living a Gothic fairy tale.”
I’ve just finished telling Tayce everything, right from the moment I signed Alberto’s contract, all the way up to the candy Angelo brought back from London for me. Of course, I’ve left out some of the darker stuff, like getting spanked in a church and the fact I seriously considered pushing Alberto off a cliff. I guess I like having some sins that only Angelo and I share.
She sits on the sofa opposite me, curled up under a blanket and a pile of British candy in her lap. Her mouth is slack in disbelief. “I can’t believe Angelo Visconti is in love with you.”
My ears grow hot at the mere sound of the word. “He’s not.”
“Shut up, Rory. He left his entire life in England and came back to Devil’s Dip for you. He’s so in love with you that it makes me sick.”
“She’s right, I am.”
We both jump at the sound of Angelo’s voice. My eyes dart up and land on him, leaning against the doorway, humor carved into his features.
My face blisters with embarrassment. But also—did you just say you love me? We lock eyes, and I swallow. The air shifts and Tayce can feel it, because she rises to her feet, stuffs a handful of candy in her purse, and flashes me a knowing grin. “I…should probably get going.”
“I’ll have someone escort you home, Tayce.”
She scoffs at him. “No need. I can look after myself.”
Without taking his eyes off me, Angelo gives a small shake of his head. “It’s non-negotiable.”
Tayce huffs, then rolls her eyes at me. “See? This is why you should have come to me before willingly shacking up with a made man. I’d have told you how crazy they are!” As she passes Angelo, she slaps him on the shoulder and adds, “But in all seriousness, thanks for saving my best friend from that big fat creep.”
His lips twitch. “Anytime.”
“And if I hear anything in the shop, I’ll let you guys know.”
Angelo’s gaze turns serious. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Oh, and if you ever want Rory’s name tattooed in a love heart on your chest, I’m your girl. I’ll even let you skip the waiting list.”
“Uh-huh. Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”
We say our goodbyes, and she disappears through the front door, one of Gabe’s burly men in her shadow.
Our gazes clash, and suddenly, I’m overcome with shyness.
“Come here.”
I shake my head.
His eyes spark with dark amusement. “Dare you to say no to me again.”
Feigning a sigh, I rise to my feet and take the short journey over to the door, my heart beating faster with every step. His eyes narrow on me, but he doesn’t take his hands out of his pockets. Instead, he waits, like he’s expecting me to do something.
“Did you mean it?” I can’t bring myself to say it, but I don’t need to, the insinuation hangs heavy in the air between us.
He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip and nods. Such a small movement, but one that melts all of my insides into nothing more than a slush pile.
I didn’t know it was possible to crave something and be so frightened of it at the same time. I want nothing more in this world than to be loved by him, yet the same thought makes me want to leap out of the nearest window.
My heart slams against my chest, my fingers burn with the need to touch him.
“But we haven’t even kissed,” I whisper. It sounds pathetic, even to me, because deep down I know that wouldn’t change a thing.
“Kiss me then.”
The challenge swirls like an eye of a storm in his gaze.
I pause. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Swallowing, I bring my hand up to his neck and hold him at his thick nape. He waits, still and silent, eyes thinning on me. Burning with anticipation, I stand on my tip-toes, but still have to crane my neck to even get near his mouth. I hover there for a while, so close that I can’t tell whose heavy, labored breaths belong to who. A little closer, and my mouth brushes against his. So soft and warm. For a moment, I think he’s not going to react, but then he parts his lips, and I press mine against them and slide my tongue inside his mouth. His groan is guttural, triggering hot, electric sparks between my thighs. I palm his chest and attempt to pull back, just to say something snarky, but I have just enough time to meet his molten gaze, before he fists my hair and brings me back into him.
His kiss is deep and wet and messy. Desperate. Like an arid desert in need of a good storm. His hands roam all over my body, stopping at my ass to grip my cheeks, snaking up to my hips to pull me against his erection. He’s rough and unrelenting, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even when he scrapes his teeth on my lower lip, smacks my ass, and hisses in my ear with strangled venom.
