Confess to Me, Sinner

Rory Carter's POV

You shouldn't be here.

Those were the first things I said to him.

Not greetings. Not who you are, then. Not even a courteous falsehood. Merely a warning I intended from the pit of my warped being.

Hands buried in the pockets of his black suit, eyes chiseled from ice and fire, he leaned against the magnificent marble entrance as if he owned the whole estate. Angelo Visconti

"You are neither, princess," he said, his slow drawl making my skin crawl. Still, we are here.

His voice had weight. It didn't reverberate; it settled. Right into the hollow area of my chest where fear resided.

He was too young to fit in a room full of wrinkled dons and too hazardous to be standing in front of me without anybody else seeing the shiver in my spine.

You should be dead, I remarked.

Only the beneficial kind of dead. The legal sort. He grinned. Uncle Salvatore prefers his spirits silent. But I am not excellent at silence.

The guy was dynamite wrapped in a whisper.

Chin up, I moved closer. My engagement dinner is this. You ought to go.

He examined me from head to toe. The opening of my black silk dress. The necklace-an uncle's legacy from the man I was meant to marry. The quivering glass of red wine in my palm.

For a girl going to be buried alive, you tidy up really well.

You don't frighten me.

Liar.

He was correct. Since he was the one individual who could bring everything down. Not only my phony engagement. Not only my phony grins. But the whole illusion I'd created over years of trying to be something I wasn't.

The helpline for Sinner's Anonymous was to rescue me. My only absolution was to confess in the dark to an unknown voice.

And that voice had always been his.

Angelo, you don't get to come in here and play hero. You are nine years too late.

His jaw clenched. You believe I came to rescue you? I came to set fire to this house. You're carrying the matches, Rory.

My heart raced.

He was aware.

Concerning the murder.

Regarding my actions.

The dinner bell rang before I could respond.

Let the games begin.

The dining hall was a monument to opulence and gold. One ticking time bomb sitting straight across from me, thirty chairs, two dozen firearms concealed under fancy outfits.

Angelo's gaze stayed fixed on me. Not when Uncle Salvatore toasted to our "happy future," not when champagne ran like blood, not even when I laughed too loudly to drown out the noise in my head.

He said over the table, "Smile a little less; they could begin to believe you."

Look less at me; maybe then I would believe you are not still a criminal.

Who claims I am not?

My heart raced.

Desperate for a breath that didn't taste like strain, I crept into the hall following dessert.

Naturally, he trailed.

I muttered once more, low and harsh, "You shouldn't be here."

Too quickly, he pushed me into the wall. Too near.

"And yet, here I am," he said quietly. Same location. Same transgression. Other masks.

Furious and out of breath, I hit his chest. You believe this is a joke? I traded my soul to save my father!

He took hold of my wrist. Not harsh. Just enough to paralyze me.

What if I said I sold mine to prevent you from going to jail?

I blinked back.

What is it?

He leaned in, lips just inches from my own. Rory, you told me all. Toxins. Falsehoods. Affection. I held all of your secrets. I struck a bargain with demons to guarantee no one ever linked that boy's death back to you.

I fell to my knees.

For what reason?

Because I know what it's like to be compelled to sin for someone you love. And since I still have work with you.

Angelo

His lips slammed into me.

It was rage. It was a flame. Nine years of stillness shattered by one frantic kiss.

And I kissed him back as though he were my last truth.

I was out of breath when he left. Trembling.

What do you expect of me?

All of it.

He put something in my hand and left before I could stop him. I spread my fingers.

A cell phone.

One stored number.

Sinner.

I lay awake all night looking at it.

To call him would be to return. Not to the hotline, please. But for him.

For the guy who could reshape my world in his image or set it ablaze.

The decision seemed like a knife.

Salvatore called me to the garden the following morning.

He said, grinning like a snake, "You are doing good." You will soon be mine.

I agreed. Grinned.

Until he said, "But first, there's someone I need you to kill."

I stopped breathing.

Who?

He gave me a picture.

My dad.

He's a betrayer. And no bride of mine can be the offspring of one. Do this and we'll be wed in a week. Refuse, and you both perish.

I agreed.

I Walked back to my room.

And called the burner phone number.

Confess, sinner, Angelo urged.

I want your assistance, I said softly. My father has to die.

He remained silent.

But I could hear him breathing.

Quick. Difficult. As though he were already plotting something risky.

Then his voice arrived.

Chilly. Sure.

We don't let him die. We make use of him. But it will cost you.

Pardon?

He said less.

All you are. All you possess. Your faithfulness. Your existence. Your spirit.

I gulped.

Those I previously handed away.

He stopped.

Then let me have them instead.

I had no idea what I was consenting to. Still, I agreed.

Then the lights went out.

The whole property.

Dark. Yells. Yells.

Then a whisper at my door.

Rory: Come on. We have to run. Right now.

Angel.

Drenched in blood.

Grasping a pistol.

And behind him Salvatore Visconti's corpse on the floor.

I want you to show your loyalty.

I felt dejected. Salvatore's slow, careful delivery made it clear he wasn't asking. It was one sentence.

By what means? I said, acting stupid. Though my fingers gripped the hem of my dress, my smile was firmly fixed.

He had bright eyes. Someone I need you to see is A former buddy. Someone who has... spoken too much.

You want me to quiet him?

He chuckled. Not at all, my love. Simply remind him who he's up against.

What does that mean? Terrify him. Intimidate him. Hurt him should I have to. Just like I had done previously.

He kissed my palm. You are turning into a genuine Visconti.

All I could consider was the kid I murdered to turn into this iteration of myself.

I called SINNER once I got into the car.

Angelo replied on the first ring, "You called."

He wishes me to send a note. To one Massimo.

Stay put.

Should I not, he will realize I am faking the whole performance.

Then there was silence.

Where are you at present?

Ten minutes away. By myself.

Not for long. Leave the line open.

Heart racing, I drove in solitude. This was meant to be a warning operation.

But I was aware of Salvatore's "old friend." Moretti Massimo. Once, for calling his suit cheap, he sliced a man's throat.

Massimo's penthouse reeked of blood and cigar smoke.

Would you look at that? The future bride.

I said, attempting to sound cool, "This is only a friendly reminder." Your complete participation is what my fiancé desires.

He approached closely. Too near.

You were always too lovely for this existence. Too feeble.

From my coat pocket, I drew the knife.

Test me.

The window blew in before he could respond.

Gunfire. Yells.

Angelo.

Completely black. All rage. A gun-toting devil.

Rory!

I fell to the ground.

Massimo shot and yelled something in Italian. Angelo rolled and ducked. My arm was nicked by a bullet. I drew breath.

Angelo shouted, "Stay down!"

Firing three clean bullets, he moved quickly-too quickly. Massimo fell.

Angelo dashed to me. Are you alright?

He touched me lightly.

He tore off his jacket, wrapped it over my arm, then grabbed my face.

You were warned against coming.

You told me too late.

He came closer. Gentle this time. A kiss that tasted like anxiety.