Chapter Seven #2
As it turned out, he wasn’t dating Rey at all.
They never crossed paths again the entire time I spent watching him.
He did, however, go out to bars and flirt with other girls—which only verified Rey’s casual hookup persona.
Because of this, I assumed Michelangelo was just another rich Tinder fuckboy in Manhattan, sleeping with girls left and right.
But it didn’t really happen that way. For all the girls I saw him hit on, he never brought any home. I followed him on one Tinder date, and it went about the same way it had with Rey. He went home with her, they fucked quick— less than ten minutes —and then he left.
Yes, I watched. Grow up.
So he wasn’t a playboy. And as much as I wanted him to be, he wasn’t an arrogant jerk either.
In fact, a lot of the qualities that had drawn me to Rey were also popping up as I watched Michelangelo.
He stopped to give money and food to homeless people, as well as help tourists with directions— patiently , I might add.
He volunteered work with inner-city kids and helped old ladies carry their groceries.
He paid for the coffee of whomever was behind him in line every time he went to Starbucks.
He spent a lot of time in the gym, but not in a douchey way, like his friends did. Rather, he simply enjoyed staying in shape and keeping active. Like me .
Most of the time when he went out with people, he’d find excuses to break away from the herd.
And when he’d sit alone, gazing at his phone screen as our generation does, he wouldn’t be scrolling Instagram or TikTok…
Usually, he’d be reading. Sometimes it seemed like he was playing a game, though I could never see which one.
I desperately wanted it to be Call of Duty or something stupid like that.
Anything to make him less unique, and more like the shallow, predictable dudebro he was supposed to be.
Knowing him, it was probably Pokemon fucking Go .
As it would happen, Michelangelo Russo was a rare and remarkable aberration. His personality just didn’t fit. And it made me despise him all the more.
No one who looks like that, with that kind of money, and such an obvious plutocratic pedigree, is ever so genuine. So thoughtful, interesting and… sweet.
Ugh.
I couldn’t stand how unpredictable he was. How cool he was. And the craziest part was that the more I watched him, the more addicted I became to watching him. It made no sense…
I should’ve stopped once I found out he had no interest in dating Rey, but I didn’t. I couldn’t . Without even realizing it, I’d become obsessed.
I hated him, I knew I did. That was the one and only reason I was still stalking him. It had to be. Because if not, then why?
One night, as I sat outside a community theater for hours while he was in there, it dawned on me… I hadn’t even thought about Rey in almost a week.
This whole thing was supposed to be about her. If it wasn’t, then… what the fuck was I doing??
My emotions were running high. The void Rey was supposed to fill had somehow been filled by this fucking guy .
And it confused me so deeply, I began to simmer, on the verge of a rage blackout.
I followed him home, where I sat stubbornly and waited for that golden opportunity to present itself.
I was making this happen tonight. No more bullshit.
I was going to flip Michelangelo Russo upside-fucking-down.
It took a while, though not as long as you’d think. Eventually, his name popped up on DoorDash, and I had my in . I got his food and brought it to him, just like the last time. Only this time, I had a more concrete plan.
You know what they say about making plans, right?
He came to the door in just his joggers again, showing off that damn perfectly sculpted eight-pack covered in smooth, unmarked olive skin.
I swallowed roughly, forcing myself to look anywhere else.
He was holding a stack of papers as he jaunted over, and I managed to sneak a peek at them… It looked like a script.
So he was an actor. Or at least he was trying to be. The community theater thing makes sense now…
“Hey, again,” he murmured as I handed him the takeout bag. He tilted his head, a curious gleam in his ocean eyes. “You ever take that helmet off?”
“Sometimes…” I grumbled stupidly, and he chuckled. My jaw ticked while my stomach flipped, and I cleared my throat to distract myself from it. “Rehearsing?” I nodded to the papers in his hand.
“ Auditioning ,” he corrected in a humbled, almost self-deprecating tone. As if he didn’t think he was good enough for whatever he was doing, but he was going to do it, anyway.
I could relate… But damn him for once again being so real.
“For what?” I asked, though not sure why .
He peeked at me, our eyes connecting through the open visor of my helmet. “ Little Shop of Horrors. ”
“Cool,” I breathed. “Well… I hope you get it.”