“You have ten seconds to get on my bed before I lose my shit.”
A stolen glance at his burning expression, then I turn on my heel and scurry into the foyer and up the stairs. Before I can reach his bedroom, he catches up behind me, snaking his arms around my waist and throwing me onto the bed.
I’m breathless, drunk on the excitement of the unknown. He flips me over onto my back, nudges my thighs apart and looms over me, in all of his masculine glory. His gaze rakes over his clothes on my body, and he rubs his jaw, like he’s trying to control his urge.
But I decide to make it harder for him, because I’m addicted to the way he stares at me. With one swoop, I tug off my sweater and buck my hips to slide down the pants. Before I can bask in his leering gaze, he drops onto his elbows on top of me, yanks down the cups of my bra, and latches onto a breast. Desire shoots through my core like a lightning bolt, settling between my thighs in a restless beat. I pull his hair, hard, as he switches breasts and reaches down to shove his hand into the front of my thong.
His hand is rough and needy, cupping my sex with a desperation that makes all of the goosebumps on my body stand to attention. His fingers curl up, dragging through my slick lips, before he flicks his forefinger against my clit. I yelp, which makes him chuckle into my breasts.
“You’re so wet baby.” He slides his hand back down and plunges a finger into my hole, and then another, stretching my canal and filling me with the most delicious burn. “I want to taste every last drop.” He kisses a hungry trail down my stomach, until his mouth reaches the waistband of my thong. Snarling, he clamps his teeth onto the lace, as if he’s going to tear them off like a darn animal ripping apart his prey.
“Stop,” I breathe, although every part of my body is screaming in disagreement.
He stills, his gaze sparking. “What?”
Panting, I force myself up on my elbows. “I…”
As the rest of my sentence burns up between us, he growls and flicks my clit again in annoyance. “Spit it out, baby.”
“You’ve seen and touched every part of me, but uh, I haven’t seen you.” I swallow, heart hitching in my throat. “I want to see you.”
He pauses for a moment, his gaze thinning, and then pitch-black mischief dances across his features. Without a word, he sits back on his heels and pushes himself off the bed. It’s that he knows every curve and contour of my body, as well as all of the sins that lay within it, and yet I have no idea what lies beneath the Italian suits and the cashmere sweaters.
Without breaking eye contact, he loosens his tie, tosses it aside. The shirt goes next, revealing a tanned, toned stomach, and bulging biceps, both carved from marble. “Holy crow,” I mutter, more to myself than him, but it raises a small, breathy laugh from his lips anyway.
He slides off his belt, then slips his slacks off. A flustered rash creeps across my chest at the sight of his black Calvin Kleins, his erection straining against them.
The unknown is scary and enticing, and I’m practically salivating to know what’s underneath that fabric.
He raises his arm and drags a hand through his hair, eyes glittering with ill intentions. “Come and see me, then.”
First the kiss, now this. It’s a stark contrast to the way he dominates me with his belt. But suddenly, I realize it’s because now he knows of my inexperience, he wants it to be on my terms, not his. I’m in control. But by the way he clenches and unclenches his fists, I can tell it’s a struggle.
Breathing heavily, I work my way out of my bra and panties and toss them onto his pile of clothes. Then I scoot to the end of the bed, roll onto my knees, and carve a delicate path down the length of his stomach with just one finger. Tension rolls off him in waves, and when I swoop my finger over the horizon of his waistband, his eyes flutter shut and his jaw tightens. I stay there for a moment, grazing over the dark hair there, but then he growls and grips my wrist.
“Don’t fucking play games,” he rasps “Touch it.”
Gasping at the venom in his voice, I slide my hand under the waistband and grip his girth.
He lets out a sharp hiss and throws his head back, all of his abs clenching at my eye level.
Oh, swan. The moment I wrap my fingers around it, I know I’m in over my head. I feel the length of it, its heat and thickness, and my morbid curiosity wonders how the hell it’s going to fit inside of me.
