Chapter 24
Tessa
The faint click of the front door made me freeze mid-step. I had been sorting the dining ware, organizing the sets of plates by design into the cabinet. But the promise of Felix was far more compelling than organizing china.
I carefully set the plate down and practically flew toward the door, each step buzzing with electricity, my pulse quickening as I sensed him enter the house.
Today, he looked… different. Less intimidating than I expected, almost indifferent, but there was something in the way he moved that seemed off. He held the house keys in his right hand, the casual grip belying the authority I could sense radiating from him.
He turned to look at me, tilting his head ever so slightly, and for a moment, I felt like he was studying me.
A flicker of confusion shot through me, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“You’re not Felix.”
“Astute observation,” Rocco said, his voice smooth, calm, similar to Felix’s but somehow different. “Even our friends sometimes still confuse us for one another.”
I blinked, processing his words while a slight nervousness unfurled within me. It was unwarranted; Rocco was the reason I had ended up in the brownstone rather than a strip club.
“How could you tell?” he asked, his tone calm but curious.
“Felix is left handed,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended, but steady enough to carry the weight of my observation. “And you just have a different aura, I guess.”
Rocco’s expression remained unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on me with that intense, measured stare. There was no amusement, no flicker of a smile. He just had a quiet, commanding presence.
The silence stretched, heavy and almost suffocating, and I realized I couldn’t just stand there, frozen under his gaze. My throat felt tight, and my words stumbled out before I could stop them.
“Why are you here?”
Oh my god. Did I really just ask him why he was at his brother’s house, aka his deceased grandparents’ house? As if I had any right to question him, to stop him? My stomach twisted, heat rushing to my cheeks.
“Felix left his phone.” Rocco reached into his pocket and pulled out an iPhone, holding it with that same subtle but authoritative presence. “It’s not like I could get ahold of him to tell him he left it.”
“Oh, right,” I said, my cheeks ablaze. My words sounded small, almost ridiculous even to me, and I couldn’t meet his gaze. My hands fidgeted at my sides, and I felt my pulse hammering in my ears.
The silence stretched again, heavier this time, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t lift. I cleared my throat, forcing words past the lump in my throat.
“The night Felix took me… Why did you help me?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice barely above a whisper. “If you hadn’t have questioned him if he needed any extra help he would have sent me straight to the strip club.”
I felt heat creeping up my neck, my hands tightening at my sides. Saying it aloud made the memory sharper, the gratitude and nervousness twisting together in a knot in my stomach.
Rocco remained silent, his green eyes fixed on me, unreadable and calm, yet carrying a weight that made every word I’d spoken hang in the air longer than necessary. My pulse thumped in my ears as I waited, uncertain whether he would answer, or simply let the silence stretch on.
His gaze didn’t waver. “Sometimes my brother is hotheaded. I have to do the thinking for him.”
I raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was telling the truth. Felix was definitely hotheaded, prone to acting first and thinking later. But, from what I had seen, he was more than capable of logical decision making.
Part of me wanted to argue, to challenge him, but another part—a quieter, cautious part—told me to shut up. I had already picked fights with one mafia man; I didn’t need to risk my life by starting one with his brother.
“Is there anything I can get you?” I asked, forcing myself to snap back into the role of maid. “A drink? Food?”
My hands fidgeted at my sides as I spoke, betraying the nerves I was trying to hide.
“No. I need to get going,” Rocco said, turning toward the front door. His eyes flicked back to me for just a moment, cutting and exact. “Be careful around my brother.”
I swallowed hard, the words sending a shiver down my spine. There was no teasing in his tone, just a quiet authority that made it clear he meant every word.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, my voice tight with curiosity and a flicker of frustration.
But he didn’t answer. The sharp slam of the door echoed through the house, cutting off any chance of a response and leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.
“Ugh,” I muttered, slamming my hand against the wall. “He can be just as terrible as his brother.”
I let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. The house felt quieter now, emptier, but the weight of his presence still seemed to hang in the air, annoying me more than anything else.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I turned back to my work, forcing myself to focus.
