Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 34

Sante’s mood did a one-eighty by the time he picked me up from practice yesterday. He hardly spoke more than a few words in the morning but was buzzing with energy by evening. I asked him the reason, and he said it was a surprise. We had such a nice evening that I decided to make breakfast when I got up this morning. With him in the apartment, I actually had enough fixings to make eggs and pancakes. I’m bad about groceries, but he’s kept the place stocked.

“That smells delicious.” Sante emerges from the bedroom, his voice still heavy with sleep. He’s put on joggers, but that’s it. His divinely sculpted arms and chest are on full display.

I stare at the sinewy movements of his muscles as he runs a hand through his unruly hair. “Mmm … delicious,” I agree in a daze.

He prowls closer. His lopsided grin does incredible things to my girl bits. And when his body aligns with mine, his lips trailing kisses from my ear down to my collarbone, I forget to breathe.

“I was talking about the pancakes,” he murmurs against my skin.

The reminder jars me back to reality. “Oh! Crap, let me flip them.” I spin around and save the batch just in time.

Sante stays at my back, his hands resting possessively on my hips. “Glad you’re up and going. We’ve got somewhere to be this morning, and it’ll take an hour and a half to get there.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, intrigued. “This my surprise?”

“Yup.” He pats my ass, then gets himself a plate. “Should be a good distraction from nerves about tomorrow.”

“That works. I’m glad we get a day to rest before the big night, but man, that anticipation is a killer.” I glance at him while he scoops a helping of scrambled eggs onto his plate. “You gonna give me a hint about where we’re going?”

“Sure, we’re going to Poughkeepsie.”

“Okayyy, how about a hint as to why?” I deposit the two pancakes from the skillet onto his plate.

“Not a chance.” The man flashes a grin and winks, and I can’t even be mad because it’s the sexiest, most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” I tease, pouring a couple of pancakes for myself.

“Or what? You gonna use that spatula to torture answers from me?”

I shoot a glare at him. “Never underestimate what a woman can do with a good spatula.”

Sante’s eyes lock with mine, and without a word, I know we’re both thinking back to the wooden spoon. A lupine grin spreads across his face while heat blazes across mine. I whirl back around to check my pancakes. Can’t burn the pancakes.

Pancakes, Mel. Focus on pancakes.

I manage to finish breakfast without humping Sante’s leg—a win for everyone involved. And an hour later, we’re on the road to Poughkeepsie. We talk about our limited travels. He tells me a bit about Sicily, making me want to visit. His uncle’s estate sounds incredible. An hour and a half flies by, and before I know it, we’re in the middle of nowhere, pulling onto a dirt driveway off a rural highway.

“What on earth are we doing here?” I ask, spotting a house nestled in a clutch of trees about half a mile away.

“You’ll see,” he says.

As we approach, I see a large barn building behind the house. The gorgeous property has rolling hills and bright green grass. It looks incredibly peaceful, except for the chorus of dogs barking the moment we exit the car.

An older man steps onto the front porch, coffee cup in hand. “Mr. Mancini?” he calls warmly.

“Mr. Cartwright,” Sante replies. “It’s good to meet you.”

We approach and shake hands. Sante introduces me as his fiancée, which only strikes me as odd in that … it doesn’t strike me. I’m not surprised. I actually sort of … like it. I like knowing I’m his, and he wants the world to know we’re together.

“Glad you could make it out here. Let’s go get our girl.” Mr. Cartwright leads us down the porch steps and around the side of the house.

“Our girl?” I ask Sante, trying to be discreet. Apparently, I suck at discretion.

Cartwright grins back at me. “Your girl. Though, we’ve had her around longer than most. Usually, dogs are homed at two to three years, but she’s been with us four, waiting on the right match. From what you’ve told me, Sante, I think you’ll find she’s a perfect fit.”

“A dog?” I blurt, my eyes bulging. “Are you getting a dog?”

“No,” Sante says, grinning. “I’m getting you a dog.” He looks at Mr. Carwright to explain. “I kept it a surprise.”

