Page 54 of Vicious Behaviors
“Thank you,” I mutter, dragging in a breath. “Now let’s get the hell out of here before something else goes wrong.”
I could’ve requested the agency for a vehicle, one with all its working parts. Heating, probably even Bluetooth. But it wouldn’t fit my cover. An old, beat-up sedan fits the image of a struggling student in debt with a side hustle as a fitness instructor. And if anyone sees me circling near Marcello, I can always claim it to be a coincidence.
Chicago might be a big city, but it’s not that big. You’d be surprised by who you can bump into on the daily. At least that’s my cover story if Marcello ever catches me following him. Not that I think that will ever happen. In the weeks I’ve tailed him, he’s yet to see me do it. Which is odd for a man who is naturally suspicious of everyone and everything.
Images of him in the shower flash across my mind, smug and unbothered, clearly enjoying their rent-free stay in my brain.
“Snap the fuck out of it, Izzie,” I mutter, cursing myself for how easily the merethoughtof him drags me right back to our last encounter.
I hate how easily those uninvited images slip in, no matter how hard I try to push them out. No matter how much I fight, some part of me caves, letting the memory play in a loop until I’m forced to relive it all over again. Relive every second of watching Marcello under the harsh spray of the shower, head tilted back, water cascading over every sculpted inch of him. He looked like sin rinsed clean, and watching him like that… was almost more intimate than touching him.
Marcello Romano is the kind of danger that doesn’t come with a warning label. Just scars. And I’m afraid that seeing him in that light might just have ruined my perception of other men. He’s a Michelangelo painting come to life—every angle,every shadow drawn with purpose. How could anyone else ever compare to that?
I’m still tangled in those uninvited thoughts when I take a left turn toward my apartment, only to have a strange sensation creep in, pushing everything else aside.
It’s way past midnight, which means the only vehicles I should see on the road at this hour are delivery trucks, late-night commuters, and the occasional sketchy driver trying to make it home without getting pulled over. So when I glance in my rearview mirror and spot a black SUV a few feet behind me, my hackles rise. Especially because he seems to be following me, turning in every turn I make, and slowing down when I do. My training immediately kicks in, as I pick a mural with graffiti as my landmark and start counting just to see how close the SUV really is to me. One, two, three, four.
He’s just close enough to blur the line between paranoia and actual instinct. To be sure, I make a sudden turn onto a side street, one that loops around and reconnects to the main road.
My heart skips a beat as I check the mirror again. The SUV doesn’t follow. Still, the unease doesn’t leave me.
“Great. Let’s add neurotic to my hot mess resume,” I mutter, tightening my grip on the wheel.
Marcello is a bad influence. His paranoia is starting to rub off on me. And just as his name crosses my mind, the image of him completely naked in the gym shower flickers uninvited behind my eyes yet again.
“Goddamn it!” I slap my steering wheel. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady the chaos inside me. But no matter how many breathing exercises I do, all my woes circle back to one person—Marcello. He’s the reason I’m even in this state to begin with. He’s never been that bold before. In fact, he’s done everything in his power to pretend I don’t even exist.
I can only chalk this sudden change in behavior to him wanting me to feel uncomfortable. And he succeeded. But what really unsettled me wasn’t the nakedness itself. It was how my body responded to his. Even his eyes. Those dead, unblinking eyes. God, how they haunt my sleep. And I wish I could say they only visit me in my nightmares. But they don’t. They come to me in fever dreams. Dreams that have me gasping for breath the second I wake up. Dreams where I don’t just watch him… I touch him. Kiss and lick every inch of the wet body he flaunted in front of me tonight.
If Haynes knew how badly I’m attracted to the man I’m supposed to be investigating, he’d lose his mind.
God, I really do need to get my head examined. Because if a cold-blooded killer like Marcello Romano can unravel me this easily, then I’m way too close to crossing a line I might not come back from.
Chapter 12
Isobel
The next morning, I reluctantly drag myself into work. After what happened last night between Marcello and me, I’m not exactly thrilled to see him again. But with daylight came clarity. And clarity reminded me that Marcello doesn’t do anything without a motive. He wanted to scare me away. And wouldn’t you know it, it worked. I am scared. But not for the reasons he thinks.
Watching the water rain down his body is an image I won’t forget anytime soon. And that’s the problem. How am I expected to take him down when just one look from him makes my body forget it’s supposed to be on the other side of this fight? Talk about being unprofessional.
So instead of pretending the incident didn’t affect me, I decide to spend the morning as far away from Marcello as humanly possible. Not that he notices. Or at least, I don’t think he does. He’s too busy lifting weights and punching bags to sweat out whatever demons crawl around in that beautiful, twisted mind of his.
Visceral reactions aside, I still have a job to do, and if I don’t bring something to Haynes next week, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it. Something tells me that Haynes isn’t above pettiness. If I don’t get solid proof tying Marcello to criminal activity, then I wouldn’t put it past Haynes to slap me with insubordination. Or write me up for poor performance or incompetence. Either is a guaranteed death sentence for any agent doing field work. This means I need to start getting creative since apparently being in close proximity to Marcello makes me act… irrationally.
I need to shift my focus to other areas of his life that might lead me closer to the truth about Father McDonagh’s disappearance. Two names immediately come to mind—Annamaria and Stella. Aside from his mother, Marcello’s sisters seem to be his weak spot. The three of them have a special bond, unlike the one he shares with his other siblings. He’s different with them. Honest. This could mean that he might have confided in them about any past wrongdoings.
I’m just not sure how I’ll ever get close enough to Annamaria to earn her trust. The poor girl is constantly under some kind of protection—either at school, where the nuns and her twin brothers keep watch, or during that narrow window before she’s picked up and swept back under Marcello’s wing. On weekends, she’s only ever seen at church with her family. And on the rare occasions she’s allowed to do volunteer work, at least two bodyguards are always shadowing her every move. That’s Annmaria’s whole sheltered world. School, home, church, and the odd supervised outing. That doesn’t leave me with many options to get close to her.
That leaves Stella. She isn’t the polar opposite of her younger sister, but close enough. She’s long been left to her own devices, free to do what she wants, when she wants. And after sparringwith her myself, I understand why. Only a fool would try to control her.
She’s also extremely cunning and smart. She’s not as naive or trusting as Annamaria seems to be. And unlike her sister, she can sniff out a threat from a mile away. Yet somehow, I’ve stayed under her radar. She doesn’t suspect my ulterior motives in any way, which works in my favor.
In another life, we might’ve actually been friends since I enjoy being around her more than I should. I just hope she feels the same about me.
Having made up my mind, I pull out my phone and shoot Stella a message.
