Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)

I’ve heard that joy and heartbreak are two sides of the same coin but never understood it until the birth of my niece. Violet Ophelia Byrne is the most perfect, adorable little human on this earth, from her big blue eyes to her tiny, dimpled fingers. My profound love for her was instant and unshakable. I’ve never experienced anything like it.

I’ll always be grateful to have known that sort of profound connection. However, it wasn’t until then that I fully realized what I’d been denied as a child. Vi wasn’t even my baby, yet I felt a glimpse of what a parents’ love should look like. It shone a blinding spotlight on the grotesque disfunction that made my parents incapable of love and compassion.

My sister and I should have had the same love Violet will grow up knowing. We deserved that as much as any child. And it came so easily to me where Vi was concerned. How could my mother not have felt a fraction of the love that should have come so naturally? How could my father be so indifferent to my mother’s cruelty toward me?

Wounds that I thought had healed over were ripped wide open.

I began to question everything about myself. If a parent’s love, biological or otherwise, is the foundation of a person’s existence, how could a child ever grow into a functional adult without those key supports?

From the highest of highs after Violet’s birth, I fell into a suffocating vat of despair, grappling with my own worth. I looked at my sister, Lina, who had the same mother, though different fathers, and she seemed utterly flawless while I was one glaring imperfection after another.

Her father had adored her before he died from a brain tumor. I wondered if that was why she was so strong. She knew love at one point from at least one parent. But where did that leave me? I questioned whether I was the root of the problem.

It took me weeks to sort through my emotions. My logical brain embraced my innocence for the most part. I never asked to be born. I was just as adorable and perfect as little Vi when I arrived on this earth, and if my parents couldn’t bring themselves to love me, that was owed to their demons, not mine.

Where I still struggle at times is worrying about the damages done. I know the things I’ve experienced have marked me, and I pray that the scars won’t keep me from finding my sliver of happiness in the world.

Oddly enough, the very thing that made me question myself most was the same thing that gave me the most reassurance that I’m not hopelessly broken. Violet. She’s eighteen months old now and the most precious thing in this world to me because I know love. And if I’m capable of loving others, then I’m capable of being loved.

I am not my parents.

I will happily spend every day of the rest of my life devoted to my small family. My life means nothing without them.

“If you keep picking up her sippy cup, she’ll never learn to stop throwing it on the floor.” Lina glares at me, but there’s no real bite behind her words.

“You’re right. It could be rather awkward if she’s still throwing her sippy cup on the floor in the high school cafeteria.” I stare at my sister until we both burst into a fit of giggles at the mental image.

Vi shrieks with our laughter.

“Such a smart-ass,” Lina mutters before taking a bite of her penne pasta.

I grab takeout for all of us on Wednesdays after practice. Today, I picked up Italian. Lina and I practically inhaled our food. Violet has eaten approximately two noodles and thrown the rest on the floor around her high chair.

Lina is beyond exasperated with her precious toddler, but I can’t get enough. I think it’s adorable. Every time her chubby hand sends a rejected piece of pasta to the stone floor, her bright blue eyes beam with accomplishment. How could I possibly begrudge her such happiness?

“I know. Sorry, but this won’t last forever. She’s learned a new trick, and look at her. She’s so proud of herself.”

Lina gazes at her baby girl with a reluctant smirk. “Yeah, she’s pretty adorable.”

“The most adorable thing on this planet, aren’t you, sweetie Vi,” I finish in a cooing voice directed at my niece.

“But seriously,” Lina continues, “I could use your support here. She’s really testing her limits lately, and it’s exhausting. I’m exhausted. I told Oran the same thing, but he isn’t as fazed by it—like being a father is all fun and games.” She rests her head in her hand, her elbow propped on the table. Wisps of her beautiful blond hair have pulled free in revolt against her attempt at a ponytail, and uncharacteristic circles darken the skin beneath her eyes. She’s still gorgeous as always, but the strain is taking its toll.

“Sorry, Lina Bean.” I place my hand over hers. “I’ll be more help. I promise.” My chest clenches tight to know my sister is struggling.

She nearly lost her own life trying to save me back when I first ran from my parents. As if their betrayal wasn’t enough, I ended up with amnesia not long after and went missing for months. I wasn’t in danger, but she didn’t know that. She hunted day and night for me—faced the awful people of The Society even after her own horrible past with them—all for me.

I owe her everything, and I’ve been doing everything in my power to repay that debt and keep her safe. The Society will never hurt her again. Not if I can help it.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” She shakes her head and leans back wearily in her chair. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re not doing enough. You help out so much. I’ve just been so tired lately. It’s like no matter how much I climb, the mountain keeps getting taller. Then little things that ordinarily don’t bother me suddenly seem like huge impositions.”

I sit very still as I look at my sister—really look at her. “Are you pregnant?” I whisper. No one else is home, so I don’t know why it comes out in a whisper except for the monumental implications of the question.

She stares back at me, speechless. “What? No … I … no. There’s no way… Vi isn’t even two yet.”

My eyebrows sweep high on my forehead. “Not sure if you’re aware, but her age doesn’t have jack squat to do with your ability to conceive.”

