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

What I call protective, some might call possessive. I don’t give a shit how you label it. I will never willingly allow someone else to lay a finger on the people I care about. I own my actions because I know my intent aligns with my values. I’ve never questioned whether those instincts bordered on excessive.

Until now.

When the mere suggestion of Amelie being in a relationship that I know damn well doesn’t exist still manages to spark a jealous rage inside me, I have to question whether I’m losing my goddamn mind. I can see the explosive nature of my emotions toward her. I recognize how they cloud my judgment, but I can’t find a way to rein them in. And the more I’m around her, the worse it gets.

Even a day later, my blood pressure pulses in my ears when I think about the possibility of Amelie with another man. The whole damn situation with her is mind-boggling—that I could lose myself so completely in the need to possess another person. I don’t understand it. I only know that this itch beneath my skin won’t stop until she’s naked beneath me. Maybe then I can finally cleanse her from my system.

In the meantime, my dick refuses to even look at another woman, especially after the way Amelie responded to me. Eyes dilated. Lips parted. Pulse thundering at the base of her neck. Nipples so goddamn hard they were two perfect pebbles straining against the fabric of her shirt.

Her body told me all I needed to know.

The pull I feel toward her isn’t a one-way street. She’s still affected by me, even if she has no idea who I am. She didn’t recognize me, but I hadn’t expected her to. More than that, I’m glad she didn’t. I don’t want her to see the old me in the man I am now because we are nothing alike.

All that matters is that she wanted me. Beneath the layers of societal conditioning and innate caution, her body practically begged for my touch.

Everything about our first interaction went exactly as I’d hoped until I asked whether anyone was waiting for her. In an instant, the delicately woven spell connecting us dissipated like dust in the wind.

What was it about my question that upset her?

I mulled over the possibilities all night and got nowhere. It made me feel helpless, which is not something I’ve experienced since I first moved to Sicily, back when I was at my lowest. Drawing me back to that time period has me feeling like I’m wearing a suit two sizes too small. I want to flex and rip the uncomfortable fabric from my body, only there’s no suit to blame. Therefore, I’m doing the only other thing I can think of to relieve the irritation because I have to do something. I refuse to wallow in helplessness.

I swore to myself that Amelie would grow to accept me exactly as I am, and I am not the kind of man who puts effort into charming a woman. At least, I never used to be, but damn if I’m not about to knock on her door with a steaming cup of Starbucks.

Cazzo.

It doesn’t take her long to answer. She’s tentative when she does, only allowing the door to open enough for her to warily check me out. “Hey, did you need something?”

I extend the cup toward her. “Coffee.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

Her eyes dance from the cup to my face, then back to the cup before she fully opens the door and accepts the offering. She sniffs at the hole in the lid as her brows knit together.

“Is this a caramel macchiato?” she asks with surprise.

“It is.”

“Mmm… my favorite.”

And fuck if I’m not hard again.

“Lucky guess.” My voice has gone ragged with the strain of regaining control of my dick.

Her eyes peer up at me through dark lashes as she takes a sip. And when her eyelids drift shut in satisfaction, I let slip an audible grunt. She’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, and she’s not even trying. Hell, she’s wearing an oversized Led Zeppelin T-shirt and sweatpants so baggy that I have no idea how they’re staying up.

Her eyes pop open as if realizing her effect on me, drawing her attention to the writing on the paper cup. The corners of my lips quirk upward at her huff of amusement.

Never say never.

It’s my response to her insistence that I won’t be joining her at her place.

“Is this a friendly gesture or an attempt to get in my pants?” she asks in a casually curious tone.

“Is there a difference?”

“One is much more self-serving than the other.”

I snag the bottom of her shirt with a crooked finger and draw her closer, then lean in so that my lips are close to her ear. I feel her quick intake of air all the way to the bottom of my balls.

“Judging by the goose bumps dotting your skin, I’m serving more than myself.”

“Maybe you’re just scaring me,” she whispers shakily.

I pull back enough to peer down at her chest. As expected, her nipples are seconds from slicing their way through her shirt. I slowly step backward, my smile positively dripping with masculine satisfaction.

When she follows my gaze and realizes the situation, she gasps and crosses her arms over her chest to hide the evidence of her obvious arousal.

“I’ll see you around,” I promise seductively.

“Not if I see you first,” she pops back at me.

I toss a smirk over my shoulder and fuck if she isn’t fighting back a smile before she slams her door shut. The tension eases from my neck and shoulders as I head back to the elevator. This was definitely the right move. And while I may have brought her coffee, I stayed true to myself. I’m not at risk of being confused for a gentleman anytime soon.

