All Chapters of The Angel's Sin: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Violet eyes met silver ones.And then, the time stopped.You can cut the tension with a butterknife.There was no God in this room.Only a gun.A sinner.And an ‘Angel’.The air in the suite hummed with a silent extravagance—mixed with the smell of sweat and sex.Thick, velvet drapes, the color of plum, were half drawn against the city’s night light.Muffling the sounds of the world outside.It created a suffocating intimacy inside the room.Tony was kneeling. Angel was standing.Eye to eye. Face to face.The sinner was looking up. And the ‘Angel’ was looking down.And the gun?Its muzzle was inside the sinner’s mouth.Being pointed by the ‘Angel’.Fingers were curled in the trigger.They are so close—they could feel the heat of each other’s skin.Can hear each other's breathing.Their heartbeats collided in the space between them.It was so… suffocating…This was the second time tonight that Tony found himself with something shoved past his lips.But this time, it wasn't passion that

Two months later. Florence, Italy.The wine didn't help.Neither did the old stone buildings.The cobblestone streets.Or the way the Italian sun dipped lazily over the Arno River every evening like it had nothing better to do.Orange and gold.He hated how beautiful it was.He felt itchy.Like something inside him wouldn't sit still.Tony still felt the blood on his hands.Even after three showers a day.Even after two months.It left a bitter taste in his mouth.Even when fucking beautiful Italian women.All his injuries had healed—save for his knuckles, always split and raw from punching walls.But the guilt?That didn't scar over as easily.Florence was supposed to be a getaway.A much needed break.A temporary vanishing act—arranged by the six ghosts he used to call his team.Calvin had been the one to book the hotel.Olivia made the itinerary.Peter picked restaurants.And the other three?They promised they’d bring in the ‘fun’.All planned and done before the operation that tu

Tony shouldn't have followed him.But he did.He didn't know what came over him.‘It was.. an impulse.’No.‘Alright,’ he admitted.He saw something pretty.So, naturally, he followed.‘I’m trash alright.’His hotel room keys jingled in his back pocket.An expensive bottle of wine hung lazily from his left hand.The one he’s been nursing since morning.‘I feel like trash too. This feels shitty.’He took a long swig.Letting it burn down his throat.Wine dripped down his chin.He wiped it off with the length of his forearm like a savage.Then he drank again.‘What am I even going to say?’ he pondered.What does he even want from the pretty boy?A shocking question arose.The only thing he can think off—“Do you wanna sleep with me?’And that’s too direct.But it could work.Or not.Still arguing with himself, he pushed through the door of the bar.A bell rang noisily.Then, there was a shift in the air.Even half drunk, he felt it—the tension.It’s crackling just beneath the surface.A

“Thirty minutes huh?” Tony muttered, slamming the taxi’s door shut.He runs his hand through his hair, full of annoyance.“What? Did they think Piazza Navona was in Florence fucking backyard?” he fumed.He finally opened his wine bottle and took a long swig.“Hah.”He turned around and middle-fingered the taxi driver.Like a real drunkard tourist.“Asshole,” he murmured.‘Much better.’Tony had been itching to open his bottle of wine between transportations, but held back.Every time he glared at his wine, he could feel people side eyeing him on the train.It had taken him an hour and a half, two trains and a pissed off cabbie to get here.‘The fucking Piazza Navonna.’He stumbled slightly as he tried to lean down the taxi’s window.“Carta? Macchina funziona? (Card? Does your machine works?)” Tony shoved his card into the driver’s face.The driver grunted and snatched his card.He knows that the driver was cursing him in every colorful Italian cuss word that the driver knew.But Tony

Tony had just stepped inside the dining room.But the tension in the air was already crackling.‘It still smelled like an old wood in here. Nothing has changed.’He proceeded to sniff the air. ‘Ah!’‘A scent of wine!’At the long mahogany table, decked with silverwares, porcelain and bottles of wine, sat his younger brother, Alvaro, Franco and his cousin—Alessandro.‘Fucking Alessandro,’ he thought, while he walk leisurely toward the table.Remembering again, the pretty thief.Tony smirked at his own joke.Then his eyes locked on his target.Their eyes met.“Alessandrino, since when did you earn a seat at this table?” Tony asked.Purposely calling him by the wrong name.He was hoping to rile up the petty Alessandro—the cousin he hated.But Alessandro only matched his smirk.“Antonio..” he trailed, looking at Tony up and down.Measuring him.“You’re still alive I see..” then Alessandro reached for his glass of wine.“I thought you’d finally kicked the bucket, cugino (cousin). Where hav