Sinners Anonymous (Sinners Anonymous, #1)

by Somme Sketcher

I shuffle blindly through files, bringing them up to my nose to read the first few lines. I rip open drawers. Even give the darn safe under the desk a frustrated kick. Nothing. “Snooping is a sin, Aurora.” The voice melts out of the shadows like butter on a warm day, gluing me to the spot. Oh, holy crow. Forcing myself to look up, my eyes land on a silhouette in the arm chair, one darker than the corner it’s occupying. Angelo. Christ, why is he still here?

“I’m not snooping, My fiance asked me to fetch him something,” I say, attempting a breezy tone. I continue to rustle through papers I care nothing about. The floorboard groans as he rises to his feet. I hate how hyper-aware I am of his presence, how I can feel every heavy footstep he takes toward me in my chest, like the beating of a drum. He leans his palms against the desk and looks up at me with hooded, lazy eyes. “Really?” One simple word, loaded like a gun. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

“Lurking in dark corners isn’t a sin, but it’s still weird as hell.” His eyes flash with dark amusement.

For some reason, I want to be anything but his mild entertainment. Anything but mild to him at all. “You’re right. It’s not a sin. But you know what is?” He leans closer, closing in on the gap between us. My breathing shallows, but I don’t dare pull away. Don’t dare give him the satisfaction. “Cheating on your fiance. But cheating on Alberto Visconti with one of his lackeys? That’s a death wish.” His gaze drops to my lips, and I fight the urge to lick them. “You really do like living life on the edge, huh?”

Cheating with a lackey? He must mean Max, and that means…he saw us yesterday in Devil’s Dip. And by living life on the edge, he’s referring to the first time we met, on the cliff. My cheeks grow hotter by the second, and I feel like I’m burning and blistering under a dark sun, but I refuse to scurry back to the shade. “For someone who hates Devil’s Dip so much, you’re sure there often,” I rasp.

“Alberto knows I spend Saturdays and Wednesdays in Devil’s Dip, and Max is my escort.” My voice is almost pleading, “I’m not cheating.” “And you are not snooping.” “Exactly, I’m not snooping.”

Angelo’s face is a network of hard lines, but even in the dim light, I can see his gaze dancing wildly. “Well, let’s ask him.” The doorknob turns and the light from the lobby floods the room. I drop the stack of papers in my hand, take a step back from the desk and turn to face the silhouette darkening the doorway. I swear I hear Angelo chuckle. Alberto pauses when he sees me. His eyes narrow, then flick to Angelo and back again. “What are you doing in here?” Oh, flamingo. My brain and tongue can’t connect quick enough to come up with an answer.

Alberto takes a step forward. “Aurora—” “I caught her on the way to lunch,” Angelo drawls, dragging his hands off the desk and unfurling his spine to his full height. He towers over his uncle and makes his office feel smaller than a matchbox. “Had a few questions about Dip.”

My ears ring with his lie, and my mind races with all the reasons why he’d bother to lie for me at all. And then a small hit of adrenaline zaps down my spine. It rolled so easily off his tongue, like lying is second nature to him, and something about it… I ignore the heat spreading between my thighs. Don’t be so ridiculous, Rory. “Well, I hope you got what you needed,” Alberto says breezily. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a quick chat with you before lunch.” He looks at me pointedly. “Alone.”

the kitchen, Vittoria stands with her arms crossed, a lanky-looking boy of around the same age, opposite her. His suit is too big, his hair too floppy. He huffs it out of his eyes and says, “That necklace cost me my entire weekly allowance, Vivi. What do you mean you lost it?” She rolls her eyes in a way that suggests this is the millionth time he’s asked. “I don’t know, Charlie, I was drunk. Besides, I’m like, sixteen. What sixteen-year-old do you know who wears pearls?”