What are you doing?? Why would you say that??
He smiled bright, perfectly straight white teeth on display. “Thanks, Ghost Rider.”
“Mhm…” I turned away before I could implicate myself anymore.
I heard him hum, “Goodnight,” behind me, but I was more focused on the tape I’d subtly slipped over the door mechanism.
I wandered around for a couple of hours, waiting for him to go to sleep, all the while wondering what in the hell I was even doing. I was being driven by something else entirely, something I didn’t understand, but that filled me with an almost thrilling sense of mortality.
Usually, my stalking was just harmless fun. Some might call it weird, or creepy—or illegal —and all of those things would be accurate. But I’d gotten used to doing it over the years. I was comfortable with it. It comforted me.
I’ve always been the quiet kid. The kid with only a handful of friends, but who preferred being alone. None of my friends really knew me, but it was okay. Because I was better at being in the shadows, anyway. Still am.
But something about Michelangelo had a very real hold on me. I just hoped, for my sanity’s sake, that breaking in and breaking him would break the spell.
When the lights turned off in his townhouse, I went back and crept inside quietly. Stealth, like a cat burglar or a jewel thief. Helmet off, but still protected by my face mask, just in case.
Adrenaline had my pulse popping as I wandered farther inside. The rush I got from doing this was unlike anything I’d felt before. Being inside someone’s space without them knowing… It got me so much higher than simply watching ever had.
Chills of excitement wove through my limbs while I snuck around a corner, peeking left and right, listening for any noise.
He seemed to live alone, which was still odd to me.
The place was enormous —at least one visible set of stairs leading to another floor.
And the decor wasn’t what you’d expect of a twenty-something Broadway kid.
It looked like they’d used John Gotti’s decorator.
In his sitting room, I went for some framed photos on the mantle. And right there, front and center, was the explanation for all of it.
It was Michelangelo smiling, standing in between an older couple who were clearly his parents. I recognized them immediately.
Michelangelo… Russo . As in Antonio Russo . The Governor of New York.
Michelangelo is Governor Russo’s son.
“Holy fucking shit…” I whispered, an instant ball of dread forming in my gut.
I’d just broken into the governor’s home. I was standing in the Governor of New York’s fucking living room, after having stalked his son incessantly for almost a month.
My first instinct was to flee. To run the fuck out of there and never look back—it certainly would’ve been the smart thing to do. But instead, I took a moment to breathe and think.
Clearly, this wasn’t Governor Russo’s primary residence.
I was pretty sure I remembered hearing that he lived in Long Island somewhere.
This was most likely just his place in the city he used occasionally.
Where his son lived, like the entitled, wealthy-as-fuck son of a politician he undoubtedly was.
Despite how fucking nuts this revelation was, I couldn’t deny that I felt powerful.
I was standing in Governor Russo’s home, amongst his personal belongings…
With his son sleeping right above my head.
My heart was beating faster than it had in years, and the need to chase that feeling was unrelenting.
So, rather than slinking out of there with my tail between my legs, I made my way upstairs. On a mission, with one objective.
The place was eerily quiet. It was so big, darkness shrouding me from all angles. I truly was a shadowman, drifting a long corridor to follow a light at the end.
The dull glow coming from what I imagined was Michelangelo’s bedroom lured me closer, until I was just outside, limbs jittering with nervous electricity. When I peered through the crack in the doorway, I spotted him right away. Lying in his bed…
Naked. Eyes closed, with his dick in his fist.
What… the… fuck.
Swallowing became impossible. My breathing instantly sped up, and I had to focus on keeping it quiet.
I was so caught off-guard, I didn’t know what to do with myself.
For a few heavy seconds, I was stuck. Just staring , eyes gliding over the curves and contours of his body on display, bathed in blue light from the TV across the room. Which I then realized was playing porn…
Gay porn.
Jesus Christ… What in the holiest of fucks?!
It was muted, so all I could hear were his breaths and my blood rushing in my ears. I wanted to leave. But just like when I watched him with Rey, I couldn’t. I couldn’t move.
Because I… didn’t want to?
It made no sense. I wasn’t interested in men. I wasn’t attracted to what I was seeing. At least, I didn’t think I was…
I was stunned. That was it. It was a surprise .
Just another thing I hadn’t expected from him.