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.

I learned quickly it’s better to vent my frustrations silently, usually by balling my fists until my fingernails carve half-moons into my palms. Oh, and spitting in his mouthwash.

Viscontis, I’ve learned two things about them. The first, is that they aren’t just a powerful family, they are in fact, the mafia. Cold-hearted, hot-blooded Sicilian-Americans who live and die by the Glocks tucked into the waistbands of their Armani suits.

“Aurora. Stand up.” A soft laughter ripples around the room, the type tinged with uncertainty. What’s he playing at? With all eyes on me, I know I can’t cause a scene, so begrudgingly, I scrape back my chair and slowly rise to my feet. “Perfect. Now, take three steps to the left.” My cheeks grow hot, and everyone’s laughter gets louder, like he’s telling a joke and I’m the only idiot who doesn’t realize I’m the punchline. With a huff, I take one step back so I’m behind Vittoria’s seat, then take three deliberate steps to the left. “Happy?” But if Angelo replies, I don’t hear it. There’s a glint in his right hand. Then the bang is too loud. The smell of gunpowder too strong, and the taste of blood splatter on my lips too tangy. The bullet enters Max right between the eyes and exits out the back of his skull, taking half his brain with it. His head hits the table with a heavy thud, his blood turning the lace tablecloth crimson.

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

“What’s your type, cugino?” Curly-haired and unavailable.

I know what’s got my skin burning up like I have a fever—the thought of spanking my uncle’s fiancee.

“Because seeing you in your engagement dress is hard enough. But seeing you in your wedding dress?” A growl vibrates deep within me. I tighten my grip. “That’ll be fucking torture.”

But that’s the thing about lines in the sand. Eventually, they wash away, and you can’t remember where you drew them.

Angelo Visconti isn’t a knight in shining armor, he’s a monster in an Armani suit.

“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.”

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

My obsession with her is maddening.

“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.”