Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 8

Do the protective powers of the evil eye charm have an expiration date?

They must. I’ve been wearing the same evil eye bracelet for years and carried on my merry way with no problem, but now I swear I’ve been jinxed. Most people don’t buy into that sort of thing. I don’t blame them. It sounds like something only kids believe in, but when you’ve got luck like mine, you’d be willing to buy into it, too. Anything that might help is worth a try.

I got my first evil eye jewelry from a street vendor not long after recovering from my episode of amnesia. The wrinkled old woman who sold me the ring convinced me of its powers more than the ring itself. Something about her was old-world—a sage glint in her hooded eyes. She looked like she could have wandered off a movie set, perfectly cast as the wizened old hag. It was almost comical, but I was way too scared of her to laugh.

She was convincing, but more than anything, I liked the idea of believing in a protective power. I still do. And since starting to wear the charms, the horrible luck from my past seemed to fade away. I’ve been flying under the radar for years without any major catastrophe. Then, all of a sudden, danger has closed in around me from every direction.

I spent my evening debating whether the masked man or my calculating new neighbor was the worse threat. My stalker is unquestionably dangerous—who knows what he has planned. On the other hand, Isaac has made his plans crystal clear, and they could be equally devastating. Maybe not to my body, but to my heart. Both men have the potential to shatter me.

It’s definitely time to upgrade talismans. Maybe buy some sage and a little holy water.

It wouldn’t hurt.

Good grief. Why me? I might as well be a danger magnet.

In a strange way, Isaac has me the most on edge. The stalker, I get. His plan is to terrorize me, either of his own will or because he was sent to do so. Easy enough. But what is Isaac’s deal? I don’t seem remotely his type. Maybe that’s the thrill—bad boy looking to defile the good girl. Maybe he’s not interested unless there’s a chase.

Maybe he and my stalker have more in common than I realized. They should grab lunch together.

Thoughts like that right there are why you’ll never be normal.

Never was and never will be.

Unfortunately, those abnormalities in me are drawn to Isaac. Something about him calls to me. Something dark and seductive.

I told myself not to give him the time of day after our first encounter. Yet I had to open the door when I saw him through the peephole yesterday morning. I had to know what he would say.

I have a horrible feeling that this incessant curiosity about him will continue to get in the way of logic. Isaac isn’t the sort of man I should be interested in. He’s the epitome of everything I’ve tried to avoid for years—risk and danger and heartbreak.

Surely, I’m not dumb enough to ignore the dangers simply because of a pretty face.

You mean epically gorgeous?

I am so screwed.

One can only hope…

I smack my palm against my forehead like an absolute lunatic. Nothing to see here. Just a touch of crazy having a conversation with herself on her way home from work.

The universe must be enjoying the show because when my hand falls away, my gaze locks on Isaac sitting outside our apartment building entrance staring right at me.

Well played, Universe. Well played.

He’s smoking a cigarette—add that to the list of red flags that have me questioning whether I’m color-blind. I need to nod politely and keep walking. I steel myself to stay strong and chant in my head to keep going.

It’s no use.

His gravitational pull is too intense, slowing each of my steps until I stop beside him.

“Smoking’s a nasty habit.” It’s not at all what I would have said to anyone else. The comment is way too confrontational, but my frustration at his effect on me unleashes a boldness I didn’t know I had.

What’s worse? I like the Amelie he brings out. She’s confident and doesn’t take shit from anyone. She’s the me I’ve been too afraid to be.

Isaac inhales and holds my stare. I raise a challenging eyebrow, daring him to respond. He does, but not in the way I expect. He blows a long stream of smoke past full lips, then extinguishes the butt on the sidewalk beneath his booted foot.

I’m struck with a sense of déjà vu at the similarity to my odd exchange with the watcher at the theater. Before I can examine the thought more closely, Isaac responds in a gravelly, smoke-worn voice that captures my every sense. Rugged and raw, just like him.

“You have an admirer?” His gaze drifts behind me down the sidewalk.

I glance back and immediately hone in on a man in a dark sweatshirt with the hood up leaning against the building next door. He’s not super close—probably fifty feet away. He’s looking away, so even if it wasn’t dark, I still wouldn’t be able to see his face, but I don’t need to. It’s the man from the theater. His clothes are the same, and he’s got the same build. The same casual menace about him.

My blood plummets to my feet so quickly that my head spins.

He followed me home.

Has he done it before? Does he show up at every practice in addition to solo sessions?

