Page 7 of Vicious Behaviors
‘And you don’t want us to do it the hard way,’the devil laughs.
I press my foot into the bullet wound in his thigh. His shrill scream is louder than any other sound in the hangar, but he still bares his teeth at me.
“Fuck you,” he retorts in mangled English.
I shake my head.
‘You heard the man,’ the voice grins. ‘Let me try.’
I take a deep breath and lean down, eyes locked on his as I let the monster peek at them. Not all the way. Not yet. Just enough for him to see through my eyes and witness to the unholy thing living inside me. The thing that craves its pound of flesh by any means.
The man pales instantly, bearing witness to his own death marred in my eyes.
“Tell me who took my brother and sister? Tell me who and I’ll let you live.”
It’s a lie. I know it, and he knows it.
“Idi na huy!”
I don’t need a translator to know he just told me to fuck myself.
‘My turn,’the voice demands, no longer happy sitting on the sidelines.And I obey him. Like I always do. Knowing he is my siblings’ best chance right now.
The minute I let go… something shifts in the air around me. The temperature drops instantly, creating a prickling sensation to creep up my spine. And then, in a flash, I’m no longer in control. Like an outsider looking in, I feel my arms move, but I don’t give the command. I see my hand pull the knife fromDom’s belt beside me, but I don’t remember reaching for it. The man starts begging on cue, but I never hear a word spill from his lips. The blade slices across his palm first, then deeper—tendons, nerves, blood spilling out like ink across concrete. I flip him over, press my knee into his back, and carve lines up the length of his arms.
‘He’ll talk now,’the demon boasts. But still, the man grits his teeth. Defiant even in his fear and pain.‘Hmm. Maybe we have to be more convincing,’the voice cackles in pleasure.
His words have barely taken root in my mind when I see myself move the dagger in my hand onto his shoulder and start cutting. Cutting… cutting… cutting until the blade meets bone. But I don’t stop. I never stop. And somewhere in the haze, I hear my own voice, loud and clear, speaking to him—except it’s not my voice at all. It’s something darker, deeper… almost ancient.
“Do you feel that?” I whisper to him, pressing the blade against his throat. “That’s your soul begging to leave your body. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure not to give it what it wants.”
The man just curses at me in his native tongue, forcing me to break one of his fingers to get my point across. Followed by a second. Then a third. A fourth. Once all his digits have been rendered useless, I take the tip of my dagger and push it slowly under one of his fingernails. One by one, they pop off like buttons off a worn-out winter coat.
His deafening screams echo in the night like a choir of the damned wailing in hell. Then… nothing. Black. Just black. My mind goes completely blank. Like a curtain falling, calling intermission. It only rises again when I feel Dominic’s hands on my shoulders, shaking me awake from my stupor.
“Marcello!” he barks. “Marcello!”
I blink once. Then twice. It takes me a third blink for my vision to fully clear and realize I’m covered in blood. Inhisblood.
The man at my feet isn’t screaming anymore. He isn’t moving. He’s not even a man anymore. Just body parts.
“Stop,” Dom says, his voice patient but firm. “We have a name, son. It was Mikhail Petrov. ThePakhanis the one who has Stella and Lucky.” Before I can take another look, he steps in front of me, shielding my view of the mutilated corpse, trying to insulate me from myself and what I’m capable of. “We have a name. That’s enough.”
I stumble back, panting, the blade still wet in my hand. And that’s when I realize the fearful glances of all my father’s men toward me. No one speaks. Not even the monster inside me, now quiet, content, and full.
Despite all the eyes on me, it’shisthat land hardest—my father’s. Vincent Romano doesn’t utter a word. He doesn’t have to. His silence cuts deeper than any scream this hangar has witnessed tonight. And his stare? That’s what truly guts me. Disappointment—plain and wordless—carved into every fine line of his face, his eyes portraying that I, once again, have fallen short. That I, once again, let the devil win.
Chapter 2
Isobel
It’s been two months since I got back to the Washington Field Office. Two very long months. Before that, I was riding high, working undercover with the San Francisco task force, chasingBratvaoperations up and down the West Coast, preventing them from taking root on U.S. soil. My first official assignment in the Organized Crime Division of CID, and not to toot my own horn, but I was freaking killing it.
Then I got called back to D.C., and ever since, I’ve been spinning my wheels and twiddling my thumbs. They try to keep me busy with briefings at the Hoover Building, reviewing dead-end case files, and enough bad coffee to give me heartburn.
I know the drill—stay ready, stay sharp, and sit quietly until you’re called off the bench. But the waiting is starting to itch under my skin.
I didn’t sign up to push paper while Organized Crime HQ plays musical chairs with assignments. I need something real. Something with teeth. Something that reminds them why they brought me into this division in the first place. I’m not just somerookie they can keep on standby. I’ve proven to be an asset, and they damn well know it.
