Page 50 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

“Marcello… please,” she begs in between breaths.

“What do you want, bella? ” I moan out, kissing her neck, nibbling at her skin as my cock runs up and down her soaked slit.

“You. Just you,” she whimpers, needy.

And fuck if that doesn’t do me in. I obey her command willingly, centering the head of my cock at her center and thrusting deep inside her until we’re both hissing out in pleasure.

I’ll never tire of this. Of how she feels around me, as if welcoming me home.

“Talk to me,” she says, running her fingers through my hair as her eyes lock with mine.

There’s such longing in her stare. Such trust. It takes me a minute to catch my bearings and not get lost in what looks a lot like love looking back at me.

“Izzie,” I whisper her name like a prayer, her pussy clenching at the sound of her name on my lips.

Suddenly, this doesn’t feel like we’re just fucking anymore… it feels like more. And by the small tear that slides down the corner of her eye, she feels it too.

“You’re so beautiful, Izzie. So fucking beautiful,” I confess with each thrust, my eyes never leaving hers.

“So are you,” she whispers, another tear falling at her side.

“Why are you crying, bella? ” I ask, kissing her tears away as I bury myself in her to the hilt.

“You know why,” she whispers again, not even trying to hide her tears from me. “It hurts too much.” My heart cracks open at the honesty in her voice.

This thing we started… it’s like we’re both sinking into quicksand.

Neither of us should have these feelings for each other.

We both know our inevitable end is on the horizon.

Soon, what we have, everything we’ve shared, will feel like nothing more than a fever dream. Still, that end isn’t here yet.

“You’re not you, and I’m not me. Remember? The real world out there doesn’t matter in here.”

The reminder is all she needs to cling to the time we still have.

“Then kiss me. Make it so that we’ll never forget.”

And that’s all the incentive I need to make love to her while I still can.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asks, teasing my bottom lip with a strawberry.

“You, hopefully,” I reply, slapping her ass with one hand while she takes a big bite of the strawberry.

Izzie’s cheeks flush that perfect pink as she gulps the rest of the strawberry down, my cock reacting instantly with the way she licks her lips afterward.

We’ve spent the entire afternoon on this mattress, making love and feeding each other during the intervals.

When I told Izzie I didn’t drink, she made me take a sip of champagne from her belly button, which quickly turned into more fucking.

I’ve never had such peace in a day. Izzie’s not only perfect in my eyes, but she’s the only thing that makes the monster inside of me go quiet.

“I’m serious,” she says, giving my chest a playful slap, though her hand lingers over my heart. “What are you up to tomorrow?”

“Hmm… since tomorrow’s Sunday,” I start, “I’ll probably have to go to Mass in the morning and then lunch with my family. Though I’m open to changing my plans if a better offer comes along.”

“Can I go to Mass with you?” she asks, surprising me with the unexpected question.

“What, spending time with me finally made you find God? I’m flattered.”

It’s meant as a joke, but the thought of making Izzie come so hard she sees heaven’s gates creeps into my head.

“No, it’s not that,” she says, tracing the pad of her finger over my chest. “I just… would really like to go to Mass with you. After meeting Father Torres this morning, I don’t know… maybe it would be a nice thing for us to do together.”

I look deep into her eyes and see the lie staring back at me.

And just like that, something ugly twists in my gut, the voice coming fast and sharp.

‘There it is. The real reason she’s with us. She’s using us. She wants to get close to the family. End it. End it now.’

I force myself to remain calm even as the thought claws at me.

‘ With her lying on our chest like this, it would be so easy to wrap our hand around her throat and—

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say flatly, easing her off me before I do something I’ll regret.

I head for the kitchen and twist the cap off a bottle of water, taking a long drink to cool the heat building under my skin. Izzie follows me into the kitchen, clutching a bedsheet around her like armor, confusion etched across her face.

“Wow,” she says, crestfallen. “That’s… not the reaction I thought you’d have.”