There’s only one person at the table, and when I take my seat next to him, he gives my thigh a squeeze. “Hey, gorgeous,” Max mutters. “Jesus,” I mutter, swatting his hand away. “What have I told you? No touching.” He leans his elbows on the table. “About that no touching rule…” “Don’t start—” “Hear me out.” He glances up toward the head of the table, and when he realizes it’s just us, he turns his attention back to me. “Angelo hasn’t said anything to Alberto about me leaving you to your own devices in Devil’s Dip, has he?” I shake my head. I don’t bother telling him that he saw us yesterday, too. “Good,” he purrs. “But that whole ordeal, it got me thinking. Leaving you to see your father on your own is a big risk, you know? If Alberto finds out, he’ll kill me.” Twisting a napkin in my fists, I shoot him a scowl. “What’s your point?” “My point is that big risks deserve big rewards.” He drags his eyes down to my chest, then a shit-eating smirk splits his face in two. “I need more from you, Aurora.”

rage spills out of my gut and through my arms and down to my hand, which curls into a fist and makes a beeline for his jaw. I catch the shock on his face before he grabs my hand. “What the fuck?” he spits. I try to snatch my hand back, but he refuses to let it go. “You’re all the same,” I hiss back, feeling my hand tremble against his palm. I yank it back again, but he curls his fingers tighter around my bones. “All you boys from that stupid school, you’re all the same.” “Aurora, what the hell—” “Let go of me,” I demand,

Angelo strolls in. He pauses. He glances from me, to Max, then to our hands entwined between us. Max squeaks something inaudible and drops my hand like it’s burning him, but it’s too late. Panting with the weight of my outburst, I hold Angelo’s gaze as it grows as dark as an incoming storm. It’s not what it looks like, I want to scream. I can’t have him tell Alberto what he just saw, or have him voice his suspicion that I’m sleeping with Max. Because hell, this man has enough over my head already.

“Aurora, these are my two other nephews, Raphael and Gabriel,” Alberto says without looking up at me. Through weary eyes, I turn to regard them. I’m in no mood for pleasantries. Max was right, and I recognize Raphael because he hangs around with Tor and the Hollow brothers. He has the same glittering, green eyes and silky, black hair as his brother, but he looks like he’s been put under immense pressure and came out the other side a shiny, diamond version of Angelo.

When he lifts his drink to his lips, his matching cuff links glint at me. “A pleasure, Aurora,” he drawls over the rim of his glass. He punctuates it with a wink that I bet makes most women drop their panties.

I watch Raphael hold court. He’s telling a story, one so gripping that even Alberto isn’t interrupting with an anecdote. My eyes shift to Angelo, just in time to see him throw his head back and laugh. My heart stills. Whoa. It’s deep, throaty, and genuine. The type of laugh that carves a mark in your memory. There’s a sudden dull ache under my rib cage, and briefly, I allow myself to wonder what it’d feel like to be the recipient of it. Darn it, Rory. Cut it out. Goose. Not only will this family drown me, they’ll turn me insane, too.

“Well?” I shift my gaze to Max. “Well what?” “You thought about what I said?” My jaw hardens, that rage brewing in my gut again. I lower my head and shuffle my seat closer to whisper in his ear. The last thing I need is to draw Alberto’s attention. “The only way I’ll touch you is when I put my hands around your throat and choke you in your sleep.” He recoils, shocked. Stares at me for a few stunned seconds. “Are you drunk?” “No, I’m just sick of you. All of you.” “All of us?” “Men. Everything is a damn exchange to you. News flash—when a woman wants something from you, she shouldn’t always have to pay with her body. Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned favor? You know, like when I begged Alberto not to log the Devil’s Preserve, he could have just agreed, instead of anchoring me to him with this damn ring on my finger. And when I asked you to give me some peace and quiet for a few hours in Devil’s Dip twice a week, you could have just agreed, instead of deciding that it’s an ask worthy of getting to grope my boobs in the back of your Lexus.”

As my attention falls back down to the table, I lock eyes with Angelo. He’s no longer laughing at his brother’s story, nor is he eating. Instead, he’s staring right at me, his hands clenched into fists on either side of his untouched plate. Once I acclimate to the chill of his gaze, I realize what he sees. Me and Max, shoulder to shoulder, heads huddled and having a private, heated conversation at the end of the table. Panic claws at my throat, and I immediately put some distance between us. “Aurora—” “Not now, Max,” I mutter, picking at bits of ham. “But—”