Page 2 of Birth of a Sinner

“You know, I’m getting married too,” Gabe chimes in, and we all look at him. “What? I am. One day, when I find a girl worthy of keeping my balls in her purse.” He smirks and pushes to his feet. “Come on, babe. You can show me all the filthy things you just offered to do to him. The difference is…I’llactually enjoy them.”

She grins, and Gabe disappears into the crowd with the waitress.

“He totally just took your last hurrah for you,” I tell Santo.

“He can have it. I don’t need it,” he replies.

I have to give it to my brother. He really does take this whole monogamy thing seriously. Never once have I seen Santo show even the slightest interest in another woman. I would assume there was a problem with his dick or something. But put Shelli in a room with him, and he’s all fucking over her like a dog in heat.

ChapterTwo

You know that feeling you get when you wake up and just know the day is going to be fucking shit? Yeah, I got that right now.

It could be attributed to the jackhammering little cunt in my head at the moment, the twirling nausea rolling through my guts like a goddamn tornado. Or it could just be the De Bellis curse coming to bite us in the ass again.

None of my brothers believe me when I tell them that we’re cursed. They think I just say shit for the sake of saying shit. But when every family get-together, celebration, whatever the fuck you wanna call it goes wrong and ends in us covered in either our blood or someone else’s, then it’s a fucking curse.

Even a family like ours should be able to celebrate a birthday without all hell breaking loose. Today, though, I fucking hope I’m wrong. I want Santo and Shelli to have the day they’ve spent years planning. I want my brother to get his happiness.

One of us should at least, right?

I roll over, and my arm lands on a body on the other side of the bed. Shit. I look to my left and find a naked blonde passed out next to me. I nudge at her shoulder, and she stirs. I’d like to say I know her name, but I don’t.

“Get up. You gotta go,” I tell her.

“Huh?” she grumbles, slowly blinking her eyes open.

“Your time here has expired. I got shit to do, and you’re not it. Sorry, sweetheart, but you have to leave.” I finish my usual spiel with a smirk, one that typically has girls falling at my feet. Not this time, though.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” the blonde hisses.

Oh, this one has claws. Maybe Ishouldhave added her to my to-do list.

“And you fuck like a preteen getting pussy for the first time,” she adds before pushing up from the bed and snatching her clothes off the floor.

My eyes travel up and down her body, and memories of last night slowly creep back into my consciousness. She was… fucking fun? Fun to fuck? Fuckably fun? Point is we had a good time. And I know I made her come at least twice.

I can feel the scratches down my back when I move to sit up on the bed. “That’s not what you were saying last night when you were screaming my name.”

The blonde looks at me. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just giving you what you wanted to hear. I’m a people pleaser.” She smiles, then turns and walks into the adjoining bathroom. The door slams before I hear the water start running.

Is she taking a fucking shower? What the hell is wrong with this girl? Most chicks would have been out the door already, not helping themselves to my shampoo bottle in the bathroom.

I get up and find a pair of sweats in my overnight bag. I could just leave the room, go hang out with one of my brothers until this girl is gone. I don’t do that, though. Nope. Instead, I sit back on the bed, scroll through social media, and wait for her to finish.

Twenty minutes later, a billow of steam flows through the door as she walks out of the bathroom fully dressed. Her hair hangs wet over one of her shoulders. Her face is completely bare of any makeup and, fuck me, she’s even more gorgeous than she was last night when she was all painted up with those pouty fucking red lips.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “The water pressure’s good, by the way,” she tells me, bending down to pick up her discarded bag. Then she slips her feet into her heels and turns to leave.

“Wait,” I call after her. Jumping out of bed, I chase the girl through the living room to the door.

With a hand on the knob, she glances over her shoulder and looks at me. “What?”

“I, uh, I didn’t catch your name,” I say, raking a hand through my hair.

“No, you didn’t.” She smirks. “See you around, Marcello. Or not,” she adds before opening the door.

“Zoe, what the fuck?” a voice I know says from where a familiar figure is standing at the threshold of my room.