Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 18

“You have plans for Mother’s Day?” The female voice penetrates the thick velvet curtain beside me. I’ve decided to stretch before heading home, so I’m sitting out of sight to be out of the way. Practice is essentially over for me since I’m not in the scene they’re working on, but I’m in no particular rush to get home and deal with my Isaac situation.

“Just going to relax,” another voice responds. “My parents are in Seattle, so we’ll have to settle for a video chat. What about you?”

“Mom’s coming in from Providence. We’re gonna do brunch. It’ll be good, but a day on the sofa would have been divine.”

“Same. I don’t know how Amelie does it. That girl is up here practicing all the time.”

I was only half listening at first. Now, the two women have my full attention.

“She doesn’t have a life, that’s how. Bet I know what her Mother’s Day plans are,” the voice adds snidely.

“Yeah, doubt she can stay away from this place. She practically lives here. I could have gotten the lead too if I was psycho-obsessed.”

They’re jealous. That’s what this is about. I got a principal role, and they didn’t. I know that’s at the root of the catty comments, yet I still feel the knife’s blade wedged in my back. The part that stings the most is that they’re right. I don’t have a life. Not really.

Dance is my world. It doesn’t ask questions or look at me strangely when I can’t stand the TV on. Dance doesn’t judge or ask anything of me. Dancing is happiness—is that so wrong?

Done listening to the criticism, I go back to the dressing room, where I replace Hazel sitting on the floor in front of a mound of scraps.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask, joining her on the floor.

“Trying to organize this mess.” She glares at the beautiful glittering heap as if expecting it to move on its own.

“You planning on using the Force?”

She barks out a laugh, her eyes brightening as they replace mine. “I wish. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“I’ll help. How about we pull out all the ribbon to start?”

“Sounds good. Any trim can go in that pile, too.” She holds up a length of delicate pink lace, then continues sifting. “You going to see Gloria this weekend for Mother’s Day?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been invited to a lady’s brunch with Lina and her crew. If I have time after, I may run by to see her.”

“Who is Lina’s crew?”

“The Byrne ladies.”

Hazel looks at me quizzically. “That’s your family, right?”

“It’s her family. I’m not sure I’d call it mine.”

“You guys are so close, though…” Her voice lifts as though asking a question.

“We’re closer than we were, but an eleven-year age difference and living apart most of our lives always made her feel more like a cousin than a sister. Don’t get me wrong—I love her more than anyone in this world. Except for little Violet, of course … but don’t tell Lina I said that.” I tease with a mischievous grin, hoping to keep things light.

It’s hard to explain my relationship with my sister. I trust her implicitly, yet I tell her very little. In part because I spent the first seventeen years of my life keeping things to myself, but also because of the guilt. I’ve already put her through so much that I hate to burden her with more worries. And now that she is maxed out with Violet, I’d feel horrible to pile more on her shoulders. She’d be absolutely decimated if she knew the secrets I’ve kept.

“I forget that you were sort of an only child. It seems so foreign to me not to grow up with your siblings. We practically lived on top of one another.” A smile peeks like a ray of sun from behind her stormy words, diminishing their effect.

“I was definitely on my own, and to this day, I’m not very good at opening up. I don’t know if I genuinely prefer to be on my own, or if I’m just really bad at meeting people.”

“You made friends with me!” she offers as evidence otherwise.

“No, you made friends with me,” I correct her playfully. “And I adore you for it. If there weren’t people like you to pick up strays like me, we’d never replace friends.”

“Psh, you would, too. It just might take a bit of effort. Fortunately, there are people like me out there to make it easier.” A giddy grin splits her face. “You know, I could always set you up with my brother.”

“Actually,” I start hesitantly, “I’ve sort of started talking to someone. My new neighbor.”

Her jaw drops. “I. Need. Deets. Like yesterday.”

I laugh, my cheeks heating. “There’s not much to tell, I promise. It’s still new.”

“Girl, you best not be holding out on me.”

“I swear—’

Our conversation is interrupted when one of the dancers bounds through the door and nearly trips over us in her rush to get where she’s going.

“Crap, didn’t see you. Sorry!” Kennedy, a girl with noticeably more cleavage than your average ballerina, stops at the closest mirror and checks her makeup. “The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen is out front watching rehearsal. Pete’s talking to him now, but if he’s still there when I go back out, I’m so getting a piece.” She tugs at her boobs to make sure they’re amply displayed at the top of her corseted tutu, then runs back out of the room.

Hazel and I exchange a wide-eyed stare, then burst into laughter.

“What was that all about?” I ask, not expecting an answer.

“Maybe a producer?”

I shrug. “Not sure, but I have to admit, she’s got me curious.”

