Chapter One
Charlotte
I’m not a regular shrink. I don’t have a waiting room full of depressed housewives or stressed-out CEOs. My office sits at the end of a nondescript hallway in a building owned by a shell company, and my clients usually arrive with blood under their fingernails.
I didn't become the underworld’s favorite secret by being moral. Ten years ago, I was a residency student who didn't snitch when a man with three exit wounds crawled into the clinic I interned at after dark. I patched him up and sent him on his way without a word or a call to the cops. The monsters underground noticed. They bought my practice, bought my silence, and eventually, they bought my time. Now I’m a psychiatrist to devils on earth…even monsters need someone to talk to. And I can confidently say that I love my job. I’ve always been bored of the sane world. I’m drawn to the darkness.
However, never in a million years would I have expected Lucian Morelli to be in my office. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not because he’s sane. The Morelli name is synonymous with a very specific kind of madness. I know that. But men who rule a city with an iron fist rarely come here; their egos scream against it. Most of my clients are…much lower profile. He and his brothers own New York.
“He's losing it, Charlotte.”
Lucian Morelli is the eldest of the family. They are all, in their own way, ticking time bombs. He’s a killer—but he’s a killer with a purpose. The youngest brother he’s here for? He kills solely for the joy of watching people bleed.
“You’re all monsters, Mr. Morelli. Why does his flavor of it bother you now?” I tap my pen repeatedly on the desk; it could be due to nerves or interest—I haven’t analyzed myself in a longtime. My hands shake slightly. No matter how much protection I’m promised from certain clients, the Morellis remain the Morellis.
“Because we do it for a reason,” Lucian says through gritted teeth. “Valerio… he’s doing it for pleasure. The feds can ignore a hit. They can’t ignore a massacre.”
I sigh, taking off my glasses momentarily to rub my eyes. “No offense, sir. He’s a Morelli. You all have a streak of that.”
“This is fucking different,” Lucian snaps, looking me dead in the eye, which now feel naked without my glasses.
“The feds are sniffing around. We can bury it this time—heck, even a dozen times…but it doesn’t seem like he’s planning to stop anytime soon, let alone after a dozen,” he continues.
“And you want me to ‘fix’ him? Psychopathy isn't a broken bone… it can’t be fixed.”
In his youth, his school started taking note of his ‘strange behavior,’ and after one too many appointments with the school psychologist, he was diagnosed with psychopathy.
“We don't want him fixed, god damn it! We aren’t even right ourselves,” Lucian yells. “We want him controlled. If he can't be reasoned with, he becomes a liability.”
“I charge double for liabilities.” I shrug.
Lucian places a gold-ringed hand on my desk. He’s never seen without his ring; who knew Lucifer’s copy could be this devoted to a woman. “Name your price. You’re the only person suitable for this, and either the bravest woman in this city, or you’re just as psychopathic as he is.”
He isn’t wrong. The “normal” patients—the cheating husbands, the anxious socialites—they bore me to tears. I crave the predators. Maybe I am as psychopathic as all my clients. But what I know for sure is that I’m the woman who keeps some of the most dangerous men in New York from snapping. But Valerio? I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge. Anyhow, no onesays no to the Morellis, and I won’t be the first.
“Send him in,” I sigh.
He doesn’t even look at me as he heads for the door. “Try not to let him kill you. It would be a bitch to find a new shrink who can handle this without snitching.”
At his words, I find myself checking the drawers of my desk, making sure the small pistol I keep there for protection is loaded. I set it back down, put my glasses on again, and straighten my back. Inhaling a deep breath, I hold it for a few seconds before exhaling. It’s what I always do to ground myself between sessions.
When the door to my office opens, it does so without a simple knock. A clear power play.
Valerio doesn't look like his brothers. All of them have icy blue eyes; his appear to be hazel. He’s just a tad bit taller than Lucian, who is already as tall as a fucking bridge, but he’s leaner. If a devil ever wore a suit to prowl around humans, it would be Valerio’s essence.
He circles the room, his gloved fingers trailing over my books, my degree, even my fucking lamp.
“Sit down, Mr. Morelli.”
He stops at the window, looking out at the city. “They think I’ve lost my mind. My own blood.”
His voice is so deep that it makes goosebumps erupt on my skin. I place my arms under the table to hide the biological reaction. I can’t help it; despite all the men I’ve dealt with, no one has had this aura of pitch blackness like Valerio.
“They think you’re messy,” I correct. “And mess gets people caught.”
He turns then, crossing the room in three strides, leaning over my desk until I can see the flecks of gold in his irises. He smells like expensive tobacco and something metallic.Blood.
“You think you’re so different from me, Charlotte?” Hereaches out, his thumb catching on the edge of my jaw, tilting my head back. “You sit here in your sterile office, listening to us describe just how much of monsters we are. But you don't do it for the money. You do it because you’re a voyeur. You like the gore. You just want to keep your hands clean while you watch.”