Biting in frustration, Angelo pushes me back onto the bed and clambers on top of me, pulling out his erection. He fists it at the base and nudges my thighs apart with his knees, settling like a heavy weight on top of me. One hand slips around the back of my neck, the other presses his tip against my entrance.
“Ask me for a sin, Rory,” he growls in my ear, nipping at my lobe.
“Tell me a sin,” I groan, tilting my hips in desperation, but he pushes me back down into the bed.
“The thought of fucking you has been so dominant all day, I had a raging hard on in the car ride home.”
I moan, feeling the length of him open me up as he pushes himself slowly inside of me. It’s smooth and lazy, a stark contrast to the grit in his voice.
I clamp my hand over his jaw and press my lips against his. My lower core burns, a cocktail of pain and pleasure coursing through my veins like a drug. “Tell me another,” I beg.
He thrusts deeper, filling every inch of me, picking up the pace of his thrusts as he nuzzles my neck. “Those little panties you left in my plane, I’ve fucked them so many times I’ve lost count.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he grunts. “And that stupid fucking matching bra.”
I groan under the weight of him, and with every dirty sin he whispers in my ear, his hips grind against mine, spreading white, heat from my clit up to my core.
“I killed Max because I hated the way he touched you.”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend, let alone cheated on one. I just needed you to hate me.”
“On Halloween, I had to pull over and fuck my fist in my car at the thought of you because I couldn’t wait to get home.”
Fireworks fizzle and pop, lighting every nerve ending on fire. I’m torn, stuck in a desperate limbo between wanting this feeling never to end, and frantically chasing the release. Eventually, the latter wins, and my orgasm explodes from the inside out, sending an uncontrollable shudder through every muscle and every limb. Angelo freezes, cock jerking inside me, watching me in fascination as his name rolls off my tongue in panicked waves.
“Fuck,” he groans into my mouth, slowing his thrusts. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” A nip on my bottom lip. “You are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
With his hot, sticky cum pooling between my thighs, he rolls me over so I’m lying against his chest. His heartbeat is heavy and fast, matching his labored breaths.
“I love you too.”
Underneath me, he stills. Stops tracing circles on the small of my back. I’m in such a haze, that the words slipped from my mouth like chocolate on a warm day. My heart beats once, twice. But then I realize I don’t want to take the words back at all.
“Good,” he growls into my crown. “Because I’ve just realized something really fucking bad.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “What?” I whisper.
“We didn’t use a condom.”
The next week passes in a blur of sex and sin. Sometimes he screws me slow and sensual, and I savor every thrust, lick and suck, committing them to memory. Sometimes he screws me hard and frantic, his belt or his hand, or both, leaving its mark on my ass and my throat. Afterward, he’s gentle, giving me baths and rubbing lotion on the rawest parts of me, which I love almost as much as the spankings themselves.
I’m allowed to go and see my dad whenever I want, as long as Gabe’s men escort me. There’s no hourly time limit, and thankfully, Melissa and the rest of the care team have seamlessly transitioned to Angelo’s payroll. When Angelo’s working, sometimes Tayce will come over and we’ll watch a movie, or pore over Architectural Digest magazine in search of design inspiration for the renovated house. He’s adamant I can do what I want with the place, and I’m not sure if it’s because he wants to keep me busy and distracted, or if he wants to rid every inch of the house of his father. It’s still a blank, white canvas, but it doesn’t feel suffocating like the Cove mansion did. It feels like a home instead of a prison, with a closet full of my own clothes and no bitter Greta forcing me into sizes that are too small. No formal dinners, just pizzas or pastas, curled up on the sofa; it’s pure bliss.
When Friday evening rolls around, I’m sitting crossed-legged on the bed, creating a vision board for the games room, when Angelo slips through the door. My heart beats on the double, like it always does when he gets home. It’s a mix of relief that he’s back in one piece, and excitement of getting to feel his warmth against mine.