“Same, girl. Let’s get these piles in separate bags, then go have a look.”

A few minutes later, we’ve cleaned up the scraps and are making our way toward the stage. When we peer out from behind the curtain, I see Isaac standing in the aisle talking to our director. And they’re not alone. Kennedy has joined them and is laughing flirtatiously with her hand resting on Isaac’s arm. He’s smiling down at her. I’ve never seen him smile like that—so devilish yet charming.

I feel a chaotic impulse to do something. To scream or run and hide, maybe both. Anything to stop the cavernous ache from prying my chest wide open.

God, I hate this.

I hate that she’s everything I’m not—bubbly and outgoing and inviting. I hate how jealous I feel. I hate that I can’t simply be her. That I couldn’t have had normal parents with normal hobbies who didn’t make life hell for me, even after their deaths.

“Okay, she wasn’t wrong. That man is scrumptious,” Hazel says under her breath, eyes still glued to Isaac.

And I am nobody.

No life. No purpose beyond dancing.

Here I was, worrying about keeping Isaac at a distance as though there’s any real threat of him sticking around. How delusional am I? A man as enigmatic as him will get bored of me in no time. He won’t want my hot mess express, and I certainly shouldn’t want him for a myriad of reasons.

That’s quite the shift from wanting to keep him at arm’s length.

It’s the truth, though. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking entertaining the possibility of a relationship with him. It was never going to happen.

A hailstorm of shame, regret, frustration, and pain pummels my insides. I want to lash out to keep the horrible feelings at bay even though this is for the best. Let him flirt. Let him replace someone else who’s much more likely to satisfy his needs. He’s bound to be disappointed in me eventually—ending things now will save us both the trouble of an awkward breakup.

In fact, I’ll get the ball rolling. Why delay the inevitable?

I fight the tears burning the backs of my eyes and cross the stage to where Andrey is talking to another cast member. He’s a highly celebrated dancer from Russia, though he’s been in the States long enough that he only has the hint of an accent. His technique is flawless. I’ve been incredibly lucky to work with him as my co-lead in this production. But right now, I only have one use for him.

“Andrey, sorry to interrupt,” I say with an apologetic smile.

“No problem, we’re pretty much done here.” He nods at the other male dancer, who says his goodbyes and heads back to the men’s dressing room.

“I can’t shake the feeling that my angel lift timing is off in the diamond scene. Do you have a minute to run through it with me before we go?”

“Of course. Do you need the music?”

“No. I think it would be helpful without.”

He nods, then pulls me close. “We take it from the cabriole.”

Ballet sculpts the body in muscle like no other pursuit. Andrey feels like he could be carved from stone, yet I’ve never felt any sexual awareness around him until now. Until our bodies connect within view of a man whose scalding stare sears my back. I don’t have to see Isaac to sense his fury.

Nerves electrify my skin as we start to move.

I know what he’s seeing. I’ve specifically chosen the most intimate dance Andrey and I perform in the entire production—the pinnacle moment when two ill-fated lovers embrace the emotions felt for one another. The choreography is breathtaking—exquisitely beautiful yet tragic.

Except my own emotions are getting in the way.

This doesn’t feel like I’d hoped. I don’t feel relieved.

I feel regret.

I feel dirty.

My spiraling thoughts and Isaac’s incessant stare keep me from focusing on the moves. I didn’t plan to actually mess up, but my head is in too many places at once. I make a half-second error, prompting Andrey to stop.

“I didn’t notice any issues with this dance earlier,” he notes curiously.

Embarrassment blazes across my cheeks, sparked for a half dozen different reasons. I can hardly meet his gaze, nor can I summon the courage to peek at my surly neighbor fuming in the aisle.

“I think it’s just a mental hiccup. I’m probably more tired than I realized.”

Andrey cups my cheeks and brings my gaze to his. “These things are normal, Amelie. Do not let it get to your head.”

I nod, emotions constricting around my throat as commanding footsteps march up the wood stairs at the side of the stage.

Andrey releases me, his brow furrowed. “I am busy this weekend but have time Monday evening. You should come to my home studio, and we can do a few passes so it doesn’t create a block. Will that work?”

“Okay, yeah.” At this point, I’ll do anything to replace a way off this horrible stage. I need to disappear.

“Amelie, we’re going to be late if we don’t get going.” Isaac’s voice, flat yet unyielding, slaps at my back. To anyone else, he probably sounds like a bored boyfriend not wanting to miss a dinner reservation.

I know better.

We’re not late for anything, and Isaac is furious.

I’m lost in my own swell of emotions, but I’ll be damned if I put on a show for my fellow dancers. I turn and smile broadly as if his appearance is an unexpected delight.

