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

The Moulin Rouge production has been running for a month now with nothing but rave reviews. It’s become a pivotal turning point in my dance career, and I’m so incredibly grateful. I’m amazed at how much has changed for me in such a short time. How much I’ve changed.

I feel like I’m finally figuring out who I am beneath all the trauma of my circumstances. I’m learning who I am when fear isn’t an influencing factor and replaceing that this new version of myself is pretty dang awesome.

Buzz about my showstopping announcement faded relatively quickly, though Talbot wasn’t so lucky where his legal problems were concerned. The feds did replace damning evidence of child pornography on his computer, and once my complaint became public knowledge, a whole slew of other allegations followed, from assault to bribery to racketeering. The judge even denied bail because of the risk he posed to witnesses.

No more Fourth of July barbecues for him.

On the other hand, I’m surrounded by family and stuffed to the gills with delicious food. Conner and Noemi are hosting at their place. Most everyone here is a Byrne, and while Sante and I don’t carry that name, I know they’re still our family. This is the first weekend I’ve had off in three months, and there’s no one else I’d rather spend it with.

“Watching the kids play together is adorable.” I’m sitting on the sofa with the other ladies while the kids run from room to room, causing chaos. “Stormy’s little girl Mae, River, and Violet are seriously already forming a girl gang. Add Pippa’s twins to that in a few years, and those cousins are gonna be an epic force.”

“Hopefully, this little guy can help Kellen, Roman, and Ryder keep them out of trouble,” Stormy pats her round belly. She’s only about three months along but has a sizable bump since it’s her third.

“Eh, the girls outnumber the boys, as it stands. My money’s on a Byrne Queendom down the road.” I grin triumphantly.

“I’m so not ready,” Lina mutters, her hand on her forehead.

“No need to get too worked up yet,” I assure her. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“It’s not that. I’ve had horrible heartburn lately, and the smell of those pickles has been bothering me since we ate.”

Every one of us gapes at her with wide eyes.

“Lina?” I say gently. “Did you ever by chance make that doctor visit we talked about?”

Her eyes snap to mine, then do a sweep of the other ladies. “There was no reason. I’ve been fine, really. Just a little tired.”

“And sensitive to smells?” notes Stormy.

“Chronic heartburn?” adds Noemi.

“When’s the last time you had your period?” I ask.

Her brows knit together. “I had it last month. I mean … it was light. The last two have been … really light,” she says slowly.

“Oh shit. Here we go again,” Pippa chimes in.

I wasn’t around, but I heard about the dinner party a few years back when Stormy and Noemi both discovered they were pregnant. The story is a family favorite.

“I have tests in the cabinet from the boys’ pregnancy.” Noemi jumps up and disappears down a hallway.

Lina’s eyes round. “Here? Now? You guys want me to—” She looks over at where the guys are gathered around the kitchen island drinking beer. “You want me to pee on a stick right now?” she whisper-yells.

“Might as well, Lina Bean,” I tell her. “You’ll replace out one way or another.”

She slumps in her seat. “I know, but I’m not sure I’m ready. I suppose that’s why I’ve ignored the signs. It could be something else, after all. Like an iron deficiency.” Her gaze searches for someone willing to support her, but our group is full of empathy instead.

“Oh, honey. We’ve got you,” Stormy says in her warm Southern drawl. “Babies are never easy, but that’s why we have one another.”

Noemi strides back to the group and slips Lina a box of pregnancy tests. Apparently, we’re keeping this a secret from the guys. I’m not sure why, but that’s fine so long as I’m in on the surprise.

Lina sighs heavily, then heads to the bathroom. When I glance at the kitchen, Sante is watching. He’s always watching. His eyes shift toward the bathroom briefly as if asking what’s up with your sister? My eyes round innocently, and I give a whatever-do-you-mean shrug. He gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, his tiny smirk saying this should be good.

Lina’s not gone a full two minutes when she returns in a zombified state. “It can’t be,” she murmurs.

All of us ladies gasp and squeal. It’s enough to finally draw the guys’ attention.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Bishop asks with a wide grin. He’s the most outgoing of the group and always up for a laugh.

When none of us say anything and instead, look wide-eyed at one another, the guys migrate closer.

“This can’t be good,” Conner deadpans. “What are you up to?”

“Surprise,” Lina says, holding up the pregnancy test with a mystified half smile.

The entire room turns to Oran. He blinks twice before an enormous grin splits his face.

“Hell, yeah! We’re having a baby!” His excited cheer sends the entire room into celebration mode. Hugs and congratulations and laughter fill the huge great room, even drawing the attention of the little ones who tug on legs to replace out what’s happening.

“We’re having a baby!” Oran says to Violet, giving her a big kiss on the cheek.

“We’re having a baby!” someone else cries.

