Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 19

I walk through the next four days on autopilot. No word from Isaac. After days and days of near-constant run-ins, it’s like he’s fallen off the face of the earth. Gone.

I should be relieved. His absence means I can focus on bigger problems like the note left on my table. Except I can’t seem to summon the appropriate fear to manufacture a response.

All I feel is hollow. Gutted and empty.

For weeks, I’ve tried to make smart choices and keep my focus on what’s most important—protecting my family. So long as my family is healthy and happy, I’ve been able to be sufficiently happy, but it’s not working anymore. Every choice I make seems to drag me further into this wretched pit. Now that I sit at the bottom, I can’t see a way to claw myself out.

If I can’t trust my ability to know what’s right, where does that leave me?

Frozen, that’s where.

Four days of going through the motions of life without actually being present. But today is different. It’s Mother’s Day, and I have to summon enough energy to pass as human, or my sister will know something’s wrong.

Fortunately, the spotlight is on Noemi today—she’s married to Oran’s cousin Conner—and this is her first big outing after having twin boys a few months earlier. Eight women, half of which are pregnant. The estrogen in the room is overwhelming, as are the hugs and teary greetings.

They’re all so busy catching up and wrangling their hormones that my minimal effort is passable. I’m surprised to admit that being around them feels good. It could be the distraction alone that helps, but no matter the reason, I’ll take it.

“Noemi, how are you holding up? How are the boys?” asks Shae once we’ve all taken our seats. She’s Oran’s sister, so I’ve seen her around more than some of the others, but we’re about as opposite as you get. She’s also the only one actually born into the Byrne family rather than wed into the mix.

Out of all the women, I’d say I’m closest to Stormy since I’ve known her the longest. I’ve also spent a little time with Rowan because she’s a fellow dancer. I should try to spend more time with them. I think about Hazel’s comments and wonder what’s truly holding me back.

“They’re doing amazing, and I think we’re finally settling into a routine. It changes almost daily, but it’s still sort of a routine. Sort of.”

The group reassures her with a chorus of encouragement and laughter.

“It would be exhausting if it weren’t for Conner and all of you,” Noemi continues. “The meals. Taking Luna out and giving her loads of love and attention. It’s all been so incredibly helpful.” Aside from twin boys, she also has a daughter. Knowing what a handful Violet can be, I can’t imagine juggling twins as well.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Lina offers. “You reach out anytime you need us.”

“Hear, hear. I’ll drink to that.” The toast rings out, prompting everyone to raise their drinks. Mimosas for those of us who aren’t pregnant or breastfeeding, which is only three out of eight women because the family has been reproducing like rabbits lately.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” the girl next to me says under her breath. Pippa’s sister—I believe her name is Aria—is the closest to my age, and like myself, she’s a fringe member of the group. Younger and not a Byrne by blood or marriage. “Do not look all at once, but there is one fine-looking man at the bar.”

The group’s attempt at discretion would be comical if I wasn’t too busy reeling over what I see. Who I see. Laughter and giddy whispers fill the air around me, but all I hear is the thundering of my heart pounding in my ears.

Isaac is here.

Why now? It can’t be a coincidence. Did he merely want to see what I was up to, or is he planning to finally talk to me? Do I want to talk to him?

Yes. Undoubtedly. I feel like I can breathe for the first time in four days.

“Amelie, you okay?”

The sound of my name draws my attention. I frantically try to pull myself together.

“Yeah.” I smile at Shae, who studies me more critically than I’d prefer. “Just a little tired.”

“Y’all, he’s staring right at us,” Stormy cries softly in her Southern twang. “And he is beautiful but a little scary, too.”

Like everyone else at the table, I look at the devastatingly handsome man at the bar. Our eyes lock as he lifts a glass of amber liquid to his lips. The burn of his drink heats my insides as though I were the one holding the glass. His unrelenting stare strips me bare, scalding my skin and claiming me.

Not only has he not given up but he’s also doubling down on his efforts. I see it in the determined set of his jaw.

What does it mean? What does he plan to do?

“Holy shit.” The whispered curse echoes my thoughts but didn’t come from me.

I look across the table to Noemi who looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“Right?” Pippa says without looking at her cousin. “He looks like the best kind of trouble.”

“Pip, do you seriously not recognize him?” Noemi hisses back at her.

Recognize him? Confusion has my already chaotic thoughts stuttering. Does Noemi know Isaac?

Time and space seem to draw out like a piece of caramel stretched into a thin whisp of a string. When Noemi finally explains, she sweeps the floor right out from beneath me.

