Mafia Sinner

Mafia Sinner The Mancinelli Brotherhood Sabine Barclay All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Sabine Barclay, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. PUBLISHER'S NOTE: 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, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 by Sabine Barclay. 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Published by Oliver Heber Books Created with Vellum Salvation doesn’t always come from above. Happy reading, Sabine Subscribe to Sabine’s Newsletter Subscribe to Sabine’s bimonthly newsletter to receive exclusive insider perks. Have you read The Syndicate Wars? This FREE origin story novella is available to all new subscribers to Sabine’s monthly newsletter. The Mancinelli Brotherhood Mafia Heir Mafia Sinner Mafia Beauty (6.27.23) Mafia Angel (8.22.23) Mafia Redeemer (10.17.23) Mafia Star (12.12.23) Do you also enjoy steamy Historical Romance? Discover Sabine’s books written as Celeste Barclay. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Epilogue Thank you for reading Mafia Sinner The Mancinelli Brotherhood The Ivankov Brotherhood Chapter One Carmine “This place is supposed to be amazing. Like award-winning amazing. I can’t wait to try the lemon cupcakes. And I hear they have the most incredible Italian wedding cookies.” The type that is dipped in a creamy glaze with sprinkles. I shake my head. “Don’t let Auntie Carlotta hear you say that. She’ll never forgive you. Then again, say it loudly. I’ll take your share.” My cousin Maria rolls her eyes and elbows me in the ribs as I hold the door open for her and her best friend, Veronica. We’ve just arrived at a specialty bakery near Maria’s place in Manhattan. Froofy is how I would describe it. It looks like a Hallmark movie vomited in here. But who am I to turn down a cupcake? I’ve already spent my requisite two hours at the gym this morning, so the calories don’t count, right? I almost roll my eyes to match Maria. I think that’s one of the most asinine jokes I’ve ever heard. As my gaze sweeps the place for any threats to Maria, and I suppose Veronica too, I spy the most delectable ass bent over to unpack a box. The things I would do while tapping that ass. Fuck. I haven’t had this visceral a reaction since I was like sixteen. But I can’t help it. I almost need to adjust myself. I turn my attention to a window display. “Good morning. Welcome to Morso Migliore.” Best Bite. She’s Italian. Like from Italy. I can tell from her accent. I shift my focus to her and stop dead. My hand self-consciously moves to the slight bump on the bridge of my nose. I glance down at Maria and catch her wicked grin. Fucking hell. She knew. She did this on purpose. I look back at Serafina Carosi and have an even stronger reaction to the front of her than the back. Curvaceous. Voluptuous. Rubenesque. Fucking hot as holy fucking hell on the fucking hottest day in August. And her expression tells me she still thinks she’s looking at shit on her shoe when she focuses on me. My heart’s racing now that the initial shock’s worn off. “Ciao, Maria. È passato molto tempo.” Hello, Maria. It's been a long time. Her greeting is sincere when she smiles at my cousin. Then she looks at me, then my best friend, and back to me. Her lip practically curls when she recognizes Gabriele. From how he moves to stand farther down the counter, as though he’s looking at the pastries, I can tell he feels the Arctic wind too. “Carmine, Gabriele.” “Salve, Serafina.” Hello, Serafina. My greeting hangs in the air as I approach the counter. A magnet draws me to her when it should repel me. It’s because we’re such opposites. My north pole—my tongue—would love to meet her south pole—her pussy. I nearly shake my head to clear my mind of my ridiculously inappropriate daydream. I’m close enough to see her translucent gray eyes with the green flecks take on a wary hardness. Her hair is much shorter than it was ten years ago. But it’s still the same rich honey brown that it was then and when we were twelve. She was adorable as a kid. She was hot when she was in her late teens. And she’s fucking gorgeous now that we’re twenty-eight. I find my tongue again since it’s not where I want to put it. “È passato molto tempo.” It's been a long time. “Sì. Solo un decennio.” Yes. Only a decade. She says that as though it hasn’t been nearly long enough. Veronica—God, how I dislike the woman, but Maria adores her—brushes against me as she comes to stand beside me. Oh, hell no. One fucking drunken hook-up when we were eighteen, and she still thinks she can lay claim to me when she senses any competition. Ten years ago. The same time I last saw Serafina. It was at Uncle Salvatore and Aunt Sylvia’s wedding. It was also the night Uncle Salvatore, the Mafia don of New York City, and her father, Piero Carosi, the Mala del Brenta of Venice don, announced my betrothal to Serafina. It shocked the shit out of both of us. We knew there’d