“Yeah! We’re having a baby,” another chimes in.

“No! I mean it, we’re having a baby,” Pippa says in an increasingly panicked voice. “Two of them.”

Everyone goes silent and looks at the very pregnant Pip, who is now holding her crotch.

“Seriously, my water just broke. Someone get me a freaking towel and take me to the hospital!” she cries.

The ladies launch into action while the guys stare, dumbfounded.

I migrate to Sante’s side and watch in fascination. “I did not see that coming.”

“Looks like none of them did. When’s she due?”

“Not for three weeks, but the doctors said the twins could come at any time and should be fine. Guess they cook faster or something. I don’t know much about that stuff.”

“One of these days…” he muses.

“We talked about this. Not for several more years, right?” I ask pointedly.

He turns big brown puppy-dog eyes to me and smirks. “Yeah, baby. Doesn’t mean I’m not excited. Seein’ my baby grow inside you is gonna be the greatest feeling in the world.”

I shake my head with a smile. He’s incorrigible but in the very best way.

A wave of people congregate toward the door while Lina and Oran join us on the sidelines.

“They all headed to the hospital?” I ask Lina.

“Just Pippa and Bishop for now. I think the rest of us will head over shortly.”

“Will it happen that soon?”

“With her water already broken and it being twins, I doubt they’ll let her go long. One way or another, those babies are coming soon enough.”

“Come on, babe.” Oran puts his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get Violet home, and we can decide what we’re doing from there.”

She nods and heads off to corral little Vi.

“Tommy texted earlier asking if we could stop by his new place,” Sante says, sipping from his beer. “He wants our opinion on something. Sounds like we have a little time on our hands. How about we head over there, then drop Freya at home before heading to the hospital?”

“Works for me. I still haven’t seen the place since he hired that interior designer.” I call Freya over. She’s done amazing adapting to the new family. We still keep the muzzle on her around kids, but I’m hoping to move past that soon. She makes sure to lie where she can see me. Otherwise, she’s very chill, even in a party setting. I snap on her leash, and we say our goodbyes.

Tommy’s new apartment is in a surprisingly trendy area—lots of nightlife and active young people. His place is one of only two apartments on the forty-second floor. The building is relatively new. From what I understand, the changes he’s been making are primarily cosmetic. I’m intrigued to see how he’s chosen to decorate his new place.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” Sante says when Tommy opens the door for us. The two hug, then I give Tommy a half hug. I’m still not entirely sure if he’s comfortable with that sort of thing. He’s not an easy man to read.

“All good. Thanks for coming by.” He shows us inside to a much more inviting space than I’d imagined.

“You bet. We’ve been looking forward to seeing the place.”

“Tommy, it’s gorgeous,” I say, genuinely impressed. It reminds me of a Scandinavian feel because of the simplicity and white walls, but plenty of rich wood furniture and muted landscapes on the walls bring a touch of warmth and life. The biggest surprise, however, is the number of live plants all around—some in large pots on the ground, some in planters on shelves, and others hanging in woven baskets. While there’s more than I would have expected, it’s not too much.

“I love how much space you have,” Sante says, then looks at me. “We’ve really got to upgrade to something bigger.”

“Yeah, my place worked for me, but adding you and Freya makes things a bit cramped.”

Sante nods. “I’ll get with an agent.”

I grin, excited about the prospect.

I love that he’s so proactive—or maybe the word is competent. He doesn’t sit around and wait for someone else to make things happen. He sees when Freya needs more water and fills the dish. He starts the laundry if I haven’t gotten to it. And if we need a repairman—or in this case, a real estate agent—he does the legwork and gets the ball rolling.

My cozy thoughts swooning over my husband scatter when a sound catches my ear. I still when I hear it again, realizing it sounds like— “Is that … a woman yelling?” I’m genuinely not sure, but it’s definitely coming from nearby.

Sante narrows his eyes at Tommy. “Is that what you needed our opinion on? Christ, Tommy. I thought you wanted help with a fabric color or some shit.”

“I do,” Tommy says earnestly, turning to the dining room. “My designer suggested an accent wall to break up the white. I told her nothing too bold, and I can’t decide if I like it or not.”

One wall is a soft beige rather than the white coating the other walls and ceiling. All three of us stare at it. The slight variation in color is hardly an accent, but to Tommy it probably looks like a smudge on a pristine wedding cake.

“I like it,” I say. “Once there’s a painting up, the color difference won’t be as noticeable. It gives the place a bit more warmth.”

“Yeah, looks good,” Sante says distractedly. “Now let’s talk about what the fuck is behind door number two.”

Tommy frowns. “I caught her breaking in this morning.”

Oh shit!

He actually does have a woman stashed in a back bedroom. I told myself it was a television left on a little too loud, but it seems Sante knew better.

