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.

It was a fortune cookie that had brought her from New York to Devil’s Dip, Washington, in the first place. Seek hope where the air is salty and the cliffs are steep.

“My name is Rory Carter and I do bad things.”

The Angels of Devil’s Dip. That’s what the locals used to call me and my brothers growing up, because we were the deacon’s sons.

I don’t like Dante even nearly enough to tell him that I’m here because of a goddamn fortune cookie.

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

But when there are no boundaries, no lines to box you in, bad things happen. Wars happen, murders happen.

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

“He doesn’t recognize me outside of the forest, Angelo. That’s why it can’t be knocked down, and that’s why we can’t leave. What my father and I have, it doesn’t exist outside of it.”

Seek hope where the air is salty and the cliffs are steep. That’s what the fortune cookie said. The one I brought from the chick in San Francisco’s Chinatown. It held the exact same fortune that convinced my mom to move here all those years ago.

“No, it’s her. The girl who sold me the fortune cookie in San Francisco,” I bite out, shaking my head in disbelief.