Where Souls Collide

Copyright © 2023 by Delaney Foster All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Edits: Nicole McCurdy with Emerald Edits, Dawn Alexander with Evident Ink, Zainab M with Heart Full of Reads Cover design: Daqri Bernardo with Covers by Combs Cover image: Daniel Jaems Model: Chris CONTENTS Author’s Note Content Warning Foreword Prologue: Then 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 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 About the Author Also by Delaney Foster AUTHOR’S NOTE Hello lovely! If you haven’t read any of my books yet, I am thrilled you decided to give me a chance! If you have read me in the past, you’ll know that I lean toward the anti-hero with darker themes and content. While this series is not as dark as the Obsidian Brotherhood, it does have darker elements. Book one starts off sweet, with only a hint of gray. Book two goes a little deeper, and book three brings you all the way. If you are new to me, please keep this in mind. This is a trilogy and this book does end on a cliffhanger. The City of Sin trilogy is the emotional journey of a young girl into womanhood and the ever-present thread of fate. I hope you enjoy the ride! CONTENT WARNING The City of Sin series includes content that may be triggering to some readers. This content includes, but is not limited to: Death Depression/Alcohol dependency Murder Torture Violence Drug use Kidnapping/Human trafficking On page non-consensual sexual acts I trust you to know your limits. I am truly grateful for you, and I hope you enjoy the story! LINKS Pinterest board (Inspo) Playlist Reader Group FOREWORD Dear Reader, Take everything you thought you knew about the mafia and throw it in a dumpster fire. We don’t walk the streets smoking cigars and wearing fedoras. We don’t bribe the cops to keep our secrets. We hate the fucking cops. And we damn well don’t go around announcing to the world that we’re the mafia. We’re businessmen. We probably even own some of the places where you shop or eat. Our kids go to school with your kids. You may have stopped next to us at a red light or—heaven forbid—cut us off in traffic. We might even be neighbors. The only difference between me and you is that while you’re lying in bed checking social media before you fall asleep, I’m washing the blood out of my clothes and scrubbing evidence from underneath my fingernails. When someone does you wrong—steals from you or hurts someone you love—you post a quote you found on Pinterest and wait for an apology that may never come. I don’t accept apologies. Anyone stupid enough to cross me answers to a bullet. You want my advice? Stay out of the shadows. Never underestimate a stranger. And always remember that every family has secrets. Even yours. Take Care, Cal Fate is a thread, weaving our lives together. When we wander too far off course, it pulls us back in. Binding. Tying. Connecting. No matter how loose or how tangled, it can never be broken. PROLOGUE: THEN DECEMBER 2020 New Orleans is a city of darkness and light. Of poverty and privilege. Of dreams and nightmares. Of secrets and sin. It’s a city of fallen angels. And I’m the worst of them all. Everyone else is drinking hot chocolate in horse-drawn carriages and looking at the lights in City Park. Kids stare at the thirty-foot Christmas tree on Fulton Alley and watch snow machines blow fake snow. I toss my hot chocolate into a nearby trash can and keep walking until I’m at Jackson Square. Holidays were my mother’s thing. They aren’t mine. There’s a man playing Christmas carols on his saxophone on the corner. I drop a twenty in his bucket as I walk by. He tips his head and winks. He’ll probably use it to buy himself a whiskey or tip a stripper on Bourbon Street. Happy fucking holidays. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I walk past the St. Louis Cathedral. The towering spires are lit up, letting the shadows of the crosses stare down at me. I wonder what they see. Just another man walking the street? Or a tortured soul? The moment I turn the corner, my gaze lands directly on a steel-gray stare. She’s sitting at one of the fortuneteller tables lined up along the sidewalk. Her hand hovers over three stacks of cards placed in a row on the table, like she’s daring me to come sit in one of her chairs. She waves her hand back and forth, never moving her eyes from mine. I don’t need her to guess my future. I look at my father and already know what it holds. The only difference is that I won’t let anyone die because they were unfortunate enough to fall in love with me. Her lips are moving as she chants too quietly for me to hear. I narrow my eyes, leveling my gaze on her, and then she stops. Her hands fall. Her chest heaves with short, heavy breaths. Unlike the crosses at the church, I don’t have to wonder what this woman sees. It’s written all over her pale face. She sees what I’ve known all along. I don’t hide in the shadows. I