He loosens his tie and settles in behind me, leaning over my shoulder to admire my work. “When are you going to stop sticking and cutting and start actually ordering some furniture?”
“When you sign off my ideas!”
His chuckle is deep and throaty. “I already told you, baby. Whatever you want to do, I’ll love it.”
“Mhmm.” I twist in his arms and plant a soft kiss on his lips. “Good day?”
“It’s not over yet.”
My heart sinks a few inches, but I thread nonchalance through my tone. “No?”
“Nah. Got a meeting with the harbormaster at the Rusty Anchor.”
“Oh.”
“Wanna come?”
My disappointment is immediately upgraded to excitement. “For real?”
“Yeah, you’re friends with the girl that works there, right? It’s Dip territory, and my men will be there.”
“Woohoo!” I scramble to my feet, kicking the stack of magazines out of the way.
Angelo leans back on the pillows, watching me in amusement. “Fucking hell, you’d think I was taking you to a ball.”
“No more balls, please,” I moan, dipping into the closet and tugging a pair of jeans off the rack. “I never want to see a ball gown again.”
“Deal,” he drawls, rising to his feet and smacking my ass on his way to the door. “Meet me downstairs in five.”
Five minutes later, he’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me, a flask in one hand, a bundle of clothes in the other. “Take,” he demands, giving me the flask. “It’s hot cocoa.”
I bring it to my chest. “You made it for me?”
“Yeah,” he mutters darkly. “But I’m not a fucking chef. We need to get some help around here, a few maids and an assistant will do. Scarf.” He wraps it around my neck and pulls tight. “Hat, gloves, coat.”
“Jesus, Angelo. We’re going to a bar, not going skiing.”
He slips the coat over my shoulders and tugs on the lapel, bringing me in for a deep kiss. “It’s cold outside.”
“Who knew a Cosa Nostra don could be so sweet?”
He dips down to cup my ass cheek, and squeezes, hard. “Use that smart mouth again, and I’ll remind you that I’m not,” he growls with a twinkle in his eye.
The car has already been warmed up, and as I slide inside, I check the glove box expectantly. Sure enough, Angelo’s refilled it with some of the British Wine Gums I like so much. His hand is heavy and possessive on my thigh as we drive the short distance, flanked by two cars with Gabe’s men inside. Pulling up to the Rusty Anchor, excitement prickles in my chest; it feels almost like being normal again. Not spending a Friday night around a stuffy table with people who hate me as much as I hate them, but at a dive bar, catching up with my friends.
Only this time, I have a made man watching my every move.
The warmth from the fire brushes my face as soon as we step inside. Angelo’s hand is clamped around mine, but I tug away the moment I recognize a familiar face.
“Bill!”
I run over and throw my arms around Dad’s best friend. He smells like cigars and leather, and I’m hit with childhood nostalgia. I haven’t seen him in ages. He still visits my father at the Preserve almost daily, but always different times from me.
“My little Rory! My goodness, how have you been?” he says, giving me a squeeze.
As I turn around, Angelo’s gaze is narrowed as he watches us from the doorway. “Angelo, meet Bill. He’s my dad’s best friend.”
His lips twitch. He takes a step forward and sticks out his hand for Bill to shake. “Dad’s best friend and harbormaster. Devil’s Dip really is a small place.”
I spin around, wide-eyed. “You’re the port master now, Bill?”
He grins. “Sure am.”
Pinning Angelo with a scowl, I say, “Well, then. You better be extra nice to him.” With a wiggle of my finger, I walk toward the bar. “I’m watching you.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, probably not used to being undermined by his girlfriend at the start of a meeting. Before I can cause any more trouble, I slide onto one of the seats by the bar and ring the bell. A few moments pass before Wren strolls out of the back. She freezes in surprise, then her face melts into a big grin.
“Rory Carter. We have so much to catch up on.”
