Page 16 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

I don’t reply but offer a non-committal smile nonetheless.

However, like Theresa, my gaze drifts to the man in question, too distracted by his foot play and stamina.

Five minutes in, Marcello looks like he could go another ten rounds without blinking.

His opponent is already drenched and wheezing.

Every move exact, every punch is another study in control.

Unlike everyone else here, Marcello doesn’t fight for sport.

More like he’s fighting an inner battle with himself.

His opponent is just filling that space. Giving him something to hit. A target.

Okay… Theresa is not wrong. Watching Marcello own the ring like this could make any red-blooded woman’s knees go a little soft.

Though it’s been a while since I’ve been on an actual date, I more than remember how lackluster they were.

Some of the guys I went out with wouldn’t know an alpha male if one punched them in the face.

They’re more obsessed with their morning skincare routines than making a woman happy. And when I say happy, I mean come.

From the force of his punches to the strength in his legs, those broad shoulders, and those glacial eyes, Marcello looks like a man who could ruin a woman in the best way possible.

However, I believe in never judging a book by its cover. Just because the outside wrapping is mouthwatering doesn’t mean the inside isn’t ugly and damaged. I mean, the man made a priest disappear from the face of the earth. A fucking priest.

What kind of monster does that? Apparently a hot-as-hell one.

God, I hate how good-looking he is. Even while he’s baiting that poor idiot with a single goading look, Marcello is undeniably sexy.

He stands like trouble sculpted in marble, with a sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and a mouth that embodies sin.

His eyes are icy, piercing, and almost too blue to be real, holding a calculated stillness as if he’s always listening for something the rest of us can’t hear.

His hair is tousled from the fight, with sun-kissed strands falling carelessly into place.

Everything about him is captivating, as though he doesn’t have to try to own the room.

He simply exists, while everyone else adapts.

I remind myself that this man is a criminal. A person of interest in a case that I’m building. But even knowing that, my gaze lingers longer than it should. The way his shirt clings to his frame, or the tension in his jaw when his opponent is seconds away from giving up.

There’s something about him that makes my pulse race and that’s not a good thing. I don’t trust him. I don’t even like him. But God help me, I can’t stop watching him.

“I guess I’m not the only one who enjoys the show.” Theresa giggles, and it’s enough to snap me out of my haze. “You’re drooling, Izzie.”

Am I? No. No way.

“I think we’re done for today,” I say, a little too fast.

“I’ll say,” she retorts, fanning herself as Marcello finishes off his opponent and, without missing a beat, calls the next one into the ring.

“See me tomorrow and we’ll go over your meal prep for next week.”

“Sounds good,” she breathes out, still ogling Marcello.

I wave Theresa off—not that she sees me do it—and head toward the reception counter, where Rico is currently greeting some new members.

After our little boxing match when we first met, I half-expected him to give me the cold shoulder after I beat him down, maybe sulk over being bested by a woman. But to my surprise, the big ogre greeted me with a wide smile on my very first day.

My ego would love to believe I earned his respect in the ring, but I know better. The real reason I’ve become one of his favorite people is that I brought something to the gym that Rico values even more—access to all the single women who actually give guys like him the time of day.

“Who do you have for me next, Rico?” I ask, grabbing the clipboard behind the counter with the list of women booked for training sessions.

As I scan the list, my pulse skips when I spot a certain name—Stella Romano.

“Is this for real?” I ask, pointing to it.

“It sure is,” he grins. “Boss has been over the moon all day since he saw it.”

I can’t believe it. I was almost losing hope that Stella would ever set foot in this gym, even after Carmine told her of the new changes he’s making to it. But as I glance around the gym, disappointment flickers in my chest when I don’t see her.

“Is she late?”

“Nope. She’s waiting in the office.”

“Of course she is,” I murmur, smiling.

Finally! Some quality face time with at least one Romano. Suck it, Haynes!

I quickly head toward Carmine’s office, but immediately feel glacial blue eyes tracking me the entire way there.

I don’t need to look to know who’s glaring at me.

I know the heat of Marcello’s death stare by heart.

I do my utmost best to shake the sensation away and plant my warmest smile before knocking on the doorframe, letting Carmine and his guest know I’ve arrived.