“What kind of reaction were you expecting?” I set the bottle on the counter a little harder than I meant to.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Just… not that.”

‘Kill her. Kill her now.’

“I’m not sure what you want me to say right now.” My tone’s gone cold, and I can feel my features tightening, my eyes flattening into something that makes her take a step back instead of forward.

‘Good. Let her be afraid. Tell her to run. Give her something to really be scared of.’

“I have to go,” I mutter, already moving toward my clothes on the floor.

“Go where?” she asks, bewildered.

“Anywhere but here.” I yank on my shirt and pull on my pants without meeting her eyes.

“What are you talking about? This is your house!” she shouts. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

“Stay. Go. I don’t give a fuck. I just can’t be here right now.”

‘Coward,’ the voice spits. ‘Like always, I’ll have to be the one to clean up your mess.’

I shake my head, hating the words coming from the monster’s mouth.

Always taunting me. Always provoking me to be just like him. And if I stay here another second… I just might become the monster he wants me to be.

I rush out of the living room in a hurry and avoid glancing over at Izzie, who is surely heartbroken by now. I’m almost at the door when she steps in front of it, planting herself there and blocking my quick getaway.

“Move.”

“Don’t go,” she begs, searching my face as if looking for the man who spent the majority of the afternoon making promises to her with his body.

However, he’s no longer here. The demon inside me made sure to cast him out.

“Move, Izzie,” I repeat with a growl, shutting my eyes to evade her look. If I don’t, who knows what will happen. Whatever lies that may be hidden in her eyes will either break me or ensure that I break her.

“I don’t want you to go. Not like this.”

“Yes, you do. Trust me.”

Silence hangs between us until she lays her palm gently on my cheek. Half of me wants to bite it off while the other half aches to lean into her touch.

“Just tell me where you’re going,” she says softly. “I need to know you’ll be safe.”

My eyes snap open at the sound of fear in her voice. And as I look deep into her eyes, the fear I see isn’t for her well-being, but mine.

“I…” My throat tightens, the words jamming up before I force them out. “The gym. I’m going to the gym,” I lie.

“Okay,” she whispers, the answer easing her worry even if only a little. Then she rises on her toes and presses a soft kiss on my lips. “Go. Do what you need to do.”

She steps aside, giving me the space to leave, but I just stand there for a moment.

“Stay here. Don’t… don’t leave. Wait for me,” I rasp out, my heart at war with the demon fuming inside me.

“Okay.”

That’s all I need to hear before I shove through the door, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible. I’m so rattled that I fumble my car keys, dropping them to the ground. Once inside, I slam my fist into the ceiling, trying to calm myself down and failing miserably.

There she was… worried for my safety, when all I could think about was how dangerous I was to hers.

If I ever laid a hand on Izzie in anger—if I hurt her in any way—a locked ward would be the least of my problems. I’d rather die than hurt her.

Which means I need to feed the monster inside me before it turns on her.

The gym won’t cut it tonight. I need something more gruesome.

I need to hear my enemies scream for mercy, to smell the sweat of fear clinging to their skin.

Only blood will quiet the hunger. Only blood will guarantee I keep Izzie safe.

I honestly thought my mind would have cleared after going on a murder spree. It wasn’t hard to think of whom I wanted to feed the monster.

I know my father wants to deal with Elio Zappa himself to make a show of force with the other capos, but that still leaves Aldo’s soldier buddies. I have no doubt in my mind that they knew the piece of shit they were hanging out with. They knew exactly what kind of abusive husband he was.

Good for me. Bad for them.

Unfortunately, after spending the last few hours locating them and making them scream out for mercy, I’m no closer to finding the peace I desired than when I left Izzie back at my place.

The monster has been fed, so he’s content and quiet now, but my own self-deprecating thoughts continue to torment me.

Unwilling to go home, I find myself driving down the city streets until I park in front of St. Mary’s Cathedral.

