Page 19 of Isaac

What the hell is wrong with me?

Why can't I shake this obsession?

The air in the room suddenly suffocates me, amplifying the chaos in my head. I roll over, trying to escape the tormenting thoughts, but they cling to me like shadows, unrelenting and unforgiving.

"Enough," I growl into the darkness, clenching my fist in determination against the silken bedsheets.

Instead, I visualize my future empire—a world where Thoreau reigns supreme, unchallenged and untouchable.

"We need to talk about Tucci," Georgie barks over the music as he approaches, his pudgy face flushed with irritation. Probably because he had to walk all the way here.

I stand at the railing of Purgatory's upper floor, as always my eyes scanning the crowd below. The track throbs through the air like a living entity, a beast that feeds on the collective energy of the dancers moving in unison to its relentless beat.

And tonight, strangely enough, I can feel it too, pulsing through my veins, fueling the ever-present fire within. Even the railing beneath my fingers hums, vibrating like a million tiny heartbeats under my touch.

Amidst this sensory overload, there's the faint tangy aroma typical of places like Purgatory—mildew and sweat mixed with fervent anticipation. It all tastes like wild youth and reckless abandon—an intoxicating cocktail I’m responsible for creating in this small kingdom of mine.

"He’s becoming a real problem," Georgie goes on.

I turn to face him, my expression carefully neutral. "What about him?"

"He’s in my casino twice a week. Like clockwork. My own girls are starting to complain." Georgie has a small side gig the family is aware of—a high-end escort operation. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t allow it. The Thoreau aren’t interested in selling people. But Georgie has somehow managed to keep his little project intact.

"I told you I need some time to look into this," I tell him over the booming song. "Did you find out who the woman is?"

"Not yet."

"Keep digging."

"Can I just...hurt him a little? As a warning?" Georgie asks, his fingers twitching as if with the urge to cause pain.

"Wait," I say firmly, not ready to reveal everything I know about Tucci's deeds just yet. My guys are still tailing him, looking into the matter. "I'm not convinced Morelli is aware of what Tucci is doing." We can’t afford to go to war with Italians.

Georgie's frustration is evident, beads of sweat glistening on his non-existent forehead, paunchy jaw moving. Finally, when he receives no response from me, he snaps, "You don't seem to care, cuz, because it's happening in my casino, not your club."

Fucker has the audacity to raise his voice at me. The only reason he’s handling Eclipse is because I was in prison when the family was dividing the responsibilities. It was supposed to be me, not him.

I look Georgie right in those tiny beady eyes and say, "Careful how you speak to me, Georgie."

It’s loud here and some of my words are mixed up with the music but I know he can read my lips where he can’t hear me.

He bristles but backs down, knowing better than to challenge me outright. "Fine, but I'll be talking to Uncle about this," he hisses out a threat through clenched teeth before storming off, referring to Uncle Maurice Thoreau, my father's older brother and current head of our family operations.

Fine.

The Fat Fuck can prattle on to Grandpa for all I care. Nothing is going to rekindle the bone-chilling dread Jacob Thoreau instilled in people. May his rotten soul never rest in peace.

Once Georgie is gone, I pull out my phone and call Jeremy. The fact that Tucci keeps on bringing minors rubs me the wrong way. I try to shove this emotion down. I don’t need it to mess with my head. I just need to remove the problem. Or at least that’s what I convince myself of. "Anything new on Morelli’s guy?"

"Nothing concrete yet," Jeremy replies. "Can’t tell if this is his own thing or Tony approved it. But I think we'll have something for you soon."

"Good," I say, cutting the call short, a little frustrated that it’s taking longer than I expected.

As I slip my phone back into my pocket, my gaze drifts across the dance floor. I realize I’m searching for any sign of Hawk.

Fuck.

The chaos of the club offers no comfort tonight, only a restless energy that echoes the turmoil inside me. My thoughtskeep circling back to him, the man who's somehow managed to burrow beneath my skin like a fucking splinter I can't remove.

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