Onto the next matter of business—burying the dead.

“You know I hate hotels.” It’s damn near the first words Tommy’s said since we met up at the storage facility. I’m glad he’s finally spitting it out. I knew something had to be bothering him.

“It’s not forever, Tom.”

“Might as well be until you give me some other timeframe.”

I shoot him a withering look as we approach my unit. “I know you like specifics, but I don’t have any. You’re a smart guy. Trick your brain into believing I told you it’s going to be a month. Even better? Go buy a damn place of your own. You have the money.”

“Why would I do that if I’m not gonna live here?”

“Maybe you keep it and stay there when you visit? No one’s saying you can’t come back.” I pull out my phone and look for the email Noemi sent a couple of years ago telling me the entry code to the storage unit she rented for me.

“I guess that’s true,” he says pensively. “Remind me what we’re doing here.”

I punch in the code on the panel, which releases the bars holding the garage-style door in place. It lifts a few inches on its own. I have to help it the rest of the way, the movement triggering a motion detector light inside the unit.

Tommy and I stare at the fuck-ton of shit piled in a space much larger than I expected it to be.

“Jesus.” My hands rest on my hips in disbelief.

“All this stuff is yours?”

“I guess it is now, but not originally.”

Our childhood home sold while I was away. When Noemi asked what I wanted to keep, I told her to get rid of it all. She refused. Weeks later, I got the email telling me my stuff had been put in storage. I guess she considered “my stuff” to be anything she thought I might want, whether it was mine or other random shit from the house.

I wander inside and take a cursory look at a few of the storage bins. Some things are easy to identify like my old manga collection, a box of Yankees memorabilia, and she’s even got a tub full of my old shoes. When I peek into a tub with Dad’s ancient archery awards, I toss it aside with a sneer. I get why she kept it. I used to love looking at those things in his office when I was a kid, but they mean nothing to me now.

“Hey, this looks like it might be stuff from your desk.” Tommy’s sifting through a small box. “Might be worth going through.” A sly smile tugs at his lips as his hand appears with a set of brass knuckles on it. “I don’t remember you having these when you moved in with us. Holding out on me?”

I huff wryly. “If I’d been the kind of kid who had a set of those, I never would have had to move into your place.” I take the scuffed metal from him and look at it more closely. “It was Umberto’s. My father’s thug sidekick.” When they took me into the fold, I used to think of us as a team. Turned out they were a team; I was just a tool.

Tommy rubs his palm along the side of his jaw. “Makes me think of those Russians—you remember that?”

I grin. “Of course, I do. Best joyride I ever took.” How was I supposed to know the yellow Lamborghini belonged to the head of the Russian mob?

“Those assholes nearly broke my jaw.” He’s staring off as if remembering that day. We were shipped off to Sicily not long after. Pure mischief sparks in Tommy’s eyes. “The ride was pretty incredible, though.”

“So worth it.”

We both chuckle at the memory, which is only possible because his brother Renzo sorted the matter for us. If it weren’t for him, the Russians probably would have tossed us into the river. In pieces.

I take off the brass and toss it into the bin.

“Whatever happened to him? He go down when Conner shot your father?” Tommy motions to all that’s left of Umberto. I’m sure he was told the basics of what went down with my father, but he and I never talked about it. I never talked about any of it with anyone.

“Yeah. I killed him.” I stare at my cousin as I say the words devoid of emotion.

Tommy stares at me, then gives a single nod of approval. “We done here?”

“Yeah. This is garbage. As far as I’m concerned, it can all burn.”

“Kind of harsh,” he mutters. “What’d those manga comics ever do to you?”

And just like that, the mounting tension melts away. Tommy has his quirks, but he can also be fucking hilarious. No one jokes with a straight face the way Tommy can.

“You want ’em? Take ’em,” I tease.

“What I want is to be out of that damn hotel.”

“Jesus, again with the hotel,” I groan as I lead us out of the storage unit.

“Wouldn’t be an issue if you weren’t chasing a piece of ass all over the city.”

I freeze and cut him with a menacing glare. “I know sometimes you misread things, so I’ll give you this freebie. Call her a piece of ass again, and I’ll dig out those brass knuckles to finish what the Russians started.”

Tommy stiffens. He gets agitated with himself when he missteps. “Understood.” He’s come a long way both in understanding himself and others, but it still frustrates him when he fails to read cues properly.

I nod, then pull down the metal door. “Think you can take care of this shit for me?”

“I’ll sort something out.”

“Good. Let’s get outta here. We need to find an apartment for you.”

“About fucking time.”