Page 48 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

“Either way,” I continue on, letting my gaze sweep across the crowd’s faces, landing on a few girls in the back who still look like they can’t do this. “You do not freeze. You do not panic. You fight smart.”

I gently ask Frankie to grab my wrist, holding it up so all the girls can see.

“Once you’re calm, you assess. Remember, time is your enemy.

Every second counts. You can’t act if you’re panicking.

Breathe in and look. Is your assaulter using just one hand to grip you?

Two hands? Overhand? Underhand? You need to know what you’re working with. ”

A few girls nod, while Frankie bites her lip in deep concentration. Good.

“Next, we target the thumb. Always. It’s the weakest part of any grip.

Watch.” I twist Frankie’s wrist and apply just enough pressure to break the hold and get free from her grip in an instant, gaining an actual gasp from the rest of the girls.

“You don’t yank,” I say, turning back to the group.

“You twist. Use angles. Think about it like turning a doorknob, not tugging on a rope. That movement matters.”

I ask Frankie to grip my wrist again, slower this time, exaggerating the twist. Then I add, “And this part? This is where most people go wrong. They forget to leverage their body.” I shift my stance, letting them see.

“It’s not just your arm doing the work. You step, rotate, use your hips and shoulders to put your whole body weight into it. ”

Again, Frankie’s grip loosens with ease.

“And once you’re free, get as much distance from your assailant as possible.

Hands up, eyes sharp. You’re not out of the woods yet.

Either you’ve been properly trained to defend yourself, or you run, screaming the word fire from the top of your lungs.

Don’t just stand there like a deer in headlights.

You’re turn,” I say to Frankie, to show the other girls that they can do it all on their own, too.

Frankie mirrors my previous actions once, twice, and by the third attempt, she doesn’t need my guidance, breaking free from my hold before I even notice.

“Someone’s a natural.”

“Thanks,” she beams, proud of herself.

A few of the girls clap at Frankie, and even Annamaria lets out a little cheer.

Sister Agnes also looks impressed, but it’s Sister Margaretta’s reaction that surprises me most. She stands with her arms at her sides, face set in her trademark scowl, but with the tiniest flicker of a smirk tugging at her mouth.

“Now it’s your turn, ladies,” I address the class, gesturing to the mats at the side. “Grab yourselves some mats and pair up. One person grabs, the other breaks free. Switch every three times. Let’s go.”

And just like that, the room fills with movement, laughter, and the sound of excitement as the girls realize their power.

I step back for a moment, watching them all.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I’m actually accomplishing something good.

Contributing something useful to society.

Acts of service have always been important to me. It’s why I joined the army right out of college. It’s why I didn’t hesitate when Quantico came knocking on my door, eager to recruit me.

However, I haven’t felt like I’ve been doing much good in the world lately. Not since I came back home. Not since I was assigned to Marcello’s case.

I push that thought aside and allow myself to bask in the moment. The pride in Mother Superior’s eyes tells me all I need to know. I’ve succeeded in winning her over and securing these classes at Sacred Heart.

Now it’s up to me to prepare these girls for the world that awaits them.

Not every man they will meet will be Prince Charming.

Sometimes they may look like a knight in shining armor and turn out to be the worst piece of shit in existence.

Sometimes the only person you can trust is a villain.

They at least show you who they really are from the jump.

When class ends, the gym is still buzzing with excitement. The girls are practically glowing, each one stepping into their power with every bounce of their step and flush of their cheeks.

“It seems I may have been wrong in my initial assessment of this class’s value,” Mother Superior admits, approaching me as I towel the sweat from my forehead. “The girls clearly enjoyed it.”

“This was so much fun!” Sister Agnes exclaims, practically bouncing.

“Sister, please show some decorum,” Mother Superior chides her, though there is no real heat behind her words.

“I’m just happy the girls had a good time while learning to defend themselves.”

“So am I,” Sister Margaretta adds, her expression unreadable but her tone sincere.

“Does that mean I have the job?” I ask, arching a brow.

“Yes,” Mother Superior says, folding her hands neatly. “However, given how much interest the girls have shown today, let’s make this a permanent extracurricular class held every Saturday morning instead of once a month.”

“You have yourself a deal.” I extend my hand.

Sister Margaretta eyes my hand as if it could bite her. But with a subtle nudge from Sister Agnes, she relents and takes it, her grip firm but quick.

“You won’t regret this,” I say, grateful for finally doing something I actually enjoy.

“I hope not. There were some things about your presentation that I didn’t like. Still, the girls responded well to your… let’s call it, vernacular language. As long as they are happy, so am I. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other matters to attend to,” she says, briskly turning to leave.

However, I still catch the way her eyes flick back to Frankie yet again. Frankie beams right back at Sister Margaretta with a smile so wide, you’d assume she had just won an Olympic gold medal.

Sister Margaretta’s loving grin only falters when she starts to retreat from the gym just as a young man rushes in, bumping into her in the process.

“Sorry, Mother Superior,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head while glancing awkwardly past the nun’s shoulder.

“Luciano,” she greets, the warmth instantly replaced by a scowl.

“When are you going to start calling me Lucky, Sister? We’re practically family now.”

“This was a girls-only event… Lucky, ” she says, the nickname tasting like vinegar on her tongue.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just here to pick up my girl.”

Sister Agnes chuckles at my side as Sister Margaretta visibly fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“Very well. Just make sure Frances stays stateside this time.”

“How long are you going to keep holding that over my head? I told you that wasn’t on me. I had nothing to do with it. That sh… I mean, that was all her uncle’s doing. Not mine.”

