Filthy Sinner

FILTHY SINNER A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE THE VALENTI CRIME FAMILY BOOK THREE KELSIE CALLOWAY Copyright © 2023 Kelsie Calloway All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact Kelsie Calloway at [email protected]. Exceptions: Reviewers may quote brief passages for reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. CONTENTS Newsletter Sign Up 1. Luca 2. Sloane 3. Luca 4. Sloane 5. Luca 6. Sloane 7. Luca 8. Sloane 9. Luca 10. Luca 11. Sloane 12. Luca 13. Sloane 14. Luca 15. Sloane 16. Luca 17. Sloane 18. Sloane Epilogue Also By Kelsie Calloway Have you left a review? Follow Kelsie Calloway NEWSLETTER SIGN UP Sign up for my newsletter and stay up-to-date on my new releases. Newsletters include links to new books, sales, freebies, bonus content, and more. I also include promo materials for free book giveaways and links to books by other authors. Newsletters are sent once a week and you are welcome to unsubscribe at any time. :) 1 LUCA I’m not a tough guy. I don’t do the shit my brothers do because I’m the face of the Valentis. I’m a member of the City Commission and if I do my due diligence, in two, maybe three years, I’ll be Mayor. It’ll be one hell of a hit to the city of Manhattan when they have to eat their words about the Valenti family. We aren’t cruel monsters running an underground trafficking ring, we’re upstanding members of society. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Sometimes you have to turn your back on the person you’ve become to salvage the wreckage of who you once were. Ten years ago, I was as deep in the family business as anyone else. I was a crooked lawyer getting criminals off left and right—for a price, of course. That’s when I met Daniel Prewitt. A twenty-three-year-old piece of shit that had just gotten charged with domestic battery. He showed up at my office with a handful of daddy’s money and a promise that he’d never do it again. As far as I know, he’s never hit a woman since, but his escapades went far darker than a little assault. When I helped him escape a prison sentence for beating the shit out of his girlfriend, it was just after he’d graduated from college. He was on the path to becoming an architect. If he wasn’t so God damn talented, I probably wouldn’t have looked at him twice. But it was my fault he was put in charge of the family estate. Raniero wanted renovations done. He wanted an underground catacomb added underneath the property. He wanted a prison capable of holding four prisoners at once. He wanted a torture chamber with easy-to-clean floors and walls that were soundproof. If Daniel hadn’t shown up in my office, I never would have followed his career. I wouldn’t have turned my brother onto him when he was looking for an architect to draw up the new plans for his house. Daniel never would have waited until the building was underway before he sold them to the Calvino family. Daniel Prewitt became a rich man overnight at the expense of the Valentis. He was my mistake; that’s why I’m the one that will clean up the mess. I smoke in the office parking lot. With the moon overhead and the autumn wind picking up, I relish the nicotine. I breathe the scent as far into my lungs as I can take it, letting the sweet taste of addiction get me high. I finish the cigarette all too fast and drop the butt on the ground beside my car. If the police found this tasty piece of DNA outside of Daniel’s house, they’d know exactly who’d done the job. But I don’t leave evidence and certainly not evidence with my genetic information on it. Six months ago, Daniel drew up the schematics for an awfully ugly compound to be built on the outskirts of Manhattan. With all the money he saved from selling out the Valentis, he got his dream home built and furnished in four months. Everybody had seen Daniel’s monstrosity; a pure white, rectangular building that shot out of the ground like a weed. It was a hindrance against the background of the beautiful trees and landscape that made up the outskirts of town, but he didn’t care. For the first time since I heard about the place going up, I’m glad. A white monument that sticks out like a sore thumb in the woods is easier to find than a quaint little cottage. Daniel could have outfitted his home with a ten-foot fence and enough cameras to guard the President, but instead, he decided on a modest exterior. Four-foot hedge walls lined the sides of his house. A perfectly manicured lawn welcomed all passersby. Neatly kept gardens sat under every windowsill. Daniel wanted people to want to visit him; he didn’t want to drive them off with clever technology and walls that kept out the sunlight. He should have gotten a state-of-the-art security system. I drive up to the house and not a single light flickers on to announce my presence. He doesn’t even have a motion sensor light over his garage. Daniel’s always been the type to half-ass a job; leave it up to him to build a compound in the woods and not secure it. When no one flips on a light inside to acknowledge that they just heard me pull up, I walk around to the back of the house to let myself in. There’s a key under a pot near the entrance to the pool; his most recent ex-girlfriend told me. It’s amazing what a few crisp hundred-dollar bills