Page 46 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

Isobel

Some truths are easier to tell when they’re wrapped in lies. Or at least that’s what I tell myself the next time I report to Haynes.

“You didn’t go to work this weekend. Why?” Haynes asks before I’ve even shut his car door behind me. “Were you ill?”

“Yes,” I say, lying through my teeth. “In fact, I didn’t leave my bed all weekend because of it.”

“And you couldn’t be bothered to pick up your phone to warn me?” he huffs out, clearly pissed. “Because of you, we lost track of Romano for over forty-eight hours. It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Lost track?” I echo, not entirely understanding what he means by that. And then an ill-gotten realization hits me. “How did you know I wasn’t at work this weekend? Are you… following Marcello or me?”

Haynes barks out an arctic laugh. “Did you honestly believe the FBI would build a task force to take down the largest crime family in Chicago with just two people? I’ve got eyes and ears all over this city. Nothing gets past me.”

I don’t let my face show what that revelation does to me.

Not only is this bastard always keeping things from me, but I should have realized before how he’s always three steps ahead of the game, even when it’s one I didn’t agree to participate in.

This is unlike any task force I’ve ever worked for.

Information should flow fluidly between all its members, and yet Haynes has decided the only person who should be in the know is him.

“How unfortunate then,” I say coolly, “that your expert team lost all traces of Marcello. If you’d waited for my report, I could’ve told you where he was last weekend.”

“Oh?” Haynes perks up, eyes sharpening. “And where was he?”

“At his family home,” I answer smoothly. “It seems the Capo dei Capi is rounding up the ranks after discovering that one of his men was beating his wife. Badly enough that he eventually killed her. Right in front of their daughters, no less.”

“And where is this soldier now?”

“Gone. Left town before the Outfit could exact their wrath.”

Technically, it’s not a complete lie. Sure, Marcello spent the weekend in my bed and not at home with his father and the other Outfit capos, like I’m implying. But the meeting did happen. I’m sure of it. Vincent Romano wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m just tweaking the timeline a bit.

After the few details Marcello confessed to, it didn’t take me long to cross-reference the brutal domestic violence case with local hospital records.

That’s when I discovered the woman who lost her life and left two small children behind had been married to none other than Elio Zappa’s muscle, Aldo.

The same Aldo who once baited Marcello into a fight and got his teeth punched out for it.

What surprised me most wasn’t the brutality of it, but how fast Vincent Romano stepped in to avenge the poor woman’s death.

Not only that, but he made sure to protect her young girls.

He made arrangements with family he could trust, not allowing social services to fuck their process up, ensuring they wouldn’t fall through the cracks due to bureaucracy or apathetic and overworked social workers.

Since Vincent couldn’t save their mother from the hardship she endured, he felt it was his duty to protect her daughters anyway he could.

There’s honor in the way he handled the situation. And a part of me believes that there is honor in the way Marcello dealt with Aldo, too.

When I started this case, this type of information would be enough for us to get a warrant not only on Marcello, but on the boss of the Outfit himself. It’s just the smoking gun Haynes has been dying to get his hands on.

I could tell Haynes everything right now and implicate Marcello in Aldo’s murder. That he had all but confessed to killing him. That the blood on his hands isn’t a thrown-away metaphor. It’s a fact.

However, I don’t say a word. Not because I condone murder, but because sometimes true justice comes too late, if at all. And when that happens, the world needs protectors who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty to ensure that those most vulnerable are always kept safe.

Marcello Romano isn’t the cold-blooded killer that I initially believed him to be.

He’s a protector.

So, if I can protect him now, against the likes of Haynes, I will.

Now and for as long as I can.

When I get home, I’m not surprised to find Marcello waiting for me. Nor am I surprised he doesn’t ask me where I’ve been at this late hour. Our relationship has been based on half-truths and omissions so far. And it’s working for us.

“Come here,” he orders from the couch, his light blue eyes all the confirmation I need to know it’s him making the demand and not his alter.

I drop my bag on the floor and walk toward him with a smile on my lips. A little yelp leaves me when Marcello grabs my waist and pulls me onto his lap the second I’m within reach.

“Hi,” he greets, staring deep into my eyes, the tension from meeting Haynes fading away instantly.

