Page 34 of Vicious Behaviors

“I did, didn’t I?” She continues to smile, but this one is more earnest than her previous taunting one. Sweet even. It’s a bit disarming. However, something must grab her attention,because she diverts her gaze from me and into the audience currently singing her praises. “Huh? Well, look at that. I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” I ask, holding out my hands for her to pull me up.

She helps me back to my feet, her mischievous grin back in place.

“Maybe my mercurial brother doesn’t hate you half as much as he led me to believe. I think he might even have a little crush.”

I think that she may have pulled me up too fast because suddenly my head is spinning.

Did she just say… crush?

Marcello has a crush… on me?

I must have hit her on the head too hard, because she’s not making any sense.

Unfortunately, I don’t have time to assess any brain damage that I might have caused, because Stella skips out of the ring, no longer interested in being here.

I’m a little roughed up, but nothing that some ice, Advil, and a good night’s sleep won’t fix. I’m about to slide out of the ring when two strong hands help me down by my waist. I swallow dryly when Marcello places an icepack into my hand and gently guides it to my lip. All of this would be sweet of him to do if he didn’t look like a man possessed.

The light summer sky that once adorned his eyes has morphed into an almost pitch-black blue. He’s angry. I mean, like really fucking angry. What does he have to be pissed about? His sister didn’t kickhisass. She obliterated mine. I thought he’d be pleased she got to me. I mean, wasn’t that the whole point of her visit? Weren’t those secret exchanges and sly smiles all about putting me in my place?

“Go home. You’re done for the night.”

I open my mouth to tell him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, but get momentarily distracted when his eyes drop to my mouth. Not just my mouth. My split-open bottom lip. He winces, squeezes his eyes shut, and mutters something in Italian under his breath.

“Marcello… what—”

“Just go fucking home, Izzie. You’ve done enough damage for one night.”

And with that, he turns his back on me and swings his fist into the nearest punching bag so hard that it bursts wide open, sand and foam dripping all over the floor.

Okay. Home it is then.

Chapter 8

Marcello

I try not to squirm in place when my father lifts my chin to inspect the new cuts and bruises on my face.

“What were you thinking, Marcello?” my mother asks, her voice tight with worry as she takes in the dark contusions blooming across my cheek and jaw.

I don’t say anything. I just stare into my father’s cold hazel eyes.

“Boys fight, Tesoro. That’s what they do,” he says, but there’s a quiet tension in his tone, as if he’s saying it for her sake, not because he believes the lazy excuse.

“I know boys fight,” my mother replies, her voice starting to rise, “but I’d expect this kind of behavior from the twins. Even Stella. But not you, Marcello.” Her voice cracks in the end. “You’ve never gotten into fights before.”

“That was before,” my father says quietly.

His eyes bore into mine so intensely that I have to look away. He releases my chin and takes a step back, while my mother uses this opportunity to wrap me tightly in her arms.

“What’s wrong, Marcello? Tell me. Did those boys say something that hurt you? Were they bullying you?” she asks, brushing my hair back to get a better look at my face.

There’s fear in her voice. The kind only a mother can feel—deep, unwavering, protective. But I can’t give her an answer. I can’t ease the panic that’s tightening her arms around me.

She won’t understand. She can’t understand.

“Marcello, please talk to me,” she begs, her voice trembling.