We follow the cries to the back of the apartment and a series of closed doors. I walk to the last one on the left and open it to the sight of a woman duct-taped to a rolling chair. She’s young, probably close to my age, and very pretty despite her disrepair. Natural strawberry-blond hair that no dye could ever duplicate, wide, teary eyes that plead with me for help, and a perfect smattering of freckles that make her look as innocent as a peach.

“Tommaso Donati, what on earth have you done?” I fire at him angrily.

“Me? She’s the one who broke into my apartment.”

“So you tied her up and left her back here?” I gape at him.

He shrugs noncommittally. “I had somewhere to be.”

I smack his arm, ignoring the snicker coming from my husband, then carefully remove the tape covering the poor woman’s mouth. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry. This is all a big mixup. I thought the apartment belonged to a friend who was out of town.”

“You steal shit from your friends when they’re away?” Sante prods, his voice dripping with suspicion.

“I wasn’t stealing,” she shoots back defensively. “I just needed a place to stay.”

“Ah, so you’re a squatter, not a thief.”

“Sante,” I say in warning. “You’re not even letting her explain.”

His incredulous stare balks at me for giving her story any weight.

My returning glare reminds him not to be a dick.

He grimaces, then makes a by all means motion, allowing her a chance to speak.

“I have a photographer friend from school who used to live here. I didn’t realize he’d moved, but I knew he was on shoot in Iceland, so I was hoping to use his place while he was gone. I would have checked with him, but the shoot is remote, and he couldn’t be reached.”

“You don’t look homeless,” Tommy notes without inflection.

“I’m not.” She juts her chin out a hair. “I needed to lay low for a bit.”

Sante suddenly takes more interest, his eyes narrowing. “Lay low sounds an awful lot like hiding. Who are you running from?”

The woman’s eyes squeeze shut with frustration before reopening. “It doesn’t matter. Look, I made a mistake, and I’m really sorry, but no harm was done. Can you please just let me go?” Her genuine fear on the subject is obvious, and I know that will only make the guys more insistent.

“Who?” Sante demands.

“You wouldn’t know him,” she says in exasperation. “And trust me, you wouldn’t want to if you did. He’s dangerous—that’s why I needed a place he would never look.”

Tommy pulls a gun out of thin air and points it right in her face. “Who?”

The silence around us thickens to a suffocating tension.

“Who … who are you?” the woman says in a breathless pant, terror bleaching her already pale skin to a pasty white.

Tommy responds, seemingly unaffected. “The last person you’ll ever see if you don’t give me a name.”

I know Tommy won’t shoot her. I’ve started to understand the way he acts and thinks, and I’m pretty sure he simply sees the gun as an effective way to move this conversation along. But I feel for the girl because she doesn’t know that, and she’s clearly terrified.

She squeezes her eyes tightly shut again. This time, tears roll down her freckled cheeks, and she whispers, “His name is Biba.”

The words hang in the air before a curse from Sante blasts through the air like gunfire.

“Fuck!”

I remember that name. He’s one of the Russians.

Why would this girl be running from the Russian mob?

I stare at Sante, pleading in my eyes. Please, help her.

He glowers, teeth gritted as he shakes his head at me. “What am I supposed to do, Mel? We don’t know what the hell she’s gotten herself into. This could draw us into a full-blown war.”

“We can’t send her out on her own. I know what it’s like to feel hunted and alone. Please help her.”

“I can get her a plane ticket. I hear Venezuela is a great place to disappear,” he suggests dryly.

“Is that what you would have wanted for me?” I ask, hands propped on my hips.

He grimaces, arms spreading wide. “What else do you suggest? I can’t put her up in a hotel forever.”

“No, but we could hide her while we figure out what’s going on and see if there’s a way to help.” I don’t know why I’m so determined to help this woman, except something tells me it’s the right thing to do. She needs us.

“You and I hardly have room for ourselves, let alone a guest. Not that I’d let you bring that sort of danger into our house anyway.” He pauses, then turns to his friend. “You’ve got plenty of room, though, don’tcha Tommy?” Sante’s voice takes on a mischievous edge.

“No fucking way. It’s not happening,” Tommy insists.

I walk up to him and square my shoulders, summoning every ounce of authority I can muster. “You owe me, Tommaso Donati, for pretending to be my stalker. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.”

His eyes widen a fraction. “Owe you? I took a fist to the face for that.”

“That was between you and your delinquent friend over there.” I nod toward my husband, then press a finger into Tommy’s hard chest. “This is between you and me. It’s not forever. Give her a place to stay while we figure this out, and we’ll call it even.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” he breathes. “You going to say something, Sante?”

“Yeah, happy wife, happy life.” He shrugs.

I grin.

Tommy roars.

And a new adventure begins…