Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 29

I’m prepared to wait for Gloria to return from her appointment, but she answers the door when I knock. Her bubbly grin is quickly doused with worry the second she takes in my disheveled state.

“Mija, what’s happened? Are you okay?” She ushers me inside her tiny place. The money she was given could easily buy her something bigger, but she insists on staying where she is. I don’t necessarily blame her. She’s spent years making a cozy home for herself with personal touches in every nook and cranny. The place is so … Gloria that I’m instantly blanketed in comfort when I step inside.

“Hey, Mama G. I’m okay—I’ve just been going through a bit of a rough patch.” My attempt at a reassuring smile is watery and weak at best.

“My sweet girl. Come sit with me and tell me all about it.” She takes my hand and pulls us both onto her small sofa like we used to do when I was younger—she sits, and I lay with my head on her lap. Her gentle fingers smooth my frazzled hair and rub comforting circles on my back.

“You know I’m not big on taking risks, especially if it could hurt someone I care about,” I begin vaguely.

“Of course, mija. You always think of others first. Sometimes more than you should.”

“That’s the thing. I think it might be time to take a big risk. To open up to someone in a way that scares me. I think it might be the right thing to do, but there’s a chance it could go horribly wrong.”

“Life is full of risk, Mellie. Doing nothing is a risk. We can never know what the future holds—all we can do is make choices that we can be proud of with the information we have. And if things don’t go our way, we have to give ourselves grace because we made our choice with the best of intentions.”

“But do intentions really matter if someone ends up hurt?”

“Let’s see,” she muses softly. “When your mother tricked me into thinking you’d come home, back when you were missing, I called Lina to the house and lured her into a trap. I had no idea your mother had used me to get to Lina. Should your sister be angry with me for what I did?”

“Absolutely not,” I respond adamantly. “You had no way of knowing what they had planned.”

“Exactly. My intentions were good. I thought I was sharing wonderful news. Would it be hard for me to bear if Lina had been hurt? Of course it would, but that’s life. Sometimes bad things happen. That’s why we do our best to celebrate the good.”

I nod and sit up so I can look into the warm brown eyes that assure me everything will be okay. “I don’t like when bad things happen.”

“I know, mija,” she says with a sad smile. “That’s what happens when your heart is full of the purest kind of love—a love that will see you through those hard times. Trust yourself, sweet girl. Listen to your heart, and don’t let fear change your mind.”

She’s right. I have to replace a way to have faith in my choices. I’ve already decided to open up to Sante, but I’ve let fear hold me back. It’s time to cut away those bindings.

“Thank you, Mama G.” I wrap my arms around her and take one more inhale of her lilac-scented perfume. “You always know the right things to say.”

“There has to be some advantage to getting old.” She chuckles. “Otherwise, it’s just aching joints and peeing when you sneeze.”

My laughter is a much-needed bandage around my battered heart.

I give her another hug, clean myself up in the bathroom, then head out. When I look at my phone, I see two missed messages and a missed call from Sante.

Sante: You okay? Why are you at Gloria’s and not the theater?

Sante: Mel???

Rather than type out a long explanation, I give him a call.

“I was two minutes from getting in my car,” he snaps in a huff.

I bite back a smile. “I’m not used to having to report my movements to anyone. My parents never cared. I’ve sort of always been on my own in that regard.”

His overprotectiveness fills me with a joy that it probably shouldn’t, but I don’t care. I like knowing that I matter to someone. Gloria was there for emotional support, but she didn’t monitor me the way a parent or a partner would.

“I’m okay, but I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at the apartment?”

“I’ll come get you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m enjoying the walk, but thank you for offering.”

“Wasn’t really a question,” he grumbles, making me smile even more.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” I say firmly but gently before ending the call.

Am I stalling? Yes. I need the next few minutes to collect myself. My paranoia isn’t thrilled about walking home after being attacked, but it’s still daylight, and if that jerk had wanted to hurt me, he already had a perfect opportunity. I want to make sure I’m ready for the conversation I’m about to have. It would be difficult enough even without the tinge of a bruise blossoming on my jawline. Sante won’t be pleased. Hopefully, what I have to say will offset his reaction.

One way or another, I’m about to replace out.

Sante is waiting for me in the apartment when I arrive. He’s seated at the dining table, phone out but forgotten the second I walk through the door. I set down my things but don’t join him, leaning on the kitchen counter instead.

