Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 24

I couldn’t sleep last night. Couldn’t eat. And it had little to do with The Society.

I hate that I’ve made Sante feel like I don’t trust him. As much as his deception hurt me, I realized in the night that it doesn’t change the way I feel about him. When I’m around Sante, I feel seen. I feel wanted and important—things I’ve rarely felt in my life.

My growing desire for him clouds my ability to know what’s right. Do I open up to him and trust that no one will get hurt? Because I’m not the only one who would be affected by the potential fallout if he angers the man who haunts me. If I were the only one at risk, I’d have told someone the man’s name years ago. How do I decide between my family and my heart?

It’s impossible.

I’m terrified that continuing down this path will shred me to pieces. No matter what choices I make, someone gets hurt.

After hours and hours of dwelling on my predicament, I get a text from Andrey with his address. I’ve already made Sante so upset that I hate to make things worse, but I also desperately need a distraction. And besides, I know without a doubt that I’m safe with Andrey. I need this. I need the chance to set aside reality and hopefully keep from mangling one aspect of my life. God knows I’ve done a number on everything else.

Ten years my senior and a highly renowned dancer, Andrey has done well for himself financially. He lives on the twenty-sixth floor of a building bordering Central Park. The views have got to be spectacular. I love my view of the river, but something is magical about the oasis of Central Park.

I don’t have to be escorted up since Andrey has given me a code for the elevator. When I knock on his door, excitement to dance gives me a boost of energy. Dancing never fails to make everything better. Therefore, the smile on my face is genuine when the door opens. Only it’s not Andrey on the other side.

“Sante?” I blurt, my forehead crinkling with confusion. He’s dressed casually and looks relaxed, but when I remember what he said he’d do if Andrey touched me, all the blood drains from my head down to my toes. The world spins.

“Jesus, Amelie.” He rushes forward to steady me. “Relax, I’m just here as an escort,” he says in a hushed tone. “I knew you’d come despite my objections and figured this way, no one has to get hurt.”

I nod and take a few deep, even breaths, trying to regain my bearings. “Where’s Andrey?”

“Here we are.” The man in question rounds the corner with a toddler in his arms. “Had to change a diaper. Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.”

“Oh! No problem at all,” I gush with a smile. I’m acting overly friendly out of awkwardness. It only makes things more uncomfortable, but I don’t know how else to act. I have no clue what Sante has told Andrey to explain his presence. “Thanks for making time to work on this.”

“Happy to help. I’ll just take this little one back to his mama—she should be out of the shower now—and we can get started.” He crosses the living room to a hallway on the other side of the apartment and disappears.

“What did you tell him?” I whisper frantically to Sante.

“The truth. That I wasn’t comfortable with you being alone in another man’s house.” His icy, detached tone tells me he’s still upset with me. I want to fuss at him that Andrey probably thinks my boyfriend is crazy possessive rather than trying to protect me, but then I realize both are true, and Andrey’s thoughts on the matter are irrelevant.

Let him have this, Mel. You owe him that much.

“Okay,” I say reluctantly. “A heads-up would have been nice, but it’s good you’re here. You can see there’s nothing to worry about—the man has an incredibly sweet wife and a baby. He’d never hurt me.”

“If I had a dollar for every rapist and pedophile hiding behind the guise of a happy marriage, I’d be the richest man on this planet.” The chilling certainty in his tone sends a wave of goose bumps down my arms.

How can I possibly counter that argument? He makes a good point.

I chew on the inside of my cheek instead, relieved when Andrey returns moments later. He shows us back to his home studio, which is incredible. A miniature professional practice facility overlooking a corner of the park. Sante takes a seat in one of the two metal folding chairs and is immediately absorbed in his phone. I’m relieved to see he’s not planning on watching our every move. The session goes by surprisingly quickly. By the time we leave, I’m feeling much better all around.

Sante drives us home and deposits me in my apartment with instructions to eat.

“You didn’t eat enough last night, I’m sure. That’s why you looked like you were going to pass out.”

