Page 31 of Vicious Behaviors
Or maybe, he just likes girls closer to his own age. Ever think of that?
Blow to the ego aside, that is another possibility. Which means I’ve stooped to my lowest for absolutely nothing.
According to my last conversation with Haynes, finding an in with Marcello is why D.C. moved me to Chicago in the first place. If I can’t do that right, then what good am I to him?
Yeah, Haynes is a real gem. Asshole. But he’s not wrong. Father McDonagh’s case gets colder with each day I come up empty. The clock is ticking, and Haynes never lets me forget it.
As I’m helping Theresa, one of the new members I signed on, with some breathwork exercises, Marcello steps into the ring like a thundercloud ready to crack. He’s not even warmed up, but everyone knows what’s coming. The beat down that awaits whatever poor soul gets into the ring with him. Still, they all step up, one after the other, thinking they will be remembered for years to come for finally taking down the Outfit prince.
“Idiots,” I mutter under my breath, causing Theresa to snort beside me.
“Right? I mean… what are they thinking?” She laughs, her gaze peeled on the ring, where tonight’s first candidate foolishly attempts his luck.
I give Theresa a polite smile, which apparently is all the encouragement she needs to start talking about something other than her fitness routine.
“Still,” she adds, nudging me, “this is the best part of my day. Watching him throw hook after hook… gets me, well, you know.” She wiggles her brows at me as if we were in on the same joke.
I don’t reply but offer a non-committal smile nonetheless. However, like Theresa, my gaze drifts to the man in question, too distracted by his foot play and stamina. Five minutes in, Marcello looks like he could go another ten rounds without blinking. His opponent is already drenched and wheezing. Every move exact, every punch is another study in control. Unlike everyone else here, Marcello doesn’t fight for sport. More like he’s fighting an inner battle with himself. His opponent is just filling that space. Giving him something to hit. A target.
Okay… Theresa is not wrong. Watching Marcello own the ring like this could make any red-blooded woman’s knees go a little soft.
Though it’s been a while since I’ve been on an actual date, I more than remember how lackluster they were. Some of the guys I went out with wouldn’t know an alpha male if one punchedthem in the face. They’re more obsessed with their morning skincare routines than making a woman happy. And when I say happy, I mean come.
From the force of his punches to the strength in his legs, those broad shoulders, and those glacial eyes, Marcello looks like a man who could ruin a woman in the best way possible.
However, I believe in never judging a book by its cover. Just because the outside wrapping is mouthwatering doesn’t mean the inside isn’t ugly and damaged. I mean, the man made a priest disappear from the face of the earth. A fucking priest.
What kind of monster does that? Apparently a hot-as-hell one.
God, I hate how good-looking he is. Even while he’s baiting that poor idiot with a single goading look, Marcello is undeniably sexy. He stands like trouble sculpted in marble, with a sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and a mouth that embodies sin. His eyes are icy, piercing, and almost too blue to be real, holding a calculated stillness as if he’s always listening for something the rest of us can’t hear. His hair is tousled from the fight, with sun-kissed strands falling carelessly into place. Everything about him is captivating, as though he doesn’t have to try to own the room. He simply exists, while everyone else adapts.
I remind myself that this man is a criminal. A person of interest in a case that I’m building. But even knowing that, my gaze lingers longer than it should. The way his shirt clings to his frame, or the tension in his jaw when his opponent is seconds away from giving up.
There’s something about him that makes my pulse race and that’s not a good thing. I don’t trust him. I don’t even like him. But God help me, I can’t stop watching him.
“I guess I’m not the only one who enjoys the show.” Theresa giggles, and it’s enough to snap me out of my haze. “You’re drooling, Izzie.”
Am I? No. No way.
“I think we’re done for today,” I say, a little too fast.
“I’ll say,” she retorts, fanning herself as Marcello finishes off his opponent and, without missing a beat, calls the next one into the ring.
“See me tomorrow and we’ll go over your meal prep for next week.”
“Sounds good,” she breathes out, still ogling Marcello.
I wave Theresa off—not that she sees me do it—and head toward the reception counter, where Rico is currently greeting some new members.
After our little boxing match when we first met, I half-expected him to give me the cold shoulder after I beat him down, maybe sulk over being bested by a woman. But to my surprise, the big ogre greeted me with a wide smile on my very first day.
My ego would love to believe I earned his respect in the ring, but I know better. The real reason I’ve become one of his favorite people is that I brought something to the gym that Rico values even more—access to all the single women who actually give guys like him the time of day.
“Who do you have for me next, Rico?” I ask, grabbing the clipboard behind the counter with the list of women booked for training sessions.
As I scan the list, my pulse skips when I spot a certain name—Stella Romano.
“Is this for real?” I ask, pointing to it.
