Page 42 of A Sin So Pure

“I know,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “I forgive you. But Nora’s forgiveness will be harder to earn. I think she wants to, though. She’s a mess by her standards, Mo.”

“Should I go to her?”

Josie shook her head. “No, she needs to see you on her own time. And some shit has gone down that we need to deal with first.”

When she said that, I was given a spark of hope. But that hope has dwindled as I’ve sat alone with my guilt, night after night.

Is this how ten years of friendship—and four years of whatever else this is between us—ends? Do I have to mourn a relationship and a friendship at the same time?

I go back to wiping down the mountain of glasses stacked in front of me. The monotonous task keeps me busy behind the bar. But not even the revelry of the Den can help my mood; Leo keeps casting concerned glances at me as he works the room.

I could go help him—shouldgo help him. But the thought of whispering influence in people’s ears, of busying myself with the nonsense of cheating scandals and who ditched the last soiree, makes my stomach turn.

No, I belong back here. Where I can ensure every crystal glass shines as brightly as the jewels around my patrons’ necks.

It’s also the one task that allows me to indulge in my memories uninterrupted. It seems I’m a glutton for punishment, as I can’t help but recall the night that led me here.

So much has changed since then.

I don’t want Nora and Josie to change too.

4 YEARS AGO

“Don’t fuck up tonight.”

My mother stalks past me in her highest heels. Her long embellished gown, which should be glittering, barely shines in the dark of the Den.

The bar is only lit by a few houselights that dangle from the rafters. Somehow our construction team had forgotten the essential feature in their rush to finish the build. Leo and Ihad rolled up our sleeves and put on our electrician hats for a grueling eight hours trying to install them ourselves.

The three we managed to hang are working by grit and a miracle alone.

We have someone scheduled to come fix them all tomorrow; unfortunately, that doesn’t do much for our opening tonight. The one saving grace is that it doesn’t affect our patrons, only our prep and closing staff.

I continue wiping at the rocks glass in my hand, making sure there’s no fingerprint smudge to be seen. Every detail needs to be perfect.

“I know how to run my own bar, Ma. I’ve been doing it for a while with Gallagher’s,” I say.

My mother rifles through her purse, pulling out her lipstick and reapplying it in the reflection of the mirrored shelves behind the bar. Her blond hair is styled similar to mine, fussed and pinned into perfect ringlets that make a fake bob around her collar.

“That’s true,” she says with a smile. She might sound like a hard-ass on the outside, but it’s her way of showing affection. She saves the charm for her marks. “But this is different. If all goes well, this can be a main hub for your brother to exchange information with other Houses.”

Gallagher’s is a small, hole-in-the-wall-pub. House Lust has owned a few within our territory, but the Den will be the first of this size and caliber. It has the potential to attract the rich and powerful from every House.

We’re the smallest of the seven Houses, and after watching Nora and Josie push House Pride forward, I figured expanding our patron-facing businesses would benefit us. I also wanted a project of my own, something to prove that the spare heir to House Lust could be as capable as the firstborn.

Access to more funds means more power. And it didn’t hurt that the staff can be empath spies, as my brother had pointed out to my mother.

He doesn’t mean to steal the spotlight from me. Conor sparkles as brilliantly and naturally as a star. I’m more akin to the gas lamps lining the street. My light is a softer, warmer glow. It’s hard to compare us.

“Give her a break, Ma. She’ll be fine,” my brother calls as he exits the bathroom.

Conor runs his hand through his blond hair—the three of us are a golden trio—before hopping behind the bar. He steals the glass I was cleaning and pours himself a shot of vodka. I roll my eyes as he shoots it back.

I jab my thumb at him while turning to face my mother.

“Yeah, I might not be mister perfect over here, but I have some things going for me.”

My mother laughs. “You said it, not me.”

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