“Hi yourself,” I laugh, cradling my arms around his neck.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, his gaze lingering on my face as my fingers play with the ends of his hair.

“I grabbed a protein bar at the gym.” His frown is immediate.

“That’s not food, bella, ” he mutters, displeased.

“I disagree. If I can find it in a grocery shop, then it’s food.”

“You can also find Drano there, but I wouldn’t recommend drinking it.”

I laugh out loud because I know he’s being dead serious. Marcello doesn’t do sarcasm.

“Tell you what? I’ll avoid the cleaning supply aisle from now on, okay?” I retort, pressing a small kiss to the tip of his nose.

That’s all it takes to make Marcello melt, his frown lines fading from his gorgeous face.

“Let me make you something,” he says, standing with me still wrapped around his waist.

“I told you, I’m fine,” I giggle at his overprotectiveness.

“Leftover Chinese or a tub of ice cream does not constitute a dinner,” he grumbles, placing me on the kitchen counter before rummaging through my cabinets and finding the frying pan on his first try.

“That’s oddly specific,” I say, suddenly frowning. “How do you know that’s what I usually eat at night?”

Marcello doesn’t answer. He just focuses on the task at hand, grabbing some cheese from the fridge and a loaf of bread from the pantry.

I watch in silence as he prepares a grilled cheese sandwich, still wondering how the hell he knew what I had for dinner most nights.

Has he been spying on me? Stalking me? Deep down, I expected that sort of behavior from Haynes. But Marcello? I never thought he’d be the type.

What was I thinking? Of course, he’s the type. Aside from his neurotic paranoia, he’s mafia royalty. Spying is just the thing a man like him would do when he sensed a threat around him.

My gaze immediately sweeps across my apartment in search of a clue, and I find one the instant my eyes land on my curtain-less windows.

Damn it! I was supposed to buy curtains weeks ago, but my schedule hasn’t let up long enough for me to do it.

And now, I’m regretting my procrastination, especially since Marcello’s family owns half of Chicago—literally.

Real estate, law firms, restaurants, and God knows what else.

If anyone could install a camera across the street to spy on me without setting off alarms, it’s him.

And let’s not forget that he’s been coming and going out of my apartment without even scratching the lock for the past week, which means he somehow has his own key to my place.

How blind have I been to not read the writing on the wall?

Or, perhaps the better question is… how long have I been wearing these rose-colored glasses to not see the truth literally in front of my face?

I mean, it’s not like he tried to hide these clues from me. I’m the one who’s been too enamored to see them clearly up until now. But if he’s been watching me all this time, long enough to have memorized my eating habits, what else has he seen? What else does he know about me?

“Marcello?”

“Hmm?” he replies absentmindedly, still too focused on feeding me.

“Do you know who I am? Who I really am?” He glances over his shoulder, his penetrating gaze pinning me to my spot.

“Do you really want me to answer that question?”

I mull on my bottom lip, carefully considering what he’s implying. If I keep pressing to get an answer, I’ll be opening Pandora’s box. And once it’s open, our whole dynamic will shift.

Still, it’s not the agent in me that needs answers.

It’s the woman in me who needs to know what part of us is real and what isn’t.

If what I’m feeling is one-sided, and if he’s only with me to gain access to my case.

Am I being naive to hope he doesn’t have ulterior motives?

That this isn’t some kind of trap I’ve walked straight into, blinded by his touch, his voice, his eyes?

I open my mouth to ask him outright if he knows I’m an undercover agent, but to my shame, nothing comes out. Marcello must read the hesitation in my eyes, because he turns off the stove and walks toward me, sliding my thighs open to settle between them.

“You’re not you, and I’m not me. Remember?” My forehead creases at his words.

“But one day, I’ll have to be me,” I retort, the truth lying heavy in my throat.

One day, I’ll have to stop pretending. One day, I’ll have to turn him in. Hell, it should have been today. I should have told Haynes the truth about Aldo, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. That right there is a blatant red flag that I’m losing my way.

“That day is not today, bella, ” he murmurs reassuringly. “We have time.”

“How much time?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“Does it really matter?” The words land like a weight in my chest, tensing my shoulders.

Yes, it matters. But if the extent of the time we have together is befallen only on me, then I would rather not know.

Sensing my nervous breakdown, Marcello’s hands slide to my hips, pulling me closer.