I take in the statuesque man across from me—rigidly unflappable on the outside while an electric storm of intensity brews on the inside. The air around us is charged with his uncompromising energy. He is an endless reservoir of purpose and passion, all focused on a singular objective. Me.

I can’t tell if the army of butterflies taking flight in my chest is owed more to nerves or excitement.

“Why didn’t you go to rehearsals?” Sante asks in his signature calm.

“I’ll explain, but first, I need to ask you something. I need to know why, Sante. Why did you come back for me when we hardly knew one another?”

Seconds pass before he answers.

“At first, I came back to prove myself wrong so I could finally quit thinking about you.”

“But then you stayed,” I note, wanting more.

He shrugs. “Turned out I was right.”

“About what?”

“That you were meant for me.”

He slowly rises and crosses to the kitchen where I’m standing. The closer he gets, the more his face pinches with undiluted fury. His hand gently angles my face up toward the lights.

“Why the fuck is your face bruised?” His voice morphs into something no longer human—the savage awakening of a creature thought to be extinct and long forgotten.

It might have frightened me if I wasn’t still swaddled in a blanket of happiness from his assertion that I was made for him. I’m starting to believe he might be right.

I place my hand on his chest and smile softly. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Talbot sent someone to threaten me, but I’m done hiding. I’m done living in fear. You know the stakes, and I trust you to handle it as you see fit.”

The black daggers in Sante’s eyes warm to melted pools of obsidian. “Say it again.”

“I trust you,” I say with quiet certainty.

“You trust me to keep you safe, but what about this?” His right hand collars my throat and guides me closer to him. “Do you trust me with your body, too?”

I can hear the hidden longing and anticipation feathering his words. Sensing the intensity of his desire for me helps calm my fears, though my heart continues its frantic pace.

“I do.” The breathy admission is a relief. A release of sorts.

Sante’s thumb ghosts across the bruise on my jaw. “I will handle this,” he murmurs almost to himself. “I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

Each word is forged with an ardent commitment so fierce that emotion seizes tight around my throat and chokes off my words. All I can do is nod.

“I want all of you, Amelie. Every inch of you inside and out.”

“I’ll give what I can.”

“What does that mean?” His eyes drift to my lips.

“It means I’m messed up,” I admit, swallowing down my insecurities that try to rise to the surface.

“Aren’t we all.” His growled response is a statement spoken with certainty and an end to the conversation. He brings my lips within a breath of his, his hand still at my throat. “I need to taste you, pet.”

I need to taste him, too.

I lean forward to finally bring our lips together, but his hand tightens a fraction in warning.

He slowly shakes his head, wicked mischief teasing the corners of his lips. “I had something even … sweeter in mind.”

In a flash, he lifts me in his arms and deposits me on the kitchen island. I’m only seated for a second when he whisks my shirt off, leaving me in a sports bra and leggings.

“Lie back.” His seductive command licks across my skin.

I do as he says. The granite countertop is just big enough to fit my upper body. I have to plant my heels by my butt with my knees bent in the air. The stone is cool, but the heat of Sante’s stare keeps me plenty warm.

He hooks his fingers in my leggings and panties, coaxing me to lift my hips so he can slide them both off. Once I’m bare, the nerves amp up a notch.

I’ve never been a fan of oral because it’s work for my partner, which puts even more pressure on me. Whenever I’ve encouraged a guy to keep going or a partner insisted he could get me to orgasm, it’s always ended in frustration and disappointment. So far, Sante has proven himself different from the others, but I’m still hesitant. I desperately want to please him.

My thoughts scatter when I see Sante lift my panties to his nose and take a languid sniff.

“Mmm … smells so fucking good.” He drops them on the floor but keeps my leggings in his hand as he prowls around to the other side of the island. Once he’s standing by my head, he stretches one leg of the leggings to its full length, then brings it down over my eyes like a blindfold.

I suck in a breath, unsure if I’m comfortable with the loss of control.

Sante must sense my reluctance. “Shhh, pet. It’s going to help you feel good. Help you lose yourself in the sensations.” After tying the legs at the side of my head and placing the extra fabric under my head as a sort of pillow, he trails a steady hand down the center of my chest. “No other thoughts, just pleasure.”

My brain is so wired, I’m pretty sure a lobotomy is the only thing that would quiet my thoughts right now, especially when Sante’s hand disappears and he walks away from the island. I strain to figure out what he’s doing. My ears focus on every tiny noise as he opens drawers and moves about. The anticipation pricks at my skin from all directions. I desperately want to look, but I told him I trust him. It’s time to prove it.