Page 14 of Of Desire And Deception

“That’s all,” I muttered gruffly, then turned and stalked through the club to the door past the bar, refusing to spare Wynn a glance as I made my way to my office and slammed the door behind me. I sank down on the black leather couch, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees as I ran my hands over my face and through my hair.

I needed to break the downward spiral. If I didn’t stop the demon crawling beneath my skin, it would soon take over my body, and I’d be a danger to others. Maybe even myself.

Reaching blindly into my pocket, I retrieved my phone and unlocked it, dialing the only person guaranteed to talk me down. My knee bounced as the ringing filled my head.

Ring. String them up.

Ring. Drain their blood.

Ring. Watch them take their last breath.

Ring.

“Cos.” Niccolò sounded tired, but alert when he answered. “What’s up?”

“Talk to me,” I murmured, rubbing my temple.

“I took Mia to a bakery yesterday,” he started in, knowing exactly what I needed. “You should have seen her bumping up against the table with her belly while she tried to knead the dough. She was covered in flour.”

I forced out a laugh because the story was supposed to be funny. “How is she?”

“Happy,” Niccolò replied quietly. I could hear his footfalls as he walked through the villa. “I’m more concerned with how you’re doing.”

“I’m—” I thought about it for a moment, trying to settle on an answer close to the truth but vague enough that he wouldn’t feel the need to catch the next flight back to Chicago. He didn’t need my fucked-up self derailing his life. He finally had happiness with Mia and the child on the way. I couldn’t ruin that. “I guess I’m okay. Life is a little too placid right now.”

What a fucking lie. I didn’t want to tell him about Wynn, though. I liked having the urges for her as my little secret.

“I thought you were busy weeding out the rebels.” Sometimes my brother was a little too perceptive. “You’re telling me you find that boring?”

“No,” I answered too quickly, unused to telling lies. Usually, I didn’t give a fuck if the shit that spewed from my lips alarmed people. “I’ve hit a brief lull. The bastards are good at hiding. I just need to find more of them.”

“Hm,” Niccolò hummed thoughtfully. “Cos?”

“Yeah.”

“Turn some music on.”

“I can hear the music from the club,” I explained, glancing toward the door where the bass pulsed through the barrier.

“Still,” he encouraged. “Put your music on.”

“I can do that.” Standing, I moved to my desk and sat heavily in the plush leather chair. I hit the power button on my laptop and waited for the screen to light, then clicked on my music app and selected a playlist.

“Beethoven?”

“Uh-huh.”

"Fur Elise" filtered through the speakers, and my head moved in time with the music. I could feel my chest swell with the chords, exhaling the tension that had gripped my body.

“You know, it’s rumored Beethoven wrote it for a woman he wanted to marry,” Niccolò mused. “But the love was unrequited.”

“I taught you that years ago,” I pointed out, my lips tugging into a half smile. He didn’t give a damn about classical music, but as a boy, I’d devoured every fact I could about the composers who kept my tumultuous mind from snapping. They were like mentors from the past who showed me that humanity had always existed the same. The good, the bad, and those like me caught in the ever-present struggle to resist the horrors lurking in the recesses of my memories.

He chuckled. “I guess I’m a good listener since I still remember useless facts.”

“Not sure I’d go that far,” I quipped back. “Adequate, perhaps.”

“Yeah, it’s my adequacy that has you calling me at five in the morning.”

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