Cleaning, organizing, keeping the place from falling apart—anything to distract me from the aggravation of dealing with Felix’s twin and the reminder that family ties could be as frustrating as they were inescapable.
Hours later, Felix walked through the front door, muttering under his breath about his phone. The familiar scowl was in place, and I could hear the frustration in his tone before I even saw him.
I raised an eyebrow and called out, “Rocco brought it for you.”
Felix froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at me. For a moment, the scowl softened—not much, just enough for me to notice—and he let out a low hum of acknowledgment.
“Where was it?” he asked.
“Rocco said you left it at the warehouse,” I said, twirling the hem of my shirt in my fingers.
Felix’s eyes narrowed, dark and stormy, and his voice dropped low, smooth but edged with warning. “And what else did Rocco say?”
My stomach clenched at the intensity, and I stumbled over my words. “N-nothing… really.”
Felix ran his hand along my collarbone, up my neck, until it reached my face. His thumb brushed lightly against my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw with a deliberate, almost predatory slowness.
I swallowed hard, my pulse spiking under his touch.
Every movement of his carried a weight I couldn’t ignore, a claim that made the air between us taut with tension.
I could feel the heat of him behind that dark, possessive gaze, and a part of me—part nervous, part exhilarated—wanted to lean into it.
“Good,” he murmured. “I don’t care if he is my twin brother. I don’t want him looking at what’s mine.”
My stomach flipped, a mix of nerves and heat curling through me. The weight of his claim pressed against my skin, and I realized just how intense his possessiveness could be.
I tried to speak, to respond with some semblance of composure, but my voice caught. Every word I could have said seemed trivial compared to the gravity of him standing so close, his gaze dark and unyielding.
Without warning, his lips crushed against mine, fierce and claiming. My body tensed, then melted against him as he pressed me back against the fireplace mantle. The hard heat of him against me was overwhelming, his hands gripping my waist as if he could make the space between us disappear entirely.
I gasped into the kiss, hands tangling in his hair as he deepened it, his possessive intensity radiating through every press of his body. There was no gentleness, only urgent, commanding desire that left me reeling, breathless, and achingly aware of him.
Something caught my eye as they briefly fluttered open. A row of portraits leaned against the fireplace mantle, all tilted slightly sideways, none secured to the wall. From where I stood, their eyes seemed to follow me, creating the illusion that they were staring directly at me.
The clue I had found suddenly echoed in my mind:
The proof lies where the portraits lean. Look beneath the gaze of those who watch, and the deceit will be revealed.
“Mmph?” I accidentally murmured into Felix’s lips. The proof wasn’t somewhere else in the house. It was here, beneath me, hidden in plain sight.
Felix’s grip on me tightened, possessive and dark, and I could feel the heat of his body pressing me against the mantle. Every instinct screamed to focus on him, yet my curiosity burned just as fiercely, teasing at me with the promise of discovery.
I broke the kiss abruptly, pressing a hand to my chest as my pulse raced. “Wait,” I whispered, my voice shaking with a mix of exhilaration and nerves.
Felix’s lips curved into a dark, predatory smirk. “Not so fast,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re not allowed to run off. Not when you belong pressed against me.”
The heat in his gaze made my stomach tighten, and I could feel the hard line of him in front of me, claiming every inch of my attention, even as my fingers itched to reach the portraits.
“Well…”
I launched into a five-minute speech, words tumbling out faster than I could catch them.
I rattled off everything I’d uncovered while cleaning the brownstone—the dates etched into the wall, the pocket watch hidden in the floorboards, the intricate code needed to open it.
And now, I had the answer to the clue I’d found inside the watch.
Felix leaned against the mantle behind me, arms crossed, one brow quirking. “You really went full detective on this place, huh?” His voice was low, amused, though the intensity in his gaze never left me.
“You’re not mad I didn’t tell you?” I asked, twisting slightly to meet his gaze.
“Mad?” he murmured, his voice low, a dangerous undercurrent threading through it. “No. Not mad. Surprised, maybe. Amused that you went digging without me.” His hand grazed my side, firm enough to make me jolt. “But mad? Not at you.”
I squealed, jerking away instinctively. “Felix! I’m—ah!—ticklish!”