Page 47 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

“You’re too wound up,” he says softly, pressing warm, deliberate kisses into the crook of my neck. “Let me fix that.”

I want to tell him that nothing he can do will fix what’s unraveling inside me. That I’m spiraling. That I’m seeing the end before we’ve even begun. That I should never have let it get this far.

How did Marcello get into my head… my heart, this fast?

His half-lidded eyes find mine, and as he begins to unbutton my jeans, I understand exactly how he muddled the waters.

Being the muse Marcello worships is intoxicating.

Being the person who receives his tender grazes, his longing looks, his gentle touch, it’s enough to make any red-blooded woman forget who she is. Who she’s supposed to be.

When he slides off my shoes, then my jeans and panties, only to press his face between my thighs as if praying at a sacred altar, every thought of duty, honor, and justice dissipates like smoke.

I have time. We have time. And no matter how small that window might be, I’m going to savor every second of it.

When I wake up the following Saturday and glance at the empty side of my bed, I can’t help but frown.

Marcello always goes to the gym before the crack of dawn, but lately, I’ve noticed he’s been more aggressive in his workouts.

As if he were trying to exorcise every last demon before placing a single finger on me.

Whatever his method, it must be working, because I haven’t come face-to-face with his alter again.

What I haven’t managed to do is have an actual conversation with him about what I witnessed the first night he kissed me. And I really should. Sooner rather than later.

Still, for now, I’m choosing to trust him. Trust that he’ll open up to me when he’s ready. I’m hoping that he’ll confide in me and share his secret once I’ve fully gained his trust.

Because from what I’ve noticed, I doubt anyone truly knows the monsters he wrestles with on a daily basis. Marcello’s been very careful to keep that side of himself buried deep. Which tells me that not only is he aware of his alter, but he’s also found a way to control it.

Hoping to learn more about his condition, I plan to shadow a lecture next week by Professor Jane Montgomery.

She’s one of UChicago’s leading psychology experts in dissociative identity disorder, and by what I’ve read online, one of the best psychologists in her field.

The goal is to arrange a meeting after her class and get some insight into what Marcello is going through.

Maybe then I’ll feel better equipped to help him when he finally decides to share his burden with me. I have to try.

However, this morning isn’t the time to dwell on his absence or the shadows he keeps hidden.

It’s the first Saturday of the month, which means I’ve got my trial run in self-defense class at Sacred Heart.

If I can make a strong impression, Mother Superior might approve monthly sessions as an official extracurricular. No pressure.

After having a quick shower and the healthy breakfast that Marcello left on the kitchen counter for me, I head out.

When I arrive at Sacred Heart, I’m pleasantly surprised to see at least twenty girls already gathered in the gymnasium, waiting for me, along with Mother Superior and Sister Agnes.

“Good morning,” I say with a bright smile. “Am I late?” I glance at my watch to verify it’s not nine yet.

“No, you’re right on time,” Mother Superior replies. “The girls are just excited to start. We only allowed five students from each year to sign up, but we had five times as many interested.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect them to be this enthusiastic about coming to school on a Saturday morning,” I admit, scanning the room.

“Neither did I.” Sister Margaretta’s eyes narrow slightly, focused on a blonde girl giggling with none other than Marcello’s younger sister, Annamaria.

Annamaria sees me and waves cheerfully at me. The girl beside turns to see who Anna is waving at, her face suddenly very familiar to me.

Where have I seen this girl before?

Still, I don’t have time to give it much thought since I suddenly notice the two large bodyguards flanking both entrances of the gym, their eyes fixed on the youngest Romano as if she were royalty.

“I didn’t realize parents were invited to assist the class,” I say, trying to get confirmation if the men in black are, in fact, working for the Romanos.

“Oh, pay no mind to those two,” Sister Agnes says with a casual wave. “Annamaria’s parents are just overly protective. I guess it’s one of the drawbacks of being part of such a powerful family in this city. You never know who might get funny ideas about using their children against them.”

“I wouldn’t be so dismissive of their concern,” Sister Margaretta interjects, clearly unimpressed with Sister Agnes’s blasé remark. “It’s wise to be cautious. There’s evil lurking in every corner.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m here,” I say with a grin. “After today, these girls won’t need bodyguards.”

