Page 113 of Vicious Behaviors
However, my taunting smile disappears with the seriousness in his eyes as he cups my cheeks in his palms and leans closer, breathing me in.
“There isn’t a word in the English language that does justice to what you are to me. So unfortunately… girlfriend will have to do.” When I don’t respond immediately, his brows pull together in concern. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” I shake my head. “It’s just… my heart needs a minute to start beating again after that.”
His eyes soften while his gentle caress on my cheeks is starting to make my knees feel weak.
“It’s the truth,” he whispers, his gaze dropping to my lips.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn, swallowing dryly.
“Like what?” he murmurs softly, his gaze becoming heady.
“You know damn well like what.” I laugh nervously. “If I’m about to meet your mother, I must have my wits about me. I can’t be fantasizing about sneaking off with you to a room and having your wicked way with me.”
“It doesn’t have to be a fantasy, you know,” he says, before leaning into my ear to whisper, “But I’ll be a good boyfriend and… put a pin on that idea… for later.”
My cheeks burn as Marcello presses a soft kiss to my forehead instead of my lips, fully aware that it would be enoughto change my mind if he kissed me now. Unbeknownst to him, his chaste kiss to my temple still manages to ignite the tangled mess of emotions his words have stirred inside me.
I’m still amazed that a man whose life revolves around killing his enemies can be so tender and gentle with those he loves and cares deeply about. And I thank my lucky stars that I’m counted among the latter, and not the former, like I used to.
“Come,” he urges, guiding me forward into the lavish party filled with notoriousmafiososand some of the state’s most prominent figures.
Though I try my best to put it out of my mind, I can’t help but mentally catalog each guest as we pass, my FBI training kicking into overdrive. Haynes would have a field day with so many high-rankingcaposunder one roof. Not that he’ll ever know I was here.
After putting his hands on me last week, the first thing I did the next morning was email Director Roderick, explaining the incident in detail. I also addressed the issue of Haynes’s unprofessional behavior since joining his task force. I explained that he has been stingy with information, not keeping me in the loop with the operation, which has sometimes proved detrimental to my investigation. I gave the example of Haynes enrolling me at the same college Stella attended, and purposely not disclosing that information, believing it was redundant for me to know.
I detailed how my relationship with Stella could have helped me get closer to Marcello sooner, and how this connection with her could have enabled the FBI to discover the unwritten agreement between theBratvaand the Outfit ahead of time. Furthermore—and this one is a doozy—I informed Director Roderick that Marcello might not even be responsible for Father McDonagh’s disappearance, like we first assumed. After eavesdropping on Father Torres and Enzo, I informed that I’minclined to believe that the young priest may actually be the culprit involved in his mentor’s demise and not the Outfit heir as we previously suspected. In other words, the FBI is no closer to bringing the Outfit down than it was before I arrived in Chicago, making the whole task force obsolete—something that Haynes is trying very hard not to let the head office be aware of.
I included all of this in my report and formally requested to file a complaint against Haynes. Director Roderick promptly emailed back, advising me she would look into the matter. In the meantime, she requested that I report to her, and only her, my findings regarding Father Torres, which is more than fine with me. If I can go the rest of my life without running into Haynes again, I’ll call it a win.
However, my attention isn’t on work tonight. It’s on meeting the people Marcello holds most dear—his family.
As we wander around the large living room, something very peculiar catches my attention.
“I thought you said this was Annamaria’s sweet sixteen?” I whisper over to Marcello.
“It is,” he nods.
I chew at the corner of my bottom lip in confusion. The atmosphere is all wrong. I don’t see anyone close to Annamaria’s age here. If anything, this feels like a celebration thrown for her parents rather than for her. I keep that thought to myself as Marcello leads the way with his hand pressed at the low of my back, weaving through the sequins, silk, and elitist crowd.
“Let’s find the birthday girl and give her our present before I go look for my mother,” Marcello says, his eyes scanning the room.
“Okay.”
However, as we navigate the sea of glammed-up guests, Annamaria is still nowhere in sight.
“Hmm. I wonder where she is?” Marcello murmurs, worry knitting his brows. “Stay here,bella.I’ll go find her. Maybe she’s hiding out in her room or something.”
With a quick kiss on the top of my head, Marcello disappears amongst the overdressed crowd.
Only when I’m left to my own devices do I realize I’ve garnered some attention from the guests. I feel their eyes linger on me a moment too long before leaning in to whisper to the person beside them, as if I wouldn’t notice. I try to shrug it off, but soon it feels less like curiosity and more like I’m some rare artifact on display in a museum. When their blatant gossiping starts to get on my nerves, I decide to wait for Marcello outside on the backyard porch. The last thing I want to do is cause a scene tonight, so slipping out to catch some fresh air seems like a good judgment call on my part.
The chilly spring air is sharp against my skin, the cold breeze a welcome relief after the heat of so many eyes on me inside. I hug my arms to my chest to keep warm, letting my gaze drift past the porch. I scan the vast expanse of the yard and the dark line of woods just beyond, where the last light of the sun casts everything in gold and shadow. That’s when I catch another flash of gold—not from the setting sun, but from long hair lifting and twisting in the wind.
“Anna?” I call out when I spot her standing in the middle of the yard, her gaze fixed on the woods ahead.
She looks mesmerized by the sunset bleeding across the sky in shades of pink, lavender, and orange, its glow spilling onto the trees where the last of this year’s winter snow glistens as it melts.
