indifferently, without looking at me. “I think I just dropped my car keys.” His shoulder brushes against mine as he passes. I feel his hot breath in my ear. “Hopefully they aren’t found by a runaway bride.”

“I swear to God, Rory. You better know how to fly, because if you fall, I’m coming with you.”

Gabe and I stand shoulder to shoulder as we watch Angelo’s Aston Martin disappear down the hill, taking a piece of me with it. Beside me, he shifts. “Shame.” I turn. “What is?” “I was looking forward to listening to your call. I never could stand uncle Alberto.”

Capo’s can’t be petty. They can’t be impulsive, either, which is why it took me a whole week to get my shit in order. I breathe out fire as I pass through the Cove mansion gates. It’ll be the last time they are left open for me, that’s for damn sure.

I’m still going to kick his ass, but I’m not going to kill him.

“Donatello, I’ll be honest with you. You’re a straight-laced guy, you have a beautiful wife and by the sound of it, a baby on the way.” Amelia cowers, placing a protective hand on her stomach. “I’d rather not have to put a bullet in your head. There will be no wedding today, and if you stay out of the way, we’ll remain on good terms.” I lower my voice. “And trust me, you’ll want to stay on good terms with me.”

It smells like iron and danger in here, and I love every fucking second of it.

Nothing and nobody will ever fucking hurt her again. Not Alberto, not Dante. Not me. I couldn’t save my mama from the Viscontis, but I sure as shit will save Rory.

“Everybody has five seconds to get the fuck out of my house.”

His gaze flashes. “I’m old enough to be your father. How does that make you feel?” Heart thumping, I feign boredom. Look up at him through my lashes. “Does that mean I can call you daddy now?” Dark amusement graces his features. He gives a small shake of his head. “Come here.”

“Take it off.” “You take it off,”

“Good girl,” he growls into my lips as I grasp his hair. Good girl. What he’s doing to me now is a stark contrast to the sharp whip of his belt; a reward, rather than a punishment. But if this is what good girls get, then maybe I won’t be bad anymore. A hard, angry slap against my pussy dissolves that thought immediately. Holy crow. The sting fizzes in my blood like shaken-up champagne. Maybe I can be both.

I’ll be whatever Angelo Visconti wants me to be.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmurs in fascination, brushing a stray curl away from my cheek. He cocks his head, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Starting a war with my family was worth that alone.”

Something warm and satisfying pools in my lower stomach. I lean against the window and watch him for a moment. He’s glaring into the flames, sipping from a whiskey tumbler. Christ, I think I love him.

I’ve spent nine years carving out a new life for myself, one as far away from Devil’s Dip as possible. And yet, in just a fistful of weeks, I’ve given it all up. Moved back to the town I hate, started a civil war with my own fucking family, all for her. A girl that curses in bird puns, eats enough sugar to be pre-diabetic, and is addicted to petty revenge.

And then there’s Rafe, who’s everything Dante wishes he was.”

“Shut up, Rory. He left his entire life in England and came back to Devil’s Dip for you. He’s so in love with you that it makes me sick.” “She’s right, I am.”

“When I say you’re mine, I mean you’re mine forever. No ifs, no buts. No changing your mind. Sure you want that?” I prop myself up on my elbow and glare at him. A few heavy beats pass, but his gaze doesn’t let up, and neither does mine. “Are you giving me a choice?” “No.” His eyes narrow. “Unless you want the choice?”

“I thought capos take what they want.” He grunts, irritation crossing the planes of his face. “What I want, is for you to be happy.”

“Not just regular happy. I mean really fucking happy,” he growls into my mouth, palming my ass to pull me on top of him. “Can’t stop fucking smiling, don’t want to go to sleep because reality is better than your dreams kind of happy. I want to make you so damn happy that you shit sunshine and piss rainbows and people think you’re as high as a kite when you walk into a room.” He nips my lower lip in mild frustration, and his fingers dig deep into the back of my thighs as he slides me up to his groin. “If you want to be mine, I’ll make you that happy, Rory.”

“I’ll show you what it looks like. Now, be a good girl and moan my name while I worship you.”

It’s like I’m his favorite stripper at his favorite strip joint, and he’s been waiting all week to see me dance.

Whatttt?!!

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I like doing bad things. Makes me feel good.” He tilts his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement as they finally meet mine. “What do you have in mind?” “I’m going to tie the shoelaces of his work boots into a constrictor knot. It’s impossible to untie.”

Gabe better watch out 😂

I may be young, dumb, and twenty-one, but I know what I want. I want Angelo and everything that comes with him, including marriage and babies and the constant threat of war. I want all of his sins and secrets. I want to know every one of his memories and make a million more together.

By all means this is the perfect moment to get pregnant 😂

“I don’t just want you because you’re a tight fuck, Magpie. You wanna lay on my chest and watch a movie while I feed you gumballs like you’re a modern-day Cleopatra? Because we can do that instead.”

The desire to be bad with him burns under my skin like a flame.