She glowers at me, head tilting to the side. “I know that. I just mean we haven’t even talked about another baby. I’m on birth control, so I don’t think that’s it. Who knows, maybe I have a thyroid problem. I guess I could call my doctor and get checked.”

“It wouldn’t hurt, and then you’d know. And in the meantime, you call me if you need a break.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your practice schedule. Opening night is getting closer, and I know how important this production is to you.”

I offer her a warm smile. “It is, but nothing comes before you guys. In fact, how about you go back and relax in the bath for a bit? I’ll finish up dinner here with the chunky monkey.”

“Oh, Mellie. That sounds incredible. Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. You go.”

The relief in her heartfelt smile fills my heart with warmth. “Okay. Oran will be home soon. He can take her off your hands then.”

“Pshhh. No one’s taking this cutie from me. Isn’t that right, sweetie Vi?” I reach under her high chair tray and tickle her tummy, sending her into a fit of giggles.

Lina floats away, tossing one more thanks over her shoulder. With some concentrated effort, I’m able to get Violet to eat her supper over the next fifteen minutes, during which Oran makes it home. He gives me a hug and smothers his little girl with kisses. She coos “da-da” in response, her wide smile displaying adorable little baby teeth.

“I sent Lina back to take a bath. She was worn out,” I explain.

Oran clicks on the television, then dives into his takeout. “I keep telling her to hire help, but she refuses. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. I think she has some kind of irrational fear that if she hires a nanny, she’ll become her mother.”

Huh. So maybe Lina wasn’t as unscathed by our mother as she seems. I hate to think it’s true, but it’s also somewhat comforting.

My train of thought is derailed as newscasters drone on in the background. My shoulders tense as I glance at the big screen TV in the living room.

“Sorry, I know you hate the news, but an important press conference is about to start, and I need to listen.”

I don’t simply hate the news. I can’t stand it. Literally. My anxiety goes through the roof—my hands sweat, and my heart ricochets erratically against the inside of my chest.

I force myself to focus on Violet. “Come on, love. Let’s get you down.” I wipe her face and hands with a wet rag, then lift her from her chair. She’s off and running the second her feet hit the floor. Well, running might be an exaggeration. It’s more like stumbling forward on the constant verge of falling over.

I’m in the middle of wiping down her chair when an authoritative, masculine voice filters out from the media system speakers. I don’t look at the screen. I’ve heard the voice before and know exactly who it belongs to.

I freeze, but only for a second, then I’m in action, moving purely on instinct.

“I have to go. You’re good with Vi, right?” I press a hurried kiss to Oran’s cheek while he’s in mid-chew, then race for the door before he even has a chance to answer. I probably look like a crazy woman, but I don’t care. I can’t stay a second longer. I’m already fighting back the need to vomit.

Thank God I live in the same building as Lina and Oran and can quickly escape to the safety of my apartment. While they live in a huge place that takes up the entire thirty-sixth floor, I have a much more reasonable one bedroom on the third floor—one of only a handful of single-bedroom units in the building. The first five floors consist of apartments that might seem small when compared to the upper floors but are huge compared to a standard place in the city. The materials and fixtures are top-notch, and security is fabulous. No one lives in this building without a sizable bankroll. I was incredibly fortunate Oran was able to snag this place for me.

The second I’m inside, some of the panic subsides. With my back pressed against the door, I take deep, even breaths—something I learned from the therapist to help calm my nerves. It helps surprisingly well for something so simple.

Once I’ve calmed myself enough that I no longer feel like passing out, I set my keys on the counter and head back to my bathroom for a shower. While the water warms, I put on music over the sound system that plays throughout my apartment. Something to drown out the voice now echoing in my head.

It’s not until I’m fully immersed in my shower, scrubbing shampoo in my hair, that I remember I needed to buy conditioner. I’m horrible about going shopping for food and essentials. Between my long hours dancing and easy access to restaurants in the city, I spread out my shopping trips until I’m perilously low on supplies. I know things are bad when I start to ration cotton swabs and toilet paper.

It happens more than I care to admit.

Today, I’ll employ the age-old technique of conditioner liquefication—a little water in the bottle with a few good shakes, and I can salvage what little product is left. That’s my plan, except the bottle is full when I pick it up.

I stare at the floral-scented detangler as though it sprouted lips and spoke to me.

Did I pick up a new bottle and forget? Or was I misremembering needing more? It’s the strangest thing, yet the same thing happened last week when I could have sworn I was out of Goldfish crackers that I like to snack on in the evenings. I checked my pantry, knowing I was out and expecting to stare pitifully into a barren cabinet, except a brand-new box was waiting inside.

I’d worry I’m suffering from some early-onset dementia if I didn’t know from personal experience how easily memories can come and go. The brain is a mysterious place. There’s no telling what’s going on in there, but something is clearly misfiring because it’s not like someone is sneaking into my place and stocking the cabinets. That would be strange, even for a girl who couldn’t do normal if she tried.

More likely than not, I’ve been so worn out from rehearsals that I’m misremembering. I’ll figure out tomorrow that I actually needed toothpaste or dish soap. That’s the most plausible explanation.

I slather on the conditioner and finish my shower, acknowledging that I’m clearly in need of sleep. It’s time for this day to be over.