“Is it finally the return of Vicious Visconti?” My jaw works. Just like Angels of Devil’s Dip, Vicious Visconti is a nickname from a different lifetime. For the last nine years, there’s been nothing vicious about me. But I can’t deny it—hearing Tor call me that sends a zap of adrenaline down my spine. It felt good to be vicious. “I’m not moving back. Like I said last night, I’m just visiting.” Lie. You’d have to be lobotomized to visit Devil’s Dip without an agenda.