“So I’ve been told. Still, it’s you I hold responsible for anything involving my Frances. Darius, too.”

“I promise, they are both in good hands, Sister.” He flashes her a sly wink.

“That remains to be seen,” she mutters. However, her features soften when she glances over her shoulder and sees Frankie grinning back at them, looking like she’s never been happier. “Just keep my sweet girl smiling like that,” she says quietly, “and we won’t have a problem.”

“Don’t worry, Sister. I totally intend to.”

With that, Luciano sidesteps around Sister Margaretta and rushes toward Frankie, just as she bolts into his arms. He catches her with ease, swinging her around and kissing her face as if he hadn’t seen his girlfriend in years.

“Ah, young love,” Sister Agnes coos beside me. However, my eyes drift from the couple to Annamaria, who’s leaning against the far wall, grinning widely at her phone while her fingers fly across the keypad.

“Do you need any help packing up?” Sister Agnes asks.

It takes me a second to register the question. “No, I’ve got this. Thanks again for all the support you gave me in convincing Mother Superior to keep me on.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says with a warm smile, then turns to leave.

While Lucky is still busy doting kisses on his girlfriend, I stride over to Annamaria.

“Hi, Anna. Small world, isn’t it? Of all the schools in Chicago, I had no idea I’d be teaching a class at yours.”

I’m lying through my teeth, not that she seems to catch on. She’s too busy shoving her phone into her pocket before giving me her full attention.

“Oh. Hey, Izzie,” she replies, her voice a little too bright. “Yep. It really is a small world. You were great, though. Everyone loved the class.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“To be honest, any kind of violence really isn’t my thing.” She shrugs. “But Frankie insisted. My sister, Stella, too.”

“Well, I’m glad you came anyway.” I offer her a genuine smile.

“Yeah, me too. I actually had fun at school for a change.”

My brows pull together at the sadness hidden in that offhand comment, but before I can say anything, Lucky and Frankie appear beside us.

“Anna, we should go,” Lucky says, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.

“I thought you couldn’t take me home after class. Isn’t that why Tony and Paulie had to tag along with me this morning?” Anna asks, sounding surprised by her brother’s change of heart.

“Can’t a guy change his mind? Now, come on. Frankie wants to show you her new digs. Let’s bounce already,” he says, his chestnut gaze looking at me suspiciously.

“Ah, okay. Nice seeing you again, Izzie.”

“You too, Anna. Bye, Frankie. You girls did well this morning.”

“Thanks, Izzie.” Frankie smiles widely.

Anna and Frankie wave their goodbyes as the bodyguards follow closely behind them. Still, the way Lucky keeps looking at me over his shoulder unsettles me.

Did Marcello say something to him? And if he did, what exactly did he say to make his brother stare at me as if I were radioactive?

I mentally pin that question to the ever-growing list of things I want to ask Marcello, but can’t. Not if we want to keep pretending this bubble we’ve built for ourselves is real.

I pack up the mats and gather my things, satisfied to at least get my foot in the door at Sacred Heart.

Not only do I feel good about teaching these girls some basic survival skills, but something tells me this place might be where I finally find answers about Father McDonagh’s disappearance.

I just hope those answers don’t lead me back to Marcello.

That thought burns hot and heavy in my mind as I exit the school’s main doors, only to spot a troubled Father Torres rushing toward the chapel with Enzo close on his heels. I glance left and right to verify no one’s watching me and follow them.

On quiet feet, I slip inside and duck behind one of the chapel’s columns, peeking around it just enough to see the altar clearly.

Father Torres is on his knees again. Only this time, Enzo is kneeling right beside him, his arm protectively wrapped around his shoulders.

“Talk to me, Alejandro,” Enzo murmurs. “Let me ease the load you’re carrying.”

Father Torres lifts his bowed head, his eyes locking onto Enzo’s. “I love you more than life itself… but this cross… I have to carry it alone.”

“That’s not true. I was there, remember?”

“Yes. But it’s different for you. I made a vow to abstain from violence… and I broke it. I broke that vow, along with many others, just to keep you. It was selfish. It was cruel. And now I’m drowning in the consequences of those choices.”

“Baby, you’re really starting to freak me out,” Enzo says, frowning deeply. “If you’re laying the groundwork to break up with me, then forget about it. You’re fucking mine, remember?”

“I am yours,” Alejandro whispers, brushing a hand along Enzo’s cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not struggling with having blood on my hands again.”

“McDonagh fucking deserved it. That bastard almost killed you,” Enzo growls, gripping Alejandro’s hand and pressing it to his cheek, only lifting it to kiss the inside of his wrist.

“No one deserves to die because of my mistakes, Enzo.”

“ We are not a mistake, Alejandro! Our love is not a mistake.”

Alejandro stares into his eyes, visibly shaken by the pain in Enzo’s voice. Then he leans in and kisses him, soft, deep, aching.

When their hands begin to tug at each other’s clothes, I take it as my cue to leave. I turn away, slipping silently out of the chapel, giving them back their privacy.

My heart pounds in my chest as I try to make sense of what I just overheard. Perhaps Marcello didn’t kill Father McDonagh after all. Maybe his killer was someone far closer to the priest than I thought. The weight of doubt pressing on my chest lifts, if only slightly.

I rush to my car, hands trembling as I reach for the burner phone stashed in the glove compartment. It rings twice before Haynes picks up.

“You have news?” he says, skipping any kind of civilized greeting.

“Better. I might have a lead. Get me everything the Bureau has on Father Alejandro Torres.”

“Why?” Haynes asks, skepticism thick in his tone.

“Because he just might be the killer we’ve been looking for.”