Page 43 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

Marcello

I’m not me, and you’re not you.

That’s been my mantra ever since I broke into her house last Friday and slipped into her bed. It’s the only phrase that makes sense for both of us. The only words that grant us permission to act on our impulses without worrying about the fallout.

I’ve never been an impulsive person. I’ve always tried to maintain control, especially since the moment he came into my life.

However, he’s been silent this past weekend.

Silent but not dead. No. His silence was more than deafening at times.

I felt his anger every time Izzie looked at me with tenderness in her eyes.

I felt his wrath clawing under my skin every time she panted out my name in ecstasy.

I felt his depraved hunger whenever I drove myself deeper inside her.

While I wanted to own her body, he wanted to ruin it.

While I wanted to reach the edges of her heart, he wanted to consume it.

And while a part of me unwillingly let her carve her name into my soul this weekend, he thought of only corrupting and devouring hers.

The monster inside me is livid that I’ve found a moment’s peace without him.

I don’t harbor any illusions that this fragile peace that I have enjoyed is only because he allowed it.

In my impulse to have her, he took the reins from my grip, holding it like a leash around my neck, threatening to pull back when he’s had enough of me being happy.

Fuck, for a moment there, I really was happy.

So fucking happy I thought I’d suffocate in its glory.

Is this how everyone feels every day? Walking around like your heart may burst? Like you could die that very minute and not care? As long as she batted her lashes at me, stared at me with longing in her golden-brown eyes, it was all worth it.

I’m not me, and you’re not you.

Every time I repeated this mantra to Izzie, what I really meant was that I wouldn’t seek her destruction for as long as the devil lay dormant within me.

That I would worship at her altar for as long as it let me.

Still, I doubt Izzie understood the true meaning of my words.

They could only make sense to her in a parallel universe where I wasn’t the heir to the most notorious crime syndicate on the East Coast, and she wasn’t the federal agent sent to take me down.

This could be a trap of her making. She could have fucked me as a means to later destroy me.

But that’s not what it feels like when she touches me.

That’s not what I hear when she moans my name and begs for more.

This—whatever this is—feels real, even if we both know it can’t survive beyond the four walls of her apartment.

But for now, it’s enough. It’s more than I deserve.

I run my fingers through her hair as she sleeps beside me, her head lying on my chest. I’ve studied her closely this past month to know all her tells and practiced mannerisms. I’ve studied her so well that there is no doubt in my mind, she’s just as surprised as I am that we’ve found ourselves here.

This was never part of her plan. None of what we shared was an act.

Yet, she didn’t hesitate to follow my lead, grateful for the truce I offered.

She gladly accepted that, in this moment, she wasn’t Isobel, and I wasn’t a Romano.

She was simply herself, and I was just what remained of me… what was left of me.

I keep staring at the woman who has tilted my world on its axis, breathing her in while lightly running my fingers up and down her spine.

Just touching her skin feels like I’m stepping onto the edge of a precipice.

The strangest part of all this is… I almost believe that if I jumped, I’d grow wings and fly.

All because of the last two majestic days she gave me.

After we broke her bed sometime last night, we dragged the mattress into her living room and camped out. We ate, made love, laughed, made love again, told childhood stories, and made love more times than I can count.

It’s the closest I’ve ever come to feeling whole.

But as dawn fast approaches, I glance at my phone and verify it’s nearly five, the tension crawling back into my chest. This small taste of happiness has come to its inevitable end.

Though it pains me, I need to leave and deal with the repercussions of my actions.

My parents will be the first to wonder where I’ve been. Why I missed Sunday lunch. While I can come up with a dozen excuses for that, missing Monday’s workload would be harder to explain.

I shift beneath Izzie, trying not to wake her as I slide out from under her naked body, but she stirs and burrows her head deeper into my chest.

“Don’t go,” she whispers.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” I say, brushing my fingers through her hair again.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she lifts her head and looks at me, those honey-brown eyes swimming with sadness. “If you go… you won’t come back, will you?”

“No… I won’t.” I frown.

“That’s what I thought.” She tries to smile, but it never reaches her eyes.