“Well, then. You’ll need to know, missy. This isn’t any old dog. Freya is a personal protection shepherd with two years of intensive training. She’s exceptional in every way.”

Sante chimes in, “Mr. Cartwright’s dogs come highly recommended—the best trained on the entire East Coast.”

I hear what they’re saying but can hardly comprehend what’s happening. Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d be getting a dog today. I’m so stunned that I can’t even tell how I feel about it. My mother would have never agreed on having a pet, so I never entertained the idea as a kid. Once I was on my own, it never seemed practical. Plenty of people in the city have dogs. I know it’s possible, but I’ve never felt confident I could juggle the responsibility with my practice schedule.

With Sante’s help, however…

I’m getting a dog.

Oh my God. I’m getting a dog of my very own!

Euphoria bubbles up from deep inside me like a freshly uncorked bottle of sparkling champagne. I practically float the rest of the way to the barn.

Cartwright opens the large front door, unveiling that this building is far more than a simple barn. The kennel facility is fully finished on the interior, with a huge open area in the middle and a series of large enclosures lining the sides where the dogs are housed.

“We let them have a bit more freedom unless we know someone’s on their way out.” He walks over to the third kennel on the left wall and opens the wire door. “Freya here is especially family-friendly. That’s what makes her a good match. She did most of her training with my daughter, who has two little ones.”

A gorgeous German shepherd walks out, her ears tall and an honest-to-God smile on her face. Her black and honey coat is long and softer-looking than some shepherds, who often have coarse hair. She’s the most beautiful, magical thing I’ve ever seen—aside from Violet. My niece always comes first, but Freya is a very close second.

My nose burns as tears well in my eyes. “She’s perfect,” I whisper. I’m probably supposed to assert my dominance or some bologna like that, but I don’t care. I just want to make friends with her, so I lower to the ground, sitting on my knees, and wait for her to approach.

She sits at Cartwright’s heel, not even a little tempted to come over. He murmurs a command, smiling. Freya is instantly up and ready to say hello. I grin as she sniffs a circle around me.

“Here, this always helps with introductions.” He hands me three strips of bacon wrapped in a paper towel. “Lay a piece flat on your palm, and she’ll lick it off. They’re trained not to snap at food, but it’s always best not to tempt fate.”

Freya prances as the savory aroma fills the air. I break one piece in half and lay it flat on my hand. She licks it off and immediately sits for more. I slowly reach out and pet her head.

“Good girl. It’s yummy, isn’t it? Want more?” I’m not sure I’ve ever been so happy in my entire life. I dole out all the bacon, along with a wealth of praise. When I tell her it’s all gone, she licks my hand clean, then lies down at my side.

I look up at the two men chatting above me as if to say, can you believe how perfect she is?

The two chuckle, and Cartwright gets out his phone.

“Eddie, come on out with the suit. It’s time to do a little show-and-tell.”

We go outside and spend the next hour learning all about Freya’s training. It will take me some time to learn the commands, but they gave us a packet of information as a refresher. Watching her in action is awe-inspiring. She’s magnificent. A fearless warrior. A loyal companion.

I’ve never received a more thoughtful, incredible gift in my life.

Before we walk back toward the house, I leap into Sante’s arms. “Thank you, thank you. I love her so much. I can’t even tell you how happy this makes me.”

A heady cocktail of emotions swirls in his eyes. “I thought you might like her, and I know I’ll feel better having her around.” He gives me a brief but ardent kiss, then eases my feet back to the ground.

“I adore her.” And I adore you.

I don’t say the words, but I get the sense he reads them in my eyes because his chest expands on a sudden breath. I’m glad. I want him to know how happy he’s made me. How he’s turned my world upside down in the very best ways.

Every day I spend with him, another one of my barriers drops. I’m in danger of falling hopelessly in love with Sante Mancini. But if this is what danger feels like, I’m ready for the front lines. I don’t want to go back to being alone. I want to seize this feeling with both hands and never let it go.