Chapter 6
Felix
It was never a good day when I got a call from my lawyer. That meant I was flying a little too close to the sun with the cops that weren’t on the paid roster, people had talked a little too freely, or someone had seen too much. So, preparing for the worst, I let out an exhale as I picked up.
“Hey John.”
“Mr. Marchioni,” he said, ever the professional. “This is the final reminder: you need to take residence at your deceased grandmother’s house today.”
Today?! Fuck. I swear I had just had that conversation with Tessa like twelve hours ago. I guess my sense of time was a bit off. Or maybe the universe was messing with me.
“Yeah,” I said, pressing the bridge of my nose. “I’m on it.”
“Oh?” he asked, trying to mask the doubt in his voice. “Is the status… suitable for living in?”
“It’s good enough,” I responded.
Although I wasn’t exactly sure. I hadn’t seen the apartment since I last talked to Tessa and told her to get the primary bedroom spotless ASAP.
I hung up before he could say another word.
Fuck. I took a moment to soak in the opulence of my surroundings, the sleek furniture and the vibrant artwork that now felt like a distant memory. Moving from this luxury apartment into a dilapidated brownstone would be a step down in every conceivable way.
Now that I would be surrounded by clutter and filth, there was no way I could bring girls home. Fuck, why would I even want to? I’d be living with the most beautiful girl in all of NYC.
Which might prove problematic. Yeah, I wanted to fuck her, no question. But then she’d be around. Everywhere. I’d always used girls, had my fun, and tossed them aside like garbage. But Tessa… there was something about her that just grabbed me. Something I couldn’t let go of. I had to have her.
I groaned and rubbed my eyes. Well, no delaying it any longer.
I tossed clothes into duffel bags, shoved shoes and essentials into boxes, and made sure the few valuables I couldn’t risk leaving behind were tucked away.
Within an hour, the luxury apartment felt emptier than ever, echoing with the silence of a life I was temporarily abandoning.
Keys in hand, I climbed into my car, the engine growling to life as I drove toward the crumbling house that would now be my home.
The drive wasn’t long, but every red light felt like a countdown.
My apartment, my comfort zone, disappeared behind me as the city blurred past. When I finally pulled up, the building looked even worse than I remembered.
There was peeling paint, broken steps, and weeds sprouting from between the pavement.
I juggled the bags in one hand, my keys in the other, and let out a slow exhale. Lock clicked, door groaned, and with a shove, I pushed it open. The musty air hit me immediately.
“Welcome home,” I muttered under my breath, stepping inside.
Within seconds, Tessa’s head appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Oh,” she said, tilting her head. “It’s only you.”
“Careful,” I said, letting the sarcasm drip. “Try not to fall head over heels. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
She scowled at me. “I was going to thank you for the groceries, but I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“If you die of hunger I won’t have a clean house,” I said simply. “But if the primary bedroom isn’t clean, I’ll probably kill you myself.”
She motioned for me to follow her as she turned and disappeared down the hall.
I followed, my footsteps echoing against the warped floorboards.
The house had a dismal character, shadows lurking in every corner.
Tessa’s light, however, pierced through the gloom, which was both a comfort and a torment.
Tessa stopped at the third door on the left and pushed it open.
I shot her a glare that left no doubt in her mind: it better be clean.
She met my glare head-on, unflinching. Most would have cowered or looked away, but not her.
I couldn’t help a small flicker of respect—or something darker—stirring inside me.
The room was spotless. Not a speck of dust or clutter in sight, and the mildew smell was nearly gone. The old sheets on the bed had been washed and tucked perfectly, crisp and inviting. I had to give it to her; she’d done a damn good job. It looked like a completely different room.
But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that.
“And the bathroom?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes and gestured towards the bathroom door. I trusted it was clean, but I wanted to make a show of checking. It was part of the fun.
“Is the mafia prince happy?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“It’s passable,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Now, how did you find out I’m in the mafia? I don’t recall mentioning it.”
“Those two goons who delivered my groceries talk a lot,” she said, shrugging. “Also, you never even introduced yourself. The only reason I know your name is because your clone said it.”
I had to stifle a laugh. Her calling Rocco my clone wasn’t wrong, exactly, but still. It made me want to remind her that I wasn’t him.
I could throw her on this bed and—
Goddammit, focus.
But my mind didn’t care. It was already running the scene in full color.
I let my eyes roam over her from head to toe, taking in every messy strand of hair, the pout of her lips, every curve. She shouldn’t have looked like this—she should have been ordinary, forgettable—but instead, she made my chest tighten and my blood roar.
The room was perfect, but she wasn’t. Wrinkled clothes, dirt on her hands, sweat on her brow… and somehow, every flaw only made her more tempting. I lifted her chin, letting my thumb brush her cheek. “A mess like this,” I said, leaning in, “and yet… I can’t look away.”
“I-I,” she she stammered, cheeks warming.
I let a slow, dark smile spread. “Nothing?”
“Quit messing with me,” she scowled, though the heat creeping up her cheeks betrayed her.
I leaned in, letting my fingers trace her jaw. “Messing? No,” I whispered. “Just making sure my payment knows exactly who it belongs to.”
I let go of her, stepping back before I lost control entirely. Fifteen minutes in this house, and I was already on the edge. Living with her wasn’t going to be easy.
It was going to be lethal.