Sister Agnes beams with excitement, whereas Sister Margaretta still doesn’t look convinced.

“Would you like to participate in the class too?” I offer.

“I have God’s protection. He’s all I need,” Sister Margaretta says dryly, her gaze still locked on the blonde chatting with Annamaria.

“I’d love to join, if that’s all right?” Sister Agnes chimes in. “After what happened with Father Torres… well, maybe it’s time God got a little backup.”

“Of course,” I say. “The more the merrier.”

I wave off the two nuns and move toward the front of the gym to introduce myself, the polished hardwood echoing under my sneakers as I face the group. Twenty curious pairs of eyes lock onto me, and I feel their nervous energy ripple through the room.

“Good morning, ladies. My name is Isobel, but you all can call me Izzie,” I say, my voice steady and clear.

“And today, I’m not here as a teacher, or anyone you’ve had to sit through a lecture with before.

I’m here as a woman who wants to make sure every single one of you knows how to protect yourselves, in any given situation. ”

There’s a flicker of interest in a few faces. Others just blink back at me, unsure of what’s coming next.

“Let me be real with you. The world doesn’t have the best track record for keeping us safe.

Nor has society had our best interests at heart.

As women, we don’t get to walk home alone in the dark without thinking about who might jump out at us or follow us home.

We don’t get into taxis or Ubers on our own without calculating the risk.

And we never meet someone new and trust them implicitly from the get-go.

Good intentions are rare, especially for us women.

But here’s the thing… fear doesn’t have to rule you.

You don’t need to be stronger than a man to get out of a sticky situation.

You just need to keep calm and use whatever tools you have to your advantage.

I know that is easier said than done, but I would rather you have some sort of knowledge on what to do when things go sideways than know nothing at all.

Are you ladies ready to give them hell?”

That gets their attention. Cheers erupt around the room, fists pump the air, and grins stretch across their young faces as the energy shifts from excited to electric. Even Sister Agnes straightens like she’s ready to throw a punch.

“Good. That’s what I like to hear. First, we’re going to start with a warm-up,” I say, clapping once. “Loosen up your joints, get the blood flowing. Arms up, shoulders back. Let’s go.”

I lead them through a basic exercise sequence—neck rolls, arm swings, hip circles, and light stretches to shake the nerves off. After ensuring they have warmed up, the real learning starts.

I ask the girls in the front row to help me place a few mats at the head of the gym.

Once they are all laid out, I let my gaze settle on the blonde girl I saw giggling with Annamaria when I first arrived, the same one who held Mother Superior’s attention.

She’s quiet now. Alert. Watching me closely, eager to learn.

“You,” I say, pointing to her. “What’s your name?”

She blinks, surprised at being called, but steps forward afterward. With her chin held high, she replies, “Frankie.”

Frankie? Wait… wait… isn’t that the girlfriend of Marcello’s brother? Lucky’s girlfriend. The one who texted Stella to pick her up at Little Russia? The same one I saw with Kirill and Konstantin Petrov that night? As in the girl who was kidnapped by Kirill, if I overheard Marcello correctly.

‘You weren’t there, Mar. You didn’t see how much his family wanted Frankie back in their lives.’

Stella’s words come back to me as I try to put two and two together.

Is she… a Petrov?

Hmm.

Maybe the alliance between the Outfit and the Bratva runs deeper than I thought.

“Nice to meet you, Frankie. Do you think you can help me out with my first demonstration?”

“Of course,” she says, before walking toward me. There’s a quiet confidence in the way she holds herself, like she’s not new to standing out but doesn’t always enjoy it.

She stays by my side, patiently waiting for my orders, as I address the group.

“Alright, ladies, now say someone grabs you by the wrist. Maybe it’s a creep trying to drag you somewhere, maybe you actually know this person.

Say a boyfriend who wants to intimidate you.

First—and I don’t say this lightly—any man who puts his hands on you to frighten you is not a man at all.

Give him his walking papers at the first sign of a red flag.

Red flags are only hot in romance novels. Not in real life.”

All the girls laugh, but neither Frankie nor Annamaria partakes in the girls’ amusement. I don’t miss how they look at each other as if sharing a secret with their eyes.