Masked Sins Novels & Stories

He expects me to run away and let him live when he ruined me, when he took away my family. "Three minutes left Lana. Make your decision I don't have all day. I have a meeting at the casino in five minutes." He grins. He's going to just go about his day after this as if he didn't torture innocent people. There are many evil men in the mafia but Alexander Morelli is the worst of them all. My eyes dart to Hunter. Shame and guilt swarms my body. He doesn't deserve this. I'm a terrible person. "Aha there she is. That cruel monster. That dark side of you. Why do you try so hard to hide it Lana? It's clear you've made your choice. I'll be waiting for you."

I lock it behind me and get in the car to drive us to the club. When we get to Club Sin I hand Mason the duffle bag and remind him of the 20 minutes rule before he quickly walks to the sub's room to meet his friends. He told me that Cole, Will, Vincent, and Oliver will be here so he's excited to see them all. I go to my playroom and unlock the door before I go get ready for tonight's scene. First I get changed into leather pants and black boots that I keep in this playroom and decide to put on a chest harness because it's a busy Saturday and I want to look good. My hair is dry now after the shower so I style it in the mirror with my comb.

She continued, “The black mist doesn't just appear; it must be enchanted, and the only person who can do that is Ares, Sinclair's twin brother. At that moment a feeling of disbelief and uncertainty toward Sin laced our faces, “Why haven't you told us about all of this Sin?” Lukas questioned him. Sin refuses to answer and just keeps on shaking his head. “This is as far as I can help; if you want to stop the black mist, you have to talk to Ares himself.” And at that moment, Sin became furious, “You better not sermon him.” Sin threatened. “Oh, Sin,” she said, “it's too late; I already did.” “No! You bitch.” Sin yelled.

“I’m becoming something I don’t recognize. Something that finds justice in death and satisfaction in violence. That’s my first sin… enjoying the monster I’m turning into.” The darkness around me pulsed, as if acknowledging the confession. The Broker’s voice carried satisfaction. “Truth. The audience recognizes honesty. Proceed to the second sin.” This one was harder. Required exposing something I’d barely admitted to myself. “My second sin,” I began, my throat tight, “involves Eli.” My son’s head lifted, confusion written across his young face.

I ordered, and he nodded. “For now, I’m giving you a death mark for betrayal.” I slammed my fist into his face again and again until a few teeth flew from his mouth. “Nothing satisfies me more than seeing you toothless,” I said with a cold smile. “It gives me joy.” Then someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned sharply and Zima stood there, her emerald eyes burning into me. “The devil should take lessons in heartlessness from you,” she said.

They collapsed in a wrecked heap, bodies slick and leaking everywhere, holes twitching ruined, cum pies sealed or oozing free. Zeke's lovers curled close and devoted around him, breaths ragged, skin marked with bites and bruises. "My perfect sins," he murmured soft, voice laced with possession. Remotes went silent for the night, plugs humming low as aftercare. Tomorrow brought bigger deals, Harlan's ghost fully exorcised, Roskov's empire expanding. Deeper depravities waited in the wings, the family bond unbreakable. The empire throbbed on forever, fueled by cum and dominance.

Did this man know about Zafira, and what she actually was? "Sorry, but I didn't see any tattoos. Why do you ask?" Gabriel turned to Cole. "The day of the murder, a young girl of great physical beauty came into my church for confession. She mentioned that she was about to do something horrible but never said what exactly. As she left, I noticed she had bat wing tattoos on her shoulders that covered most of her back. I thought maybe there was some kind of connection."

The clock struck midnight in the shadowed cathedral, its bells tolling low and ominous through the fog-shrouded night. Flickering candlelight danced across the stone altar, casting elongated shadows that hid the dozen silent figures lurking in the pews—wealthy parishioners, veiled in black cloaks, their breaths held in anticipation. This was no ordinary Mass; it was the secret Midnight Rite, reserved for the faithful who craved the forbidden fusion of sacrament and sin. Father Dominic stood at the pulpit, his chiseled frame draped in crimson vestments, eyes locked on his favorite sinner: Isabella.

December 1st arrived cloaked in gray skies and a bitter wind that blew through the heart of the city like a warning. At the top floor of the Blackwell Penthouse, plans were unfolding with clockwork precision. The masquerade ball, what had once been an idea turned tradition whispered in the shadow of grief by Blackwell Senior, was now a weapon, a statement, a performance designed to draw out enemies hiding behind titles and veils.

“Not for your grief. Not for your hate. **Elena wouldn’t want this!**” The words struck harder than any silver attack ever could. Marcus froze. For the first time since this nightmare began, real doubt flashed across his face. His eyes widened in raw, devastating pain. The mask of madness cracked, revealing the broken man beneath — decades of grief, unbearable loss, and endless rage that had consumed him. His grip on the ritual wavered.