“Oh! Hey, babe. Sorry about that. I’ll grab my things.” I shoot a catty glance at the dancer who’d been flirting with him because I’m human, after all, then stride quickly back to the dressing room. I switch to my sneakers and grab my things. I’m about to run back out front when Hazel snags me by the arm.

“Not much to tell—girl, is that him?”

Hell, I’m in trouble.

“Yes, and I know. I’m sorry, but it’s complicated!” I toss over my shoulder the second she releases me. There’ll be no escaping her questions the next time I see her.

The second I close in on Isaac, he wordlessly turns and leads us up the sloped aisle to the lobby. I scurry behind him like a chastened child. I hate that I can’t simply be mad at him. That’s how this whole thing started, but I’m too conditioned to appease. Acting out in any way makes me feel ill. I’m literally sick to my stomach.

Isaac is silent on the short drive to our building. I force myself to use the time to think rather than blurt whatever I can to ease the tension. I need to be intentional to work toward my ultimate goal instead of bumbling out of control.

I wait until the car is parked in the garage before vocalizing my thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I was lashing out, and I shouldn’t have.”

Isaac stills but doesn’t respond before exiting the car. I do the same, wondering if he will say anything at all when he finally speaks.

“I give you a reason to lash out?” he asks quietly.

My instinct is to deny and take the blame, but I remind myself I’m making a go at honest communication. No matter where this strange relationship goes from here, I want to be proud of how I’ve handled myself. I already carry enough shame. I don’t need to shoulder any more.

“That girl was touching you, and you were smiling at her.”

“Feels pretty shitty, doesn’t it,” he murmurs, jabbing about my stunt with Andrey.

“Yeah, but dancing with a partner is different. I can’t not touch my dance partner,” I point out, choosing to sidestep the fact that I’d used the dance in a malicious fashion. “You didn’t have to look so happy with her flirting.”

“You’re right. I didn’t have to, but I also didn’t want to make a scene in front of all the people you work with. I tried to be polite for your sake. And I know what dancing entails. That wasn’t what pissed me off.” Isaac presses the elevator call button and turns to me. “What I don’t like is the fact that you did it intentionally to upset me and agreed to go to his place for a private practice session.” He says the word with disgust, raising my defenses.

“Opening night is just over two weeks away.” My voice wavers. I want to defend myself, but I hadn’t even considered that he was trying to be respectful of my workplace. I realize I may have been wrong on that count. Practices with my co-lead, however, are a must.

“Doesn’t mean you need to be at his place, alone with him. You have no idea what he might try.”

“I’m alone with you, and I’ve known him a lot longer than you,” I point out, dumbfounded. It never even entered my mind to think of Andrey as a threat. “Hell, I even know his last name.”

“You’re really fucking hung up on names, you know that?”

“No, Isaac. I’m hung up on not getting involved in a toxic relationship. You and me? We make each other crazy. It’s too intense.” I look at him pleadingly, begging him to understand. To see the insanity and not to make this any harder than it already is. “This isn’t going to work.”

His jaw muscles flex and strain. “It isn’t going to work, or you’re too scared to try? Because the only issue I see is a scared little girl who’s looking for every excuse she can replace to run from the one person putting her first.”

His words sting more than a vicious slap across the face.

The shock winds me so thoroughly that I have no rebuttal. I’m speechless.

When the elevator doors open behind me, I walk blankly inside and press the button for the third floor. Isaac makes no move to follow me. I’m relieved. I’m devastated. I feel everything and nothing at once, and like opposite sound waves canceling each other out, an eerie numbness descends.

I meet Isaac’s piercing stare as the elevator doors close between us.

His eyes say you’re running again.

I know mine are blank, but a tiny voice cries from down deep in my soul.

Please, don’t give up on me.

The elevator deposits me on the third floor. I walk to my apartment in a daze. Once inside, I drop into a chair at my dining table and let my eyes lose focus as they stare out the window at the horizon.

Isaac’s parting words slowly filter back into my mind.

Scared little girl.

I am scared, but is that so wrong? I have good reason to be.

But what if he’s right? What if I’m letting my fear keep me from ever replaceing happiness?

You have dancing to bring you happiness, remember?

Yeah, but dance doesn’t keep me from being lonely. And I’m so incredibly tired of feeling alone.

My fingers absently wipe at the tear trickling down my cheek. I drop my gaze to my hands and notice a folded piece of paper in the middle of the table.

I don’t remember leaving anything there.

Curious, I reach for the paper and see it’s a small notecard the size of a thank-you note, but the front is blank. Two sentences are handwritten on the inside in all caps. When I read them, my stomach plummets to the floor, and the sobs threatening to consume me finally gain the upper hand. I lay my head in my hands, and I cry. And cry.

I know you spoke to the police.

Do you need another lesson?