“Speak of the devil,” Carmine sings. “Here she is now. We were just talking about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” I reply politely, sizing up the woman in front of me.

The first thing that pops to mind is that Stella Romano is her mother’s spitting image.

Flowing red hair, sparkling emerald eyes, and a bone structure that could ruin a cover model’s day.

However, her smile isn’t as gentle as her mother’s.

Stella’s grin is sharper and far more mischievous.

At first glance, she might pass for just another pretty face, but upon closer inspection, you’ll see there’s far more to her behind those radiant eyes.

“So you’re the infamous Isobel,” she says, extending her hand. “DeLuca can’t stop raving about you. I got curious and had to see for myself what kind of trainer you are.”

“Please, call me Izzie.” I shake her hand in greeting. But as I do it, I can’t help noticing the trace of sadness in Carmine’s eyes after Stella referred to him as DeLuca instead of grandfather.

A strange reaction to have, considering he’s not really her biological grandfather and just a more of a grandfather figure in her life.

Especially since it’s common knowledge that all of her grandparents, both on her mother’s and father’s sides, have long since passed away.

Not exactly worth his feelings getting hurt in my view.

“Well then, since you’re already dressed for a session, how about we go and warm up, and you can see for yourself.”

“I like the sound of that.”

I turn to lead her out of the office, expecting her to follow, but instead she lingers back, whispering something into Carmine’s ear before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. Carmine lights up like a Christmas tree, hurt feelings long forgotten.

Odd. So she does care about him, even if she tried to pretend not to. Why all the pretense?

I don’t have time to wonder for long, because before I know it, Stella breezes past me and heads straight to the heart of the gym—the boxing ring.

She takes two fingers to her lips and lets out a whistle that slices through the gym, silencing everyone in it.

“You about done, Mar? I need the ring.”

Marcello’s gaze bounces off from his sister to me, a sly smile curling to his lips. Something about it makes my insides quiver, though I blame my last client for filling my head with… unprofessional thoughts.

For putting filthy images in my head.

“Sorry about this,” Marcello says to his opponent, and without warning, lands a jab that knocks the guy out cold on the mat. “It’s all yours,” he adds, still smiling as he lifts the ropes for Stella to climb in.

“Thank you.” She winks at him, then turns to the small crowd now gathering. “You. You. And you.” She points to three random guys, then nods toward the unconscious man still on the mat. “Clean this up, please.”

They scramble without question, dragging their friend out and mopping up the pool of sweat he made.

“You don’t mess around, do you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’ in the end.

I laugh and climb into the ring, only for my heart to stutter when Marcello lifts the ropes for me too. Tongue-tied at the unexpected gesture, I make the fatal mistake of glancing up and looking deep into his eyes. Today they are a clear, warm blue, like a summer sky after a storm.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, but Marcello doesn’t reply. Instead, he darts a glance over at his sister, a silent exchange that only they are privy to.

“Well, this should be fun,” Stella grins, ear to ear.

“How so?” I ask, watching Marcello slip out of the ring with catlike grace.

“My brother doesn’t like you much.”

“Yes, he’s made that quite clear,” I mutter, unable to stop tracking his every move, hating how close he chose to stand and watch us train.

“You don’t seem to mind, though.”

“Why would I?” I turn to her fully. “I’ve met my fair share of men who don’t like strong women. He’s not the first. Nor will he be the last, unfortunately.”

“I hear that,” she says, and for a second, there’s a camaraderie of understanding between us. A shared ground we both have experienced. But then she continues, her tone lighter. “But you’re wrong. That’s not why he doesn’t like you.”

“Oh?” I grab my gauze from the corner, matching her movements as we begin wrapping our fists.

“He doesn’t trust you.”

I laugh softly. “Is that all? Something tells me your brother doesn’t trust anyone easily.”

“True,” she admits. “But here’s the thing you should know. My brother’s instincts are rarely wrong.”

I finish wrapping and look her square in the eye.

“Your brother doesn’t know me well enough not to trust me. Now, do you need to warm up or not? All this talk about your brother is starting to bore me.”

“Not.” She grins. “And I agree. Talking is overrated. Why talk when you can learn so much more about a person inside a ring?”

“Any rules before we start?”