Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 14

I must have walked back and forth to my door at least a dozen times before finally deciding to go next door. Making an appearance with cops present could make a mess of everything and is 100 percent an emotional decision. I know why they’ve come. I don’t necessarily need to check on Amelie, except that I do. The urge to be in there with her while some asshole cop questions her is so overpowering that my muscles literally twitch from the strain of holding myself back.

That whole be-careful-what-you-ask-for bullshit is true. I’ve been concerned about her reluctance to call the cops when she’s in danger. I’m glad she did it, and if I wasn’t so fucking obsessed with her, a visit by some overweight donut pusher wouldn’t be an issue. But I’m too far gone to let her deal with this alone. I need to be there.

When the door finally opens, a uniformed officer stands on the other side. He’s young but confident, immediately engaging me in a stare down. The manufactured bravado most cops flaunt usually flickers with insecurity when they face me, but this guy is steady and cool. His brand of unruffled self-control is the sort that can cause real problems.

“Can I help you?” he finally asks.

“I’m Amelie’s neighbor. I heard you guys knocking and wanted to make sure she was okay.”

The guy has the balls to narrow his eyes. Suspicion. If only he knew how right his instincts are.

“It’s fine, you can let him in,” Amelie calls from somewhere behind him.

That’s right. Back off, fucker.

The sentiment flashes in my eyes, and he reads it loud and clear but is still slow to step aside.

I cross to where Amelie sits at her dining table and cup her chin to bring her eyes to mine. “You okay?” The contact eases the tension in my chest.

“Yeah, I think I just got confused. Bad dream felt too real.”

Her eyes flee from mine, prompting me to release my hold on her. That dissipated tension cinches back into a tight knot. What the hell does she mean a bad dream? I know she doesn’t believe that because she’s avoiding eye contact—amateur lying tell number one.

The cops probably think she’s embarrassed, but I know better. She was wide-awake when I left her bedroom and knows damn well there was an intruder. That’s why these pencil pushers are here. So why the change of heart? Why claim the incident was a dream when it wasn’t?

I certainly can’t challenge her and reveal my part in this. The hotshot cop seems to be taking his role very seriously, though I’d say that has a lot more to do with Amelie’s big green eyes than his concern about an intruder. The only one of us in the room with any sort of transparency is the overweight asshole eyeing a bag of cookies on the kitchen counter.

“Seems Ms. Brooks might have had an intruder while she was sleeping. You didn’t happen to hear anything or see anyone suspicious recently?” Hotshot asks, eyes boring into me.

“Not until I heard you banging on her door. There was someone in here?” I turn my question to Amelie, who stands and fidgets with the blanket wrapped around her.

“No, I was about to explain to Officer Malone that I’m more and more convinced it was a false alarm. I’ve been spending too much time working lately, and the fatigue got to me.”

Why is she backing out? Who or what is she scared of? Was she already having doubts before I came over, or has my appearance played a role in her change of attitude?

The whole time she gives her rushed explanation, Officer Hotshot’s eyes bore into me. He didn’t like me swooping in, and all I can surmise is that he had designs on what’s mine. He has no reason to suspect me as the intruder. If not that, then why the open animosity?

He wants to play the hero, but as far as I’m concerned, he might as well be a mosquito flattened beneath my palm.

“If you truly believe that’s the case,” he says, “we’ll let you get back to your night. But I’d like to have a private word before we go.” He motions to the front door.

“Of course,” Amelie readily agrees and joins him at the door. Fuck if Officer Hotshot doesn’t guide her out with a hand pressed to the small of her back, and to top it off, he glares over his shoulder at me.

I draw deep from my reserves to keep control of myself because I’ve never wanted to kill a man more.

That’s not true.

One man will always hold that dubious honor for me. No one could ever top the murderous rage I felt for my father when I learned the truth about him. This guy’s gunning for a close second.

Tweedledum follows his partner into the hallway, leaving me alone in the apartment.

329 seconds.

That’s how long I stare daggers at the door until it finally reopens. Amelie offers repeated thanks to the officers coupled with an apology and a final goodbye. Once the door is shut, she leans against it and sighs heavily.

“He warn you away from me?” I know the answer, but I’m curious to hear what she says.

“No, he was just being cautious.” She pulls away from the door and wanders into the kitchen. “Want some hot chocolate? I think it’s a hot chocolate kind of night,” she murmurs in a weary voice.

I slowly amble after her, enjoying the view as the blanket she’s draped around her relaxes lower. “Man didn’t need to have his hands on you to ask you a few questions. I’d say he was overstepping his bounds.”

She gets a packet of cocoa from a box and shoots me a look on her way to get milk from the fridge. “He’s a cop trying to do his job.”

“And you’re naive if you think that’s all he was trying to do.”

“Even if he was, it’s none of your business. It’s not like we’re in a relationship.” Her words take on an edge, energized by her frustration.

She’s not the only one riding that train. This is the second time she’s tried to put up walls between us in less than a day. I fucking hate it. I’m glad her body responds to mine, but I want the whole package. I want Amelie Brooks to feel as helpless without me as I feel without her.

It’s time she understands where I’m coming from.

I close the distance between us as she reaches up into a cabinet for a mug on the top shelf. She stills as my body aligns with hers. I use the momentary distraction to reach above her and retrieve a mug, relishing the feel of her small frame pressed against me. I want to wrench the blanket out from between us, but the tease of what’s beneath will have to suffice for now. I’m still able to feel her body shiver when I bring the mug down to the counter. With my arms curved around her, I remove the lid from the milk and pour some into the mug.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s not how this works. You chose me. I chose you. We haven’t fucked, but that’s only because I want you to get to know me first. We can skip ahead, though, if it means you start to understand that you’re mine.”