Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 20

Past

It’s been four months since I got my memories back.

Seven months since I was drugged and kidnapped.

Ten months since my mother arranged to sell my virginity, forcing me to run away from home.

I don’t have my GED yet. I haven’t managed to snag any dance jobs since my role in Chicago, which only happened because half the cast came down with the flu. I work so hard every day to focus on the positives, but the only thing that seems to change is this expanding emptiness that fills my chest.

Sometimes, I wish my memories had never come back. It would have been easier, in a way. During those confusing days, I would spend hours daydreaming about the family who was probably worried sick about me. Judging by the jewelry I wore when I was found, I was certain I’d had money. Money meant family. Family meant home and belonging. I knew everything would be okay if I could only remember.

Then Lina found me, and as the memories flooded back, I had to relive the horrifying lessons from the past, proving that family can also mean heartbreak. Coming to terms with the past year of my life has been more of a struggle than I could force myself to unload on my sister. She’s done so much for me already, and on top of it all, she’s been planning her wedding. I couldn’t burden her. She deserves a world of happiness. I want her to enjoy this time in her life and not have to deal with my drama.

Lina spent years trying to protect me from our mother. This is my chance to return the favor. Some days are harder than others, like today. I should be over the moon to see Lina so incandescently happy on her wedding day. We’re surrounded by her new family, all of whom are ecstatic to take her into the fold.

They’re welcoming toward me as well, but it’s not the same. I’m not one of them. I don’t seem to belong anywhere anymore. No parents. No friends. I’m adrift in the world.

If I were as strong as Lina, it wouldn’t be a problem. She left home at the same age as me, grateful to never look back. She’s independent and self-assured. She doesn’t need anyone, whereas I feel like a sailboat whose sail has been ripped away by the wind.

The root of my issue is more complex than overcoming my parents’ deaths. The war I wage is against the painful loneliness of knowing they never wanted me in the first place.

I’ve convinced myself that my presence will burden other people’s lives. An intrusion. Unless I can think of some concrete value I have to offer, my default is to isolate. I hate being alone, yet I bring it upon myself. The vicious cycle has held me captive for months.

Even here, surrounded by a tent full of people, I’m desperately lonely.

Every chance I get, I slip out to the parking lot and try to fill the gaping chasm in my chest with the bottle of vodka I snagged from the bar. A sip here and there since I don’t want anyone to catch on. Drinking is so out of character for me that it would draw unwanted attention. I sip just enough to shave down the thorns of my self-loathing.

On my way back inside from my latest excursion, I see a guy leaning against a car, looking about as sullen as I feel. Maybe it’s the alcohol—I’m normally not outgoing—but I decide on a whim to join him. The wedding is being held in a private garden. Anyone out here has come for the wedding, so I don’t feel too worried that I don’t know him. Again, it’s probably the vodka.

“Are you part of the Byrne family?” I ask once I’m standing across from him. He looks about my age—skinny but pretty in a haunted way. His hair is dark and held stiffly in place by a healthy supply of gel. He’s made an effort to look presentable, but not enough to cut the shaggy length from the sides and back. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s here because he has to be and not by choice.

“Not me, but my sister is. Noemi,” he says curtly. He’s not interested in talking to me, that’s clear. Unfortunately for him, the fact that I’ve found someone who might be as miserable as me is the best thing that’s happened to me all day.

“Then you must be Sante. I’ve met your sister; she’s really sweet.”

His face flinches with a scowl. “Yeah, she’s pretty great,” he mutters.

What an odd reaction, except I can totally relate. I consider telling him about my sister Lina but don’t get the chance. He steps away from the car and reaches inside his inner jacket pocket.

“Look, unless you’ve got something to refill this”—he holds up a black pocket flask—“then I’m not really in the mood to chat.”

He turns to walk away. My hand snags his wrist before I have a chance to think about what I’m doing. He cocks a brow at me that draws out the first genuine grin I’ve smiled all day.

“I think I can help with that.” I release his wrist and motion for him to follow me.

“Aren’t you full of surprises,” he says when I show him my secret bottle stashed by a tree.

I unscrew the lid and take a sip. He takes the bottle when I hand it to him and downs two healthy gulps.

“Fuck, I needed that.” He shakes his head, then looks at me, eyes assessing me for the first time. “Who did you say you are?”

“Amelie. I’m the bride’s sister.”

“No shit?”

I flash a full-on grin. I love that I’ve shocked him. I don’t even know why, but the spark of life I’ve brought to his eyes makes me want to run through a field of wildflowers.

“Yup, which means I probably need to get back inside.”

“You shouldn’t have been out here alone to begin with—no telling what monsters you might run into.” He begins to fill his flask, his gaze briefly drifting to mine.

I want to giggle, and it occurs to me that I might be feeling the alcohol a bit more than I realized. “Trust me, I know all about the monsters. That’s why I wear this.” I hold up my finger, showing him my evil eye ring. “Keeps the monsters away.”

He huffs. “Wish it were that easy.”

“Can’t hurt.” I shrug.

He puts the lid on his flask, then caps the vodka bottle before handing it back to me. “You’re a lifesaver.”

I swallow hard, fighting back a swell of emotions. This is the best time I’ve had in months. I refuse to let my stupid thoughts bring me down.

“Come on, let’s get back inside.”

It’s easy enough to slip back in unnoticed. I go to the dance floor and replace a groove with some of the ladies, though I don’t stay long because I can sense Sante watching me and am drawn back to him like a moth to the flame. I wind my way to the refreshment table and snag a cup of punch, then zigzag casually to where he’s standing. I do my best to look like I’m meandering with no real purpose. Not that I need to hide what I’m doing, but it feels sort of … fun. I like feeling fun.

Once I’m close enough, I set my drink down on the table by him and dance in place. After a moment, I see him catch on and discreetly deposit a small amount of the vodka from his flask into my cup. As though oblivious, I flit back to the dance floor with my spiked drink and give myself over to the music.