Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 36

I’ve never felt more confused in my life. I can hear how his argument makes sense, but I’ve seen dysfunction, and I don’t ever want to go back to that. I’ve dreamed my entire life of one day having a supportive and loving family like I see in the people around me.

What you want is to be happy, and if he gives you that, does the rest matter?

Isn’t that how every abusive relationship starts? I’ve seen all the true crime shows. I’ve heard about the pattern of sweeping a woman off her feet only to grow more controlling as time goes on. Like Sante said, however, he’s never pretended to be charming. And he’s not controlling so much as he’s overprotective. How do I know that won’t intensify to an unacceptable degree down the road?

No one ever knows how a relationship will evolve. That’s the risk you take.

I don’t like risks.

Maybe this one’s worth it.

Sante wants to know whether I’m willing to take that chance. He’s watching me, his turbulent stare pleading with me to try. What do I tell him?

“I … I don’t know.” The words sound as fragile as I feel. I’m standing on a frozen lake, the ice at my feet cracking and groaning no matter which direction I go.

“I want to show you something.” Sante comes closer and gingerly takes my hand as though he’s worried his touch might scare me.

I don’t pull away. Even knowing everything he’s done, the warm certainty of his hand in mine brings me the comfort I desperately crave. One step at a time, he leads me back to the safety of my apartment, where Freya is anxiously waiting for me.

I reassure her that everything is okay. Her joy at seeing me helps to fortify me. When I return my attention to Sante, he takes my hand and places a small tarnished ring on my palm.

“You kept the monsters away for me,” he tells me, voice raw with vulnerability. “When I was sleeping in a barn on dirt floors, thoughts of you gave me hope. At that wedding, I could see my own demons reflected in your eyes, yet you fought them back with such strength. I knew that if whatever had brought you that sort of pain was possible to overcome, then there was hope that I could do the same.”

I stare in disbelief at the evil eye ring I gave him that night. Despite what he implied when he told me about his tattoo, he kept the ring. He still has it with him to this day.

“I wasn’t winning against the demons. I was drowning,” I admit, a sob clawing its way up my throat as I curl my hand into a tight fist around the ring. “You were the one who gave me hope. Any light in my eyes that night was there because of you. Because for the first time, I didn’t feel alone.”

It’s the truth. I’d be foolish not to admit it.

Sante reaches for me, but I step back to keep space between us.

“I need some time to think.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. Every ounce of his blistering intensity is a laser boring into me. “Nothing has changed, Mellie. I’m the same man I was this morning.”

“I know, but I still need to think this through.”

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and turns toward the window. “An hour. Is an hour enough?” He looks back, and I’m almost tempted to smile because his gaze is so full of ardent pleading. He’s almost commanding me to forgive him.

“I don’t know, Sante. There’s no instruction manual for this sort of thing.”

His jaw flexes, and his phone buzzes again.

“See who it is. There could be a problem,” I urge him.

He sighs and pulls the phone out, his forehead creasing with concern. “It’s Conner. Shit, I forgot.”

“What?”

“I was supposed to go see Noemi today.”

He answers the phone, and Conner’s voice on the other end is so harsh that I can hear him several feet away.

“Yeah, okay. I hear you,” he clips back, his voice straining against his own anger. “I’ll be over in a minute.”

Sante grimaces. “Guess you get your time alone.”

“I have Freya with me, and we’re not going anywhere,” I try to assure him, knowing he worries about me. “I just need some time to process.”

He peers down at my new shadow sitting patiently by my side and nods. “I’ll be back soon.”

Then he’s gone, taking my strength with him. My legs feel like they might buckle.

“Come on, girl. Let’s watch a movie.” I curl up on the couch with a blanket and encourage Freya to join me. She’s a little reluctant at first—Cartwright must not have allowed her on the furniture. But once she’s settled, she happily lays her head on my legs.

When the pitter-patter of rain sounds on the window, I abandon the movie plan and let the cleansing spring shower wash over my tormented thoughts.

I have to replace a way to decide what to do about Sante. He stalked me, hid his identity, manipulated me in numerous ways, and still managed to make me fall in love with him. I realize now that it’s true.

I’ve fallen in love with my stalker.

The boy with torment in his eyes and ferocity in his heart.

I fell for him, but now I question whether it was all manipulation like some offshoot of Stockholm syndrome. How do I know my own true feelings versus what he manufactured? Can I ever trust him to be transparent with me?

That question isn’t a mystery. The answer is no. If he feels like something will upset me and he can fix it without causing me worry, he’ll take that option every time. What I can trust is that he’ll keep me safe and devote himself to my happiness every day of his life.

Is that so terrible?

After all that I’ve been through, Sante’s brand of love sounds like the sense of belonging I’ve always prayed for. If our quirks align such that we naturally give one another what we need, shouldn’t that be enough? Maybe that’s all anyone is looking for.

Maybe normal is a myth, and healthy is relative.

I open my hand, realizing Sante’s ring is still balled in my fist, and study the aging piece of metal. The ring itself is worthless, but what it represents is priceless beyond measure. It’s the evidence of what can happen when two broken souls replace refuge in one another.

Am I willing to throw that away?

Hell, no.

The answer echoes in my mind with resounding certainty. I flinch at the mere thought of living my life without Sante. He’s nonnegotiable because Sante is my happiness. If I deny myself him and all he entails, I’ll be the only one to blame.

I couldn’t choose my parents.

I had no control over being trafficked or my kidnapping.

But this is my choice, and I choose happiness.