Its tall spires pierce the night sky, their shadows stretching across the empty street.

The heavy wooden doors loom before me, carved with saints and angels whose faces are illuminated by flickering street lamps.

For reasons I can’t name, my feet carry me up the worn stone steps.

My hands push open the doors, and a soft creak greets me.

The cathedral smells of aged wood, melted wax, and incense long since burned.

The air is thick but comforting, the quiet so profound it presses against my chest. Candlelight flickers along the rows of empty pews, casting tall, wavering shadows on the floor, guiding me toward the altar.

Since it’s well past midnight, no one is here to see me kneel, to hear the heavy whisper of my prayers, my pleas, my bargaining with a God I’m not even sure I believe in anymore.

I stare at the vaulted ceiling, where moonlight streams down from stained glass windows, painting the stone in crimson, sapphire, and gold.

My hands fold in desperation, my body trembling, but no answer comes.

I don’t know how long I stay like that, kneeling before God, waiting for His response to ease my weary soul. However, it isn’t God’s voice I hear call out my name. “Marcello?” Alejandro says softly, stepping into the candlelight.

I am too wrung out, too tired to acknowledge his presence, much less stand. He must sense the turbulence in me because he doesn’t ask why I’m here at this ungodly hour or why my clothes are soaked in another man’s blood. Instead, he sits beside me at the altar, waiting for me to speak first.

To my surprise, I do. “Do you still want to hear my confession, Father?” I hear myself ask.

“If that will unburden your soul, then I’m all ears.”

“Unburden my soul,” I snort with a menacing scowl. “Sometimes I question if I even have a soul anymore.”

“You being here tells me that you do.”

“Right,” I scoff, but it doesn’t seem to faze Alejandro in the slightest.

“How many men did you kill tonight?” he asks, his tone neutral, devoid of judgment.

“Three. Three men,” I answer truthfully.

“Did these men have families?”

“If they did, they don’t anymore,” I reply, this time meeting his eyes, only to find no condemnation in them either. “Aren’t you going to call me a devil? A monster for killing them?”

“No.”

“Why?” I ask, genuinely astonished.

“Because God doesn’t send His wrath to those who don’t merit it.”

“You make me sound like some avenging angel. Trust me, Father, I’m anything but,” I retort, letting my head hang low.

“Maybe to your eyes. But who is to say this isn’t God’s plan for you?”

“What if it’s the devil’s plan for me instead? What then?” I whisper and turn to him, searching his eyes.

“Do you think that’s what you are? An instrument to be used by the devil?”

“It’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.”

He stares into my eyes, still unbothered by my blood-soaked garments.

“Have you come for confession, my son?” Alejandro asks, his priestly patience intact.

“The last time a priest took my confession, I ended up killing him,” I remind him.

“Have you come for confession?” he repeats, unflinching.

I think long and hard about what he’s offering.

“Can a man like me ever find absolution after everything I’ve done?”

“If I found it in His house, then so can you,” he says critically, lifting up his sleeve to show a three-crown crest burnt onto his skin, most likely done by a branding iron.

I instantly recognize the Salvatierra Cartel symbol, my eyes flicking to his just as fast. “Like I told you once before, you and I are more similar than you realize. Now, my son… have you come for confession?”

“I have, Father,” I murmur, my gaze drifting up to Christ on the cross before lowering my head. “It’s been,” I pause, counting the years and months since I last confessed to Father McDonagh, “Eleven years and five months since my last confession.”

“That’s a long road to walk alone. Let’s take the first step together. Start wherever your soul tells you to,” Alejandro replies.

“Too long,” I utter. “I… I wasn’t always like this,” I begin. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Tell me when the devil first came to you. Let’s start there.”

I take a deep breath, letting the memories of the past wash over me, gathering up the courage to tell Alejandro about the first time the beast inside me took over my soul. The first time I ever killed someone.