Page 49 of Vicious Behaviors

Shame and guilt suffocate me as I look at Annamaria and see nothing but love in her eyes. She might not be afraid of me, but sometimes… I even scare myself.

I hate this. I hate that the people I love most still have to worry if I’ll lose control. That I can snap like this without meaning to.

“And don’t worry. I won’t tell Stella about us seeing Izzie today either. I can keep a secret, Mar. Promise.”

“Thank you,” I retort, suddenly feeling drained and exhausted.

I’m not ready for anyone to know about Izzie being a Fed. Not yet. Not until I figure out exactly what she has on my family. What she has on me.

If she’s a real threat to my family, then I’ll deal with her the only way the monster inside me knows how. But I need to be sure.

If you’d rather we be enemies, that could be fun too.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe having her as an enemy doesn’t have to be such a burden. This game she’s insisting on playing—the looks, the jabs, the cat-and-mouse chase—perhaps I can make it fun for me too. Make it work for me. Just long enough to learn what I need to.

And then?

Then I’ll make her disappear. Izzie Graham will be no more.

Just a name engraved on a tombstone.

Chapter 11

Isobel

“A complaint?” I repeat as the word curdles on my tongue. “On me? You got a complaint about me? Who?”

Carmine shifts uncomfortably in his chair, unable to meet my eyes.

This man was once one of the most feared underbosses the Outfit had ever seen, and yet, under my scrutinizing gaze, he cowers, wishing he could be anywhere else than have to deal with me and my anger. Funny how a disgruntled woman can rattle a guy who’s stared down guns and blood feuds without flinching.

“Does it matter?” he asks, pretending to be busy with paperwork and dodging my question.

“Yes, Carmine, it does,” I rebuke, slamming my palms flat on his desk to grab his attention. Once he has no excuse but to look me in the eye, I continue with my rant. “How would you feel if someone made a complaint against you and your work? You’d want names too.”

In fact, during Carmine’s heyday, he would have likely put two bullets in the back of the head of anyone who dared to tarnish his reputation.

My gaze never leaves his, but when he still gives me nothing, I continue badgering him, unwilling to let the matter go.

“How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even know who I’m defending myself against?” I ask, but as soon as the words spill through my lips, it hits me.

There’s only one person in this entire gym who has a problem with me. One person who would love nothing more than to stir the pot until either Carmine fired me, or I quit on my own accord. His grandson—Marcello.

I stand upright and cross my arms over my chest while leveling Carmine with a hard stare.

“Okay. Don’t tell me. But at least give me the courtesy of explaining what they’re complaining about.”

Carmine winces like he’d rather have a vasectomy than talk about Marcello’s grievances with me.

“It’s… about how you present yourself,” he mutters ambiguously.

“Could you be any vaguer, Carmine? Just give it to me straight. Just tell me what their problem is. What did I do that was so wrong that they thought a formal complaint was the only way to solve the issue?”

He cracks his neck from left to right, still looking uncomfortable with this whole topic.

The hell did Marcello say to this man?

“Ma… I mean… the disgruntled party implied that your attire… well… he said that he feels…”