Page 85 of Sinners Atone
“All right.” Penny shuffles the cards with the finesse of a magician. “Don’t worry about being subtle, because chances are, your brother-in-law will be too busy staring at himself in the closest shiny surface to notice what you’re doing…”
Her arrival tonight was unexpected. Sure, I invited her when I’d bumped into her at the hospital after the port explosion, but I never thought she’d actually come. I assumed she’d have waymore important things to do, like hang out with the likes of Nico Visconti at one of those invite-only bars in Devil’s Hollow or something.
She grew up on the coast too, but went to the other, lessdesirableschool in Devil’s Dip. The one filled with girls who hiked up their skirts and hung out with older boys until way past curfew. Even back then, I remember being in awe of her anytime we crossed paths. With her flame-red hair and an attitude just as fiery, it was like she jumped right over the awkward ugly-duckling phase and straight into being a full-blown woman with opinions and boundaries and perfect skin.
It’s no wonder she skipped town when she was eighteen. No doubt her return is just a pit stop before she heads back out to somewhere cooler than the coast.
The rest of the shift flies by in a blur of watered-down beer and complicated math sums. Thirty minutes before closing, I start my usual wind-down routine, which includes yawning loudly, glancing at my invisible watch, and nudging at stubborn feet with a soaking-wet mop.
Thankfully, even the drunkest of locals take the hint, and by the time Angelo Visconti strolls through the door with ten minutes to go, my friends are the only patrons left, and I’m already counting the cash in the register.
I stop and watch as his gaze finds Rory in half a heartbeat. He’s behind her in less than three, his hand around her throat, and his mouth nestled in the top of her bun. I don’t hear what he whispers in her hair, but it doesn’t matter, because when Rory turns as pink as my sweater, Ifeelit burning through my veins in the way only jealousy can.
I know I’m staring, but I can’t look away. And not just because the PDA is a fascinating glimpse into a foreign world, but because now I’ve seen how Gabriel commands the dark, I’m looking at his brother in a new light.
It doesn’t make sense. Gabriel, Angelo, and Rafe were born to the same parents, they lived the same childhood. They’re woven from the same DNA, and yet, somewhere, somehow, Gabriel’s strand frayed and veered off path into the shadows.
I can’t understand why he’s scarred while his brothers are suited. How they’re smooth small talkers, yet Gabriel doesn’t even crack a smile.
I only tear my eyes away when Penny shrugs on her coat and scoops up her purse.
“Same time next week?”
“If my asshole boss doesn’t schedule me for a shift, sure.” She glances at Angelo and grimaces. “Oops, don’t tell him I said that.”
“Nothing he doesn’t already know,” he states with dry amusement.
She dismisses his offer of a ride home and saves her number in my cell before heading out into the night.
“And what about my ride?” Tayce slugs the dregs of her beer and slams it on the bar. “Is it the same hottie who drove me home last week?”
It’s not, but she reapplies her lipstick anyway, just in case her new driver is cute too. As the door slams shut behind her, Angelo reaches for Rory’s hand, but she snatches it away.
“And what aboutmyride?” She mocks sweetly. “Is Gio driving me home? Is he going to brush my teeth and tuck me into bed too?”
Angelo frowns. “Gio?”
“Uh-huh.” She glares at the shadowy figure by the tree and sniffs. “He’s been following me around all day. Your orders, according to Gabe.”
Now Angelo’s glaring at Gio too. Then he slowly turns, and suddenly, he’s glaring at me.
I freeze, a fistful of fives in my hand, then glance over my shoulder at the liquor wall. Surely, he can’t be looking atmelike that. Like I’ve done something wrong. Like I’ve pissed him off.
Like he’s his brother.
I swallow the lump in my throat and flash him a nervous smile. He doesn’t return it and instead jerks his chin to the door, his eyes still latched onto mine. “Gio, escort my wife to the car. I’ll be right out.”
“Okay, bye Wren,” Rory chimes, oblivious to the shift in the air. “Love you. Text me when you get home.”
The slam of the door rattles through me. I stare after her, a desperate hole burning in my chest before the silence becomes too uncomfortable to ignore.
I drag my gaze back to Angelo, wide-eyed and waiting.
The floorboards groan under leather loafers as he approaches the bar. He palms it and pins me with an even stare.
“Stay away from my brother.”
His words reach over and steal the breath from my lungs. It’s an order, not a threat, but my body can’t tell the difference. A dim spark at the base of my skull tells me to protest, to scoff, to ask him what on earth he’s talking about, but when he raises an expectant brow, I’m too stunned to do anything but nod.
