Hey Mergers!

First of all, I just wanted to say Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my readers. You and your support are the best gifts I could every receive. Without you, this holiday season and every one since I began my author journey would be a whole lot duller.

I hope each of you is enjoying some time off with friends and family. Or better yet, curled up with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate or a bottle of wine.

Of course, the holidays don't mean I have stopped working and writing. And I promise you so much more to come in 2025. Starting with the last De Bellis brother, of course.

To help tide you over, here is a little of what's to come as Santo De Bellis finally tries to mend his broken heart in A Sinner's Truth.

***

Something sharp kicks me in the ribs. My hand snaps out, wrapping around whatever it is. Then my blurry vision focuses on a leg, a thin leg, and a sharp pointy-toed shoe. My eyes move upwards until I’m glaring at the one person in this world who hates me just as much as I hate myself.

“Why the fuck are you kicking me?” I grunt while releasing my hold on her ankle.

Shelli’s older sister kicks me one more time before I roll over and stand up.

“Why are you sleeping out here? And you smell like a fucking brewery,” she hisses.

“Nice to see you too, Kristen.” I smile at her. I’ll let her take her anger out on me, because I deserve it. I’m the reason the woman we both love is six feet beneath us. Literally, seeing as we’re currently standing on opposite sides of Shelli’s grave. The grave I must have fallen asleep on. Again. I don’t remember even coming here.

“Get your shit together, Santo. This…” Kristen waves a hand up and down my body. “…is pathetic, even for you.”

“I saw her,” I blurt out.

Kristen freezes. “What?”

“Shelli. I saw her,” I repeat.

“She’s dead, Santo. Your family made sure of that.” Kristen bends forward, lowering a bunch of yellow roses onto the ground. Shelli’s favourite flowers.

“She wants me to dig into something, to look for something,” I continue. When Kristen freezes and her eyes close for a long period, I get the reaction I was looking for. She knows something. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing. Leave her alone, Santo. Let her rest in peace. She deserves that at the very least,” Kristen says.

“Why would she want me to look for something?” I try again.

“She’s dead, Santo. You didn’t talk to her. Whatever you talked to was of your own doing. My advice? See a fucking shrink and sort yourself out.” With those words, Kristen turns around and storms away from me.

I sit down and stare at the tombstone. I hate reading the word fiancée. She was supposed to be a wife. A few more hours and she would have been. “Whatever it is you want me to find, I need your help, Shelli. Give me something to go on. A hint, a clue, anything,” I beg her.

I don’t get an answer, not that I was expecting one. Memories of the weeks leading up to the wedding invade my mind. Shelli was a nervous wreck. I put it down to pre-wedding jitter. She wanted everything to be perfect. And then we found out we were pregnant, and her anxiety seemed to worsen.

But that wasn’t all that unusual? Was it? She was just stressed that things went in a different order than what we planned. Wasn’t she?

I stare at the tombstone like it’s going to give me the answers I need. What if it wasn’t? What if I missed something?

© KYLIE KENT 2024 (unedited and subject to change)

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