Tonight was a regular full-cast rehearsal. I didn’t stay late. Had he been inside while the others were there, or had he waited for me on the street? I never sensed him in the slightest.

That, more than anything, terrifies me.

If The Society wanted to threaten me, they’d make themselves heard. I’d been so confident that was why the man was watching me. Following me. He was sent as a warning. From the minute he stepped out of the shadows, I assumed that was his purpose. But the longer this goes on, the more my thoughts cloud with uncertainty.

I was already unsure why The Society would hound me now when I’ve done nothing wrong. When he showed up in the dressing room, I wondered if he might not have been sent by anyone.

The Society is vile, but at least its intentions have always been clear. If this man is acting on his own, he’s a complete unknown.

The question I first asked him resounds in my head. What do you want from me?

You. Maybe his answer was more literal than I thought.

I turn back to Isaac but have trouble meeting his perceptive stare. “Was that man following me?” I finally ask, trying to sound less rattled than I feel. I know the answer but don’t want to explain to Isaac that I may have a stalker—I just met the guy, after all. And even more importantly, an admission like that would stir up questions I’m not going to answer.

“I’d say so by the way he pulled up short when you stopped.”

I nod. “Probably harmless. The city’s full of weirdos.”

Isaac stares up at me. His assessing eyes feel like they strip me wide open, exposing every last one of my ugly secrets. I have to wrap my arms around my chest to keep from feeling utterly naked. I don’t know how he does it or why, but I’m about to make a hasty retreat inside when he stands and tells me, “Wait here.”

I swivel in place and watch in stunned surprise as he starts walking straight toward my watcher. Lightning fast, he’s suddenly moving at a dead sprint. The man in the hood catches on but not soon enough. He only makes it a few steps before Isaac snags the back of his sweatshirt. I gasp, my hand pressed to my mouth as Isaac clamps his arm around the man’s neck, easily overtaking him.

Isaac’s back is to me, his body between me and the other man, so I can’t fully see what’s happening. The two seem to have words. They stand in place but struggle against one another. I’m sure it’s only a matter of seconds, but it feels like time slows to a crawl. Then, in a burst of movement, Isaac releases the man only to pull back and punch him squarely in the face. The hoodie guy reels backward. I try to see his face, but the two are close to an alley entrance ensconced in shadows. I never get a clear look. And then it’s over as quickly as it began—my stalker fleeing into the night while Isaac strolls casually back to me.

I can hardly believe what I’ve witnessed. I’m still standing with my jaw hinged open when Isaac approaches. He shakes his fist a time or two, then runs the other hand through his hair.

“That should take care of it,” he says as if he’d sprayed for bugs to help with an ant problem rather than chased down and beat up a stalker.

Who is this guy?

Not everyone covered in tattoos is dangerous, but men like Isaac are the reason the stereotype exists. I get the sense he doesn’t suffer from the burden of fear like a normal person. He truly is half wild.

I re-examine him with new eyes, though it’s pointless. I still have no idea what to think about my new neighbor or my growing attraction to him.

“Did you seriously beat up some stranger?”

“You busting my balls for helping you out?”

“What? No. I mean, we don’t even know if he was actually following me.”

“Yeah, which is why he only got a warning,” he says in a chilly tone. “Not a fan of men who prey on women.”

Holy crap, that’s so freaking hot and terrifying at the same time.

“You’re bleeding,” I say dazedly. “If you come to my place, I have bandages.”

He inches closer, a smirk teasing at his lips. “Changed your tune already, have you? That was quick.” If it weren’t for the tiny creases in the corners of his eyes, I might feel the urge to slug him in the stomach.

“To clean up your bodily fluids, not exchange them,” I jab back at him. “Now come on. There’s no telling what kind of germs are getting in that cut as we speak.”

I walk to the glass doors and reach for the handle. His arm snakes around behind me and grabs it before I can. A waft of his spiced scent replaces me through the lingering smoke remnants, and the heady combination leaves me breathless for more.

I don’t know what’s come over me. I’ve always hated smoking, yet it seems to add to his appeal. How is that even possible? What is it about his unapologetic lifestyle that draws me in and makes me forget who I am? It wasn’t ten minutes ago I was contemplating how dangerous he is, and suddenly, I’m asking him up to my place.

He did risk his own safety to protect you.

True. It would be rude of me to ignore such a selfless action.

Some antiseptic and a thank-you is the least you can do.

Am I rationalizing a way to spend more time with him? Probably.

Do I care? Not until the elevator doors close behind us, sealing us inside.