She doesn’t ask why I can’t come back. And maybe that’s because she already knows. Lord knows she has her own reasons to stay away from me, too. I doubt the Bureau encourages agents to sleep with the enemy.

“Just stay,” she murmurs. “Five more minutes. Just until I fall asleep again.”

My heart splinters at the soft-spoken request. I press a kiss to the top of her head and wrap my arms around her.

She hugs me just as fiercely, slowly closing her eyes afterward. I lay there longer than she requested, hating the fact that our time together is good and over.

Izzie pretends to sleep as I slowly shift out of her bed and start getting dressed. When I finish, I glance back and frown. Somewhere between putting on my pants and shoes, she turned her back to me, unable, or unwilling, to watch me leave.

Every fiber in me wants to go to her, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her until she forgets her own name. Still, I can’t do that. We gave ourselves this weekend. Pretended we weren’t natural enemies.

However, all good things come to an end. And the sooner I pull the plug on this madness, the better. It’s a kindness, even if she doesn’t see it that way yet.

I rush out the door before weakness catches up with me and head across the street to my apartment. I grab my gym bag and act like it’s just another run-of-the-mill Monday morning. Nothing’s changed.

When I get to the gym, of course, my workout gets tougher.

My punches land harder, and the weights feel heavier.

On the treadmill, I push myself faster than ever before.

Anything to avoid the image of Izzie’s bare back turned to me.

I have kissed every inch of her skin and traced that very same slope with my fingertips, mapping her body into my memory.

As I try to push every recollection of this weekend out of my head, I realize something else. The demon inside me hasn’t surfaced yet. He’s still quiet. Too quiet. He hasn’t stirred all morning, and that silence unnerves me more than his voice ever did.

After my session, I take a quick shower and get dressed to meet Giovanni at the club. But when I arrive, it’s not Gio waiting for me inside—it’s my father, Vincent, along with Dominic.

Vincent rarely visits the club. Not during business hours and definitely not when it’s closed.

He prefers to remain in his skyscraper, or as Gio once jokingly referred to it as his high tower, from which he can look down on us mere mortals.

There, Vincent handles the Outfit’s legitimate businesses, while Gio and I take to the streets, handling the deals that can’t be done in the light.

“Good morning, Father,” I greet, since no one is in a hurry to say a word.

“Is it?” Vincent replies, arching a brow. “You didn’t come home yesterday.”

Great. He’s pissed that I missed Sunday lunch.

“It couldn’t be avoided,” I reply simply.

Vincent nods, accepting my answer. He probably assumes it was one of those days when the voice takes up too much space in my head, and I need to distance myself from everyone I care about.

He’s always understood my reasons and has never judged me for it.

However, I know spending quality time with family is his top priority.

I should feel guilty for letting him believe that lie. Still, it’s better than the alternative of me telling him I spent the weekend in bed with the FBI agent sent to put me away.

“Why are you here, boss?” I ask, needing him to shift into Capo dei Capi mode.

It’s easier to deal with him that way. The father in him probes. The boss only wants results.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says, vague as ever.

He walks behind the bar, opens the trapdoor on the floor that leads to the basement, and begins to descend the steps.

“Come on, kid. Can’t keep your dad waiting,” Dom says, slapping my shoulder and urging me forward. The second our feet touch the ground, we find Vincent leaning against the wall beside a locked door.

“Dom,” he instructs with a nod.

Ever the loyal and obedient general, Dom pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the door. I step through first, followed by Dom, who leaves Vincent to enter last, to make his deliberate entrance.

Inside, I spot a familiar face. “Aldo?” I say, the name slipping out as his bruised face triggers my memory of our only encounter.

The last time I saw him, he ended up without his front teeth after saying the wrong thing just to get me in the ring. Seeing him gagged and bound to a chair wasn’t exactly how I thought I’d see him again, though it doesn’t surprise me either.

“You know this piece of shit?” Dom asks, nudging Aldo awake with a hard kick.

“Yeah. He works out at Nonno’s . Even sparred with him once. He’s Elio Zappa’s man.”

“ Used to be Elio’s,” Vincent corrects with a cold voice. “Now he’s just garbage.”