I let out a chirpy laugh. “Yeah, you can say that again. But for now, can you just pour me my usual white wine spritzer and we can pretend like everything’s how it used to be?”
“Sure thing.” She slams the glass on the bar and points up to the sign above her head. It’s yellowing and curling at the edges, but everyone knows what it says, because it’s been here for as long as Wren’s worked here:
More than two drinks will require handing over your car keys to a member of staff.
“That includes your scary man now, too.” She palms the bar and peers over at him. “Unless he owns the place. Does he? Is he my boss now?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. But don’t worry, he’s a puppy, really.” Lie.
I look over and, even though he’s in deep conversation with Bill, his gaze shifts to mine. He winks, and fireworks ignite in my chest. Trying to conceal my smile, I take a sip of wine and turn back to Wren. “So, what have I missed over in Dip?” She strums her fingers against the bar and thinks. “Come on, you know everything!”
It’s true. Not just because she works at the Rusty Anchor, but because she’s always in Devil’s Cove, too. She’s fondly known as the Good Samaritan around these parts, because after her shift, she gets on the bus to Devil’s Cove and stays on the main strip until all the bars and clubs close, handing out flip-flops and water to drunk tourists and hailing cabs for those who need it. Rinse and repeat, every single night.
“Ah, yes!” she says, blue eyes suddenly lighting up. “Remember Spencer Gravelty and his crew?”
I force my face to remain indifferent. I know she’s heard the rumors, but she’s too respectful to ever bring them up. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, they’ve all gone missing. All five of them!”
My ears grow hot, and I steal another glance at Angelo. He did it. Wren carries on, talking about their last sighting and a potential camping trip gone wrong, but I’m barely listening. Angelo Visconti killed them for me like it was nothing.
Holy crow, I’m so in love with this man it makes my teeth ache. Not just because he’s handsome and protective and loving, but because he’s bad. Real darn bad, and it appeals to the darkness inside of me, too. Spencer and his crew might have been the reason I committed my first sin, but I think they just brought my darkness to the surface. It’s Angelo who stokes the fire. The desire to be bad with him burns under my skin like a flame.
The door to the bar swings open, letting in an icy chill. A man strolls through it, uneven footsteps echoing around the shipping container.
Immediately, unease consumes me.
“Oh no. Not this guy again.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Angelo stop talking and glare at him. I drag my gaze to Wren. “What?”
She gives a small shake of her head, twisting a rag inside a beer glass. “Almost every day this week, he’s come into here, talking about how it’s good to be back home.”
“He’s a local? I don’t recognize him.”
“Me either.”
Angelo’s still staring at the man. He’s rugged, weather-worn, wearing a running jacket and jeans, a combination not suitable for the late-fall chill. He looms at the end of the bar, swaying unsteadily on his feet. As he clicks to get Wren’s attention, Angelo rises.
“He just stands there, drinking a pale ale and giving me a chemistry lesson. So weird. I really hope he’s not a local and that he’s just passing through.”
The man turns to look at Angelo, revealing a dark, angry scar on the side of his face. My blood turns to ice, and before I can think about it, I slide off the stall and make my way to Angelo. Gabe’s men come out of the shadows, but I reach Angelo first, putting a hand against his chest. His eyes are crazed, but he won’t look at me. Can’t look at me. Too focused on the man.
“Angelo—”
“Move.”
The venom in his voice snatches the air from my lungs and I stumble back. He fills the bar with his imposing silhouette and all of the fury rolling off it. He turns, just enough to nod in the direction of the burly man coming up behind the guy.
“Angelo,” I hiss, eyes darting frantically to Bill, who’s standing now too. “Not in here. Please.”
His chest tenses under my palm. He pauses. Gives a hurt nod. “Get him outside.” He turns to me, eyes an uncontrollable fire. “You stay here.”
“Wait—”
He whips back around, gripping my wrist. “Don’t fuck with me, Rory. Stay. Here.”
