Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 2

She looks peaceful when she sleeps. It would hardly take any effort at all to hold a pillow over her face until she’s resting in a permanent slumber.

I should do it.

She deserves it for planting herself in my memories like a weed that roots itself into the tiniest sidewalk crack. I could concrete over that damn crack every single day, and she’d still replace a way to sprout new life.

Four fucking years. I’ve been completely remade from the inside out over the past four years, but the one tiny piece of my past self that I can’t seem to eviscerate is the memory of her. Amelie Brooks. Cloying and incessant, she’s clung to me like the ink beneath my skin.

She was the only reason I came back to New York. I wanted to prove that the image was a mirage—the same way a kid imagines Santa in all his kind-hearted glory when reality is closer to a haggard retiree who’s overly fond of coaxing children to sit on his lap.

It’s amazing what a good pair of rose-colored glasses can do.

Now that I’ve crushed those fucking glasses beneath the steel toe of my boot, I can see things more clearly. I planned to take one last look at Amelie, realize how wrong I’d been about her, then get my pathetic ass back home to Sicily and my new life.

That was two weeks ago.

Two weeks of watching and processing the fact that taking off the glasses didn’t change a damn thing.

I’ve had to accept the unfortunate truth that I’m fucking obsessed with Amelie Brooks. Her proximity has only intensified my curiosity. My craving.

So, yeah. My plans are fucked.

I’ll still be putting an end to the matter, but not in the way I’d hoped. That’s fine. I can adapt. Better to be realistic than turn a blind eye to what’s right in front of me. I will never be able to scrape this woman from my mind. Forgetting my past would be a whole lot easier without bringing a piece of it with me, but that’s obviously not an option. The only way to move forward is to make her mine and end the torment. Once I have her, the rest will melt away.

It won’t be easy, though.

She’s not as pliant as I recalled her being that one and only time we met over four years ago. The forested depths of her evergreen eyes are as haunted today as they were back then. It’s her defenses that have changed. She used smiles as camouflage when she was younger, whereas now, her outer layer is cool-tempered steel, able to deflect rather than simply hide.

I could sense when we met that she’d been hurt. The pain was impossible to miss when I saw the same thing in my reflection every time I looked in the mirror, no matter how much I hated to admit it. I was fascinated with the way she smiled through her heartbreak, but it was her irrepressible anguish that sank barbed hooks deep inside me and wouldn’t let go.

When I came back two weeks ago and first saw her dance, I knew it hadn’t been a fluke. She was just as beautifully broken today as she was back then, sealing her fate. My fascination with her grew exponentially in a handful of days until I couldn’t deny my obsession.

Tonight is no different.

I nearly laughed out loud when she stood in that spotlight and tried to intimidate me into putting my cigarette out. I can’t remember the last time someone tried to bully me, especially a woman. Amelie is an endless wellspring of mystery and surprises I can’t wait to unearth.

I lean down and inhale a lungful of the floral scent surrounding her. “Get ready, tiny dancer, because I’m here to stay.” A whispered promise I hope replaces its way into her dreams. Maybe it’ll make reality a bit easier to bear if she has a sense of what’s coming. Life for Amelie Brooks is about to change.

I let myself out of her apartment, making sure to lock up—I can’t be letting any old psychopath inside. Not that I’m overly worried. She lives in a nice place, making the next phase of my plan so much more palatable.

Once I’ve left the building, I call the only person who knows the truth about what the hell I’m doing back in Manhattan. Tommy’s my cousin, but he’s more like a brother, and he’s the only person on this earth I’d trust with my life.

While it’s the middle of the night here, I’m not worried about waking him because he’s still back in Sicily. He’ll be midway through his morning routine—first a thorough cleaning of his rifle, then an hour of methodically selected strength and cardio exercises, followed by a breakfast of six scrambled eggs, one slightly green banana, and a slice of sourdough toast with a conservative scraping of real butter. No juice or coffee. Just water. Three cubes of ice. Every day, no deviations.

Some people might see his need for routine and predictability as a flaw, but I appreciate his consistency. With him, no guesswork is required. It’s so fucking refreshing in a world where everyone has ulterior motives.

“Time for you to come over,” I say when he answers my call.

Silence.

“Is this move going to be permanent?” he finally asks.

“For me? Maybe, but I’m not ready to tell anyone yet.” I haven’t seen any of my New York family since leaving four years ago. We’ve been in communication, but it’s a long time to go without seeing one another. I’m reluctant to suffer through the unavoidably dramatic reunion.

“When will you know?” The question would likely irritate someone unfamiliar with his style of communication. I know better. Tommy isn’t trying to ask impossible questions; he’s simply trying to plan. He likes to know what’s ahead.

“Hard to say, but I’ll keep you informed as best as I can.”

“I’ll be on a plane by tomorrow,” he says tonelessly.

“Let me know your arrival time, and I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll have my larger suitcase. Better to bring everything if we might be staying.”

My lips twist in the corners with amusement. No one prepares for contingencies like Tommy. “Sounds good. See you soon.” The line clicks dead.

Unfortunately for Tommy, I don’t think there’s any way to predict what will unfold. I’m going to make Amelie mine, but I’ll do it while staying true to myself. My father charmed my mother into marriage, then secretly beat the shit out of her on a regular basis. He was a pathetic coward in the worst ways possible.

And while I’m not as shitty as my father, I’m not a gentleman, either. Winning over Amelie would be a lot easier if I rode up on a horse like Prince Charming, but that won’t happen.

I will never pretend to be anything other than what I am.

Amelie will see me for exactly who I am, and she will come to accept that she’s meant for me. I’ll prove to her that my brand of fucked up is what she needs. It may be a challenge, but that doesn’t worry me. I can be relentless when it comes to getting what I want. And I don’t just want Amelie Brooks; I’ll go fucking insane without her.