I get some lunch meat out of the fridge with a jar of mayo. “My stomach was upset,” I quip, not pleased with his tone.

“Can’t dance if you don’t eat.”

“I know. But as you’re about to see, I normally eat plenty.” A lifetime of remarks about my size makes it a sensitive subject.

“Good. Make one for me, too. I’ll be back in a minute.” He’s out the door before I can respond.

“Sure, you want mayo on that? Or maybe mustard?” I say to an empty room with a roll of my eyes.

True to his word, he’s back at my door a few minutes later with a loaded duffel bag and several suits on hangers.

“What’s all that for?” My mouth is half full, but I’m too distracted to care.

“My things. If you won’t tell me who or what’s going on, I have to assume the worst. That means constant supervision. So, congrats, you’ve earned yourself a roommate.” He sets down his things and joins me at the table, taking a large bite out of his sandwich.

“’Scuse me?” I gape at him, my cheeks still bulging with food. “You can’t just—” A bit of bread tries to escape down my throat, forcing me to focus on chewing before I can finish. “You can’t just move yourself into my apartment.”

The excited challenge in his stare makes my chest flutter.

“Watch me.” He accentuates his point with another large bite of his sandwich.

I’m stunned. I so did not see this coming.

There go those dominos falling willy-nilly all over the place.

“You know I don’t have a guest room.”

Sante grins wickedly. “Wouldn’t be a very effective bodyguard if I left you alone at night, especially when you’re known to have nighttime visitors.”

“No. Nope. Not happening.” I make a firm swiping motion with my hands. “I’ve given you a lot of latitude here, mister, but even I have my limits. You can stay on the couch, and that’s final.”

His warm brown eyes stare me down like they would a chess board. “Air mattress in the bedroom.”

“Living room. Couch.”

“Fine, but the door stays open.”

“Good grief, this is not a negotiation.”

Sante leans forward in his chair and speaks softly. “You and I both know if I want in your bed, that’s where I’ll be. The door stays open. That’s the deal.”

The epic stare down that follows is right out of a sitcom. I don’t even know why I’m engaging him. We both know I’ll cave, which I do with an exasperated wail. “Fine. You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

He slowly relaxes back in his chair as he takes a swig of water. “Don’t remember you feeling that way last night when I was licking your cum off my fingers.” The seductive caress of his words ignites a fire deep in my belly.

I take a big bite of my sandwich, recognizing that it’s time to keep my mouth shut.

Once we finish eating, Sante hangs his suits in the hall closet and sets his duffel by the wall.

“I guess if you need to grab anything else, it’s not like you have far to go,” I muse absently.

“No need. This is everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is all I have.”

“You have an entire apartment of stuff next door.”

He saunters closer, hands in his pockets. “No, I don’t. I paid Sorrell to use his place for a few months. I never actually bought the place.”

“You … what?” I stare at him wide-eyed.

How is it that this man can continue to pull the rug out from under me? It’s like his superpower.

“I arranged a convenient way to enable us to reunite.” His casual tone is mystifying, as though he has no concept of how insane he sounds.

“Why not just ask me out?” It seems crazy to go through all that trouble merely to keep his identity a secret. Talk about taking the scenic route.

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted, including whether I wanted to tell my family that I was back from Sicily.”

I’m surprised to hear him say he was unsure when his intentions have seemed so unwavering since he walked back into my life. I start to wonder what changed when the word Sicily rings in my head.

“You were in Italy.”

“I was.”

The man stalking me spoke something that could have been Italian.

Or it could have been a number of other languages.

True, but how strange that—

Do you not remember Sante attacking the man? I know you’re paranoid, but try to keep it reasonable.

God, I’m losing it.

I rub my eyes. “You know what? I’m exhausted. I’m going to rest before I need to get to the theater. You have everything you need?”

The intensity in his prolonged stare winds me.

“Yeah, Mel. I think I do.”

Too overwhelmed to respond, I slip away to my bedroom and hope things make more sense with some sleep.