“No!” My voice comes out shaky and pathetic, but I ball my fists and hold my ground. “No. I’m coming with you. I need to.” Angelo snarls, but as he turns to walk out again, I grip his jacket. “You got rid of my demons, I want to help you get rid of yours.”
His gaze studies mine, fury and annoyance ghosting through it, but then, finally, he gives me a sharp nod.
My heart threatening to beat out of my throat, I scurry out of the bar with Angelo, breaking into a run just to keep up with his fast strides. “Get him in the trunk,” he growls, glaring at the man. He’s too drunk to put up more than a mild protest, but Angelo’s men don’t argue, folding him up and putting him in the back of one of their cars.
In his Aston Martin, the rage blisters off him at a dangerous temperature. I let him fester, too scared to utter a word. A handful of minutes roll past until I realize where we’re headed.
I sit up a little straighter. Swallow the thick lump in my throat. “Are you sure it’s him?” I whisper.
Nothing but a small nod.
I’ve never been on the cliff at night. It feels even more dangerous, the elements harsher and the drop to the raging waters below even steeper. Angelo pulls up to the curb and kills the engine. The headlights from the car behind dazzle me in the mirrors.
“You’re staying in the car.”
“No. I want to watch.” With a new-found surge of confidence, I tilt my chin up and add, “I want to watch you kill the man who killed your mother.”
His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. Then he growls, making me flinch. But when he gets out, I get out too, and to my surprise, he doesn’t shout at me to get back in the car.
His men bring the guy out to the cliff. He’s slurring his words but the panic is there now, caught in his screams and ever-present in his flailing limbs. I fall into step next to Angelo as he strides toward the edge of the cliff. His profile is sharper than ever, cutting an ominous shadow. He’s calm in the scariest of ways, taking his time to reload his gun and polish the barrel with his sleeve.
“Line him up.”
My pulse skitters.
Two suited figures take an arm each and drag him across the mud, until he’s standing with his back to the starless sky. Below, the sea rages hard and fast, breaking against the rocks. It sounds like a warning sign, a reminder that you should never get too close to the edge.
To my surprise, Angelo turns to me, and even in the darkness, I can see the sardonic smirk splitting his beautiful face.
“What do you reckon, Magpie?”
“W-what?”
“Will he fall, or fly?”
My breath dances between us in a puff of condensation. It’s labored and heavy, fueled by a morbid buzz of adrenaline that swirls in my lungs. Holy crow. My body is buzzing with the thrill, the danger of it all.
“Fall,” I choke out. “Fall all the way to hell.”
He nods. “Let’s hope,” he grinds out.
With one swift motion, he spins me around so I’m facing the church behind us. The old, withered building that the man I love learned to be bad in. The gunshot is louder than I expected, and a white flash of light coats the cobbled walls of the church for a split second, before plunging us back into darkness.
No scream, no thud. Just the allure of gunpowder and the sound of ringing in my ears.
When Angelo breathes out a long hiss, I snake my arms under his coat and hold him, tight. Despite being still and silent, the way his heart hammers so violently gives his true feelings away.
“I love you,” I breathe into the placket of his shirt. “I love you so much.”
It suddenly occurs to me: it’s ironic that Angelo calls me “Magpie.” Because I’m not attracted to the shiny things, I’m attracted to the darkness. And now, I can feel his darkness radiating against mine, a gentle hum under the surface of his tanned skin. A few moments pass, and then his hand finds the back of my skull, winding itself into my hair and tilting my face to him.
“I love you too, baby.”
He kisses me, desperate and ruthless, grazing his teeth over my lip. It’s the kiss of a killer, one that’s just scored the biggest revenge of his life.
As he pulls away, his features are a fraction softer. He strokes a rough thumb over my cheek, his gaze slotting in perfectly with mine.
“You know, my mom always said the good always canceled out the bad.” He swallows, the Adam’s apple bobbing in the trunk of his throat. “But what happens if you’re both bad? Both the same side of the coin?”
I graze my nose against his, smiling.
“Magic happens, baby.”