“That’s my brother. Sante’s finally come home.” Her heartbreaking relief is the last thing I hear before my ears begin to ring.

Isaac is Sante?

Noemi’s brother is my neighbor, Isaac?

My vision blurs, making me realize I’ve quit breathing. I coax a shaky breath in my aching lungs.

He knew.

He knew all along who I was and that we’d met once before, albeit years ago.

Why not say something? Why did he keep it a secret? Was I some kind of joke to him? Did he think it was funny that I didn’t recognize him? Surely, he can’t blame me. He’s changed so much that his own family didn’t recognize him.

My stomach roils like a small boat stuck in a summer storm at sea.

Half of our table jump from their chairs and cross the restaurant to the bar where they swarm around Isa—not Isaac. Sante.

I can’t do this. Not in front of everyone.

I refuse to be the butt of his cruel joke.

While he and the Byrne women are occupied with one another, I slip away and escape outside. I’ll text Lina later and explain that I was feeling sick. All that matters right now is getting far away from here. I look left, then right to get my bearings, then start my retreat back home to lick my wounds.

“Amelie, stop.” Sante’s sharp command bites at my heels, spurring me faster. A few grumbled curses later, feet pound the pavement behind me. I can’t outrun him. I don’t even try, but I’m not following orders either.

His strong arms clamp tight around me with relative ease, pinning my back against his front. “You asked for this,” Sante says in a winded growl.

“Are you insane? I never asked for any of this.”

“You wanted to know who I am. Now you know.”

I try to bend and twist against his hold, fighting back the truth. In a way, he’s right, but I never would have needed the information if he’d been honest from the beginning.

“Why did you lie? Was this some kind of twisted joke?” I can’t keep the pain from my words.

Sante stiffens, then spins me around, keeping his hands clamped around my upper arms to prevent me from fleeing. The savage intensity blazing in his eyes steals my breath, answering my question. Humor played no part in whatever motivated him. It’s a small concession but not enough to assuage the hurt.

“I never lied to you. My name is Sante Isaaco Mancini. I didn’t correct your belief that we’d never met because I’m not that person anymore. The past is irrelevant.”

I open my mouth to argue, but words fail me.

He’s technically correct—he didn’t lie. Not exactly. But that doesn’t mean what he did was right. He misled me and made me feel like a fool. And for what purpose?

“Why?” I finally ask, bemused. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you need to understand that I’m not playing. No more excuses. No more running. You know exactly who I am now and that I’m not going anywhere.”

“Know exactly who you are?” I ask incredulously. “We spent a half an hour together four years ago. That doesn’t mean I know you.”

“You know my background, my family, my occupation—add what you’ve learned about me over the past week, and only a handful of people know me better.”

He’s deadly serious.

It occurs to me that this man may open up to people even less than I do. His family was shocked to see him—he’s not even close to them. Yet he’s set his sights on me. Why?

The fight drains from my body, leaving me confused and exhausted.

“What I know is that you lied and manipulated me,” I try to explain calmly. “That’s not a foundation for a relationship.”

He lowers his hands from my arms. “Is that what you’d say about Oran and your sister? Because from what I understand, their start was no different.”

Again, he turns my words against me, leaving me speechless. He’s exactly right. Oran and Lina met one another while both weaving a web of lies. Lina was trying to replace me by infiltrating The Society. Oran had his own agenda. The two never planned to fall in love, but fate interceded. Despite the crazy odds against them, they ended up married, and I’ve never seen my sister happier.

It’s so unsettling that this man I thought was a stranger suddenly knows so much. Too much.

Oh God.

I told him about The Society and my fears. He knows about my stalker. And for all I know, he may have an entire dossier on my past.

Sensing my rising panic, he clasps my face and guides my gaze to his.

“I told you from the beginning not to get hung up on names and labels. You know me. I’m the one who’ll keep you safe. I’m the one who makes your pussy drip with need. None of that has changed. I get that you’re upset, so I’ll give you a little time to wrap your head around it all. But Mellie,” he continues, his voice pitching even lower, “don’t be mistaken. You can’t escape me.”

He lowers his hands before slowly backing away, eyes still boring holes deep into my soul.

I’m at a complete loss, blindsided by all that’s unfolded. I don’t know what to think. I only know that I need space. I need room to breathe and figure out what to do next.

I turn away and take one unseeing step at a time toward home.

You can’t escape me.

He’s right.

I can’t report him to the police. I can’t ask my family for help because they’re more his family than mine, and telling them anything will only dredge up more questions.

There truly is no escaping Sante Mancini.

I think back to that night so many years ago—the night of Lina and Oran’s wedding—and the boy I met with torment in his eyes.