Page 10 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

Hmm. The gym doesn’t open until nine on Sundays. It’s been like that since forever. My grandfather goes to early Mass, then comes here to open, only to return later in the evening to close up shop. And that’s because Sundays are sacred to us. No business. No work. Family only.

Knowing it can’t be my grandfather up there, I step inside, my movements quiet and careful.

After climbing the stairs to the main level, I realize the only light in the building is coming from his office.

I head toward it, my footsteps silent against the gym floor, and spot a familiar ponytail bobbing in and out of view through the slats of the office window.

Fuck.

Izzie Graham.

My grandfather’s new hire.

I clocked her the second she walked into the gym a week ago. Not because she was loud because she’s not. And not because she took Rico down in the ring with expert ease in under a few minutes, either.

No. It was the way she moved that caught my attention. She looked like someone trying to blend in but still sizing up her surroundings to figure out the best way. The way her shoulders squared like a cop, eyes scanning a little too much, a little too fast, put me on edge.

And those eyes… damn.

Big and honey-brown. Absolutely breathtaking if you weren’t able to read the intent behind them. Always curious. Inspective. Like they are searching for something. Or someone.

I’m not sure how she convinced my grandfather to hire her, but I’m pretty sure we’ll both live to regret it.

She doesn’t belong here. Not only because many of my father’s men come here to train, making a normal walk amongst them risky at best, but also because I’m not entirely sure if that isn’t her objective all along.

There’s just something about her that I can’t quite pinpoint. She seems too polished, as if she ironed herself into imperfection just to look the part. But it’s too clean, too sharp, too… practiced.

Everything about Izzie Graham screams manipulation. The glimmer in her eyes, those soft, cupid-bow lips, and that subtle little pause she makes whenever her gaze meets mine, as if she weren’t expecting me to be watching her. But I always watch.

Even though we haven’t been officially introduced or exchanged a word since she joined the ranks, it feels like a string is pulling us together. It’s as if we can’t help but sense each other’s presence in the room, regardless of whether we acknowledge one another.

My distrust of her is what pulls me to her. Why I’ve piqued her interest is anyone’s guess. On more than a few occasions, I’ve let myself get close enough to her to overhear her conversations with the other gym members. Her story is always the same, and like her, beautifully practiced.

She says she just moved back to Chicago after a few years deployed overseas and is excited to start a new chapter in her life.

And when one of the most confident guys here asked her out, she swiftly shot him down, giving him the excuse that there’s no time for a social life between university classes and work.

Her voice is always a sweet melody while her words are smooth and to the point.

But there’s something else behind them. As if she were balancing between a lie and the hope of no one noticing it.

I didn’t buy it then, and I don’t buy it now.

Whenever I hear Izzie talk to someone, I’m filing her away.

She’s not here for cardio or boxing gloves.

She’s here for something else. What that is, I haven’t quite figured out.

Yet, there’s a pull. Something magnetic about her I can’t quite shake.

Maybe it’s the way she defiantly looks back at me.

Perhaps it’s how her light brown hair falls over her bare shoulder, as if she didn’t mean to be that distracting.

Maybe it’s just the way she carries herself, like someone who’s used to being in control but doesn’t realize she just stepped into a world where control is out of her grasp.

I’m not supposed to find her intriguing, but I do. And that’s a problem. Because I don’t trust her. And now, seeing her all alone in my grandfather’s office at this early hour, that distrust feels more justified than ever.

I lean against the doorframe with arms crossed over my chest, watching her rifling through drawers like she owns the place.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, alerting her to my presence.

Izzie freezes for a second, then glances up at me, looking completely unbothered by being caught in the act.

“Neither should you,” she replies unamused, returning to her search. “The gym’s closed. Come back at nine.”

“It’s open for me,” I rebuke, uncaring if my tone comes off intimidating.

“Whatever you say,” she mutters, too distracted in her task to give me the time of day. When she finds a manila folder in one of the drawers, she smiles with clear relief. “There you are.”

“And exactly what is it that you have in your hands?” I ask in a low tone.

“It’s the list of people who signed up for free training sessions with me this month,” she says, flipping through the pages.

“I had given it to Carmine so he could see for himself that the new social media pages and ads were working, but I forgot to make a copy for myself so I can confirm all the bookings.”

Carmine? Ads? Bookings? What the fuck is she talking about?

Instead of asking her, I take two strides in her direction and snatch the folder from her hands.

“Hey! Just who do you think you are?” she exclaims, pissed.

I ignore her, scanning the long list of potential new members—most of them women.

“Is this a joke?” I grunt, stepping in close enough to back her ass into the edge of the desk.

“I have no idea what your problem is, but no. This is not a joke. I worked damn hard this week to bring in fresh blood,” she fires back, a scowl tugging at her pretty pink lips.

“Besides, I don’t report to you. Carmine signs my checks, and he’s the one who gave me the green light to build the gym’s online presence and get new people through the door.

If you have a problem with that, talk to him. ”

Well, at least that explains why I caught her casually filming the gym and zeroing in on a few of the less-threatening guys last week. I was sure she was going to use the footage for more nefarious reasons. Not fucking TikTok and Insta reels.

I reread the names, my jaw tightening with each one I sound out in my head.

This is a bad idea. What the hell is my grandfather thinking?

“Take the ads down,” I say flatly. “Take everything down.”

“No.” She crosses her arms, putting a wall between us.

“I said take it all down. Now.”

“And I said no,” she repeats, just as firm.

“I’m not fucking around,” I seethe, my voice cracking loudly through the room.

She smiles sweetly at me, all venom behind her eyes. “Does it look like I care? I’m not sure what kind of power trip you’re on, but like I said, I don’t answer to you. I answer to Carmine.”

“Stop calling him that. He’s Mr. DeLuca to you,” I snarl.

Up close, her eyes look like melted caramel, but the fury behind them is anything but warm.

“I think it’s time you left, Mr. Romano,” she says. “Like I told you before, the gym isn’t open yet, and I have a job to do.”

“So you do know who I am,” I state evenly, ignoring the fact that she’s basically kicking me out of my own grandfather’s gym.

“Oh, I know exactly who you are. And so far, I’m not impressed.

Surprising, really, considering I’ve spent enough time with Carmine to expect that the man he treats like a grandson would have similar manners.

Apparently, I was wrong. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to work,” she says as we continue to be locked in a stare of wills.

I have no intention of leaving, but unfortunately, what I want means jack shit when he suddenly decides to come to the surface.

‘She’s trouble,’ the voice hisses in my ear. ‘ End her now, before whatever she’s really up to bites us in the ass.’ I shake my head, trying to push him back. ‘End her. Or I will.’

“No,” I grunt, Izzie misinterpreting it as if I were speaking to her.

“No?” she echoes, lifting a brow.

‘There’s no one here,’ the voice goads. ‘No one to stop us. Just pick up that letter opener on the desk and shove it into her heart, and it’s done. Do it.’

“I said no,” I growl, stepping away from her.

Izzie looks confused, thrown off by my sudden shift in demeanor.

“Are you… alright?” I think I hear her ask, but her voice is fading behind the beast roaring in my head.

‘Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.’

His bloodlust is so deafening that I feel like my ears are bleeding. I stumble back with each kill order. Then again. And before I know it, I’m out of the office, leaving a stunned Izzie behind.

‘Weak. You’re weak,’ the devil sneers. ‘You know she’s hiding something. You feel it in your bones. And you just left her. You’re useless. You’re nothing without me.’

“Fuck you,” I spit back, storming over to a punching bag and slamming my fists repeatedly into it, using pain to drown the devil out.

I don’t stop even when the skin on my knuckles breaks open.

Not even when the sweat pouring down my brow begins to blind me.

Not when every joint screams. Not when the muscles in my arms beg for mercy.

I don’t stop until he’s completely and silently content, now that I’ve given him my sweat, blood, and tears.

Only when the voice goes silent do I stop.

Only when he’s gone do I collapse into the bag, clutching it to steady my breathing.

It’s only then I remember I’m not alone.

I lift my heavy head and realize that Izzie has been standing in the office doorway, watching me as if trying to solve a puzzle she never asked to put together.

And just like that, I know I can’t stay here.

Not with her. Not when her very presence calls out the monster in me.

I can tell she wants me to offer some sort of explanation in regard to what she just witnessed, but I don’t give her any. Instead, I say nothing. No explanations. No apologies. I just grab my gym bag and head for the door, knowing full well that my hellish day is only just beginning.