Page 1 of Brutal Obsession
1
VALENTINA
I’m late. Again.
While I curse the stupid Maps app as if it’s solely to blame for my tardiness, my inexpensive heels batter the uneven cobblestones in the heart of Carlisle. Their stomps mirror the discouraged honks of the early-morning commuters who loathe as much as I do that peak-hour traffic starts well before dawn.
The sun has barely risen, and its low hang creates shadows on historic architecture I’d slow to admire if I weren’t on a time crunch.
Carlisle is a sunburned metropolis on the north coast of Sicily. Nestled between rolling lemon groves and the sparkling blue waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea, it’s the perfect location for rest and recovery.
Well, that’s what I told myself three months ago when I abandoned everything familiar for this country’s promise of solace.
Willing the blue dot on my phone’s screen to magically fix itself, I follow its directions to the wire. An additional thousand steps don’t resolve my issue. The Maps app continuously leads me to a decommissioned council building instead of the hospital I’m seeking.
Carlisle’s labyrinthine streets mock modern technology, but I doubt I’d fare better with paper maps. All the old buildings paintedin white, terracotta, and pale-blue hues lookexactlythe same. I can’t tell a family-run bakery from a gelato store.
Anger reddens my cheeks when my phone notifies me to turn left.
“There is no left! So how the hell am I meant to turn left?”
I’m already strangling my phone, but my clutch firms enough to crack the screen when a message from Dr. Russo’s secretary pops up. If I don’t arrive at Ospedale San Giorgio’s in ten minutes, Dr. Russo’s secretary will postpone our meeting until after Dr. Russo returns from a six-week international conference.
Determined not to let technology sabotage a mission over a year in the making, I quicken my pace. This morning’s meeting isn’t with the local council’s corrupt building inspector. It’s far more important than hiding the cracks of an unsteady foundation so I don’t end up homeless. This could unravel my entire existence.
“Dio mio,” I mutter, glancing at the time.
I wouldn’t be on such a time crunch if I’d left earlier, but my hair loathes extreme humidity, and I didn’t foresee a dead battery. I’m usually the first to arrive…
Actually, scrap that. Tardiness has become my middle name of late. It isn’t my fault. Carbs are cheap, but they also demand weekly wardrobe tweaks. Since laundry day isn’t until tomorrow, I’m down to the bare basics. My blouse is barely holding together. Three buttons are all that stand between disaster and me. My ample cleavage won’t survive a fourth loss.
After regulating my breathing, which I’m praying will reduce the likelihood of being arrested for public indecency, I close the Maps app and scroll through the Photos app. Carlisle is a patchwork of identical buildings and picturesque coastlines, but if any of the business names match those I’ve passed three times this morning, perhaps sometime within the next century, I’ll escape the maze endeavoring to swallow me whole.
I find the image I’m seeking as a horn blasts in the distance. Ihardly notice it. I glue my eyes to my phone’s screen, anxious to identify the name of the giant stone wall blocking my path.
I’m in such a hurry that I don’t register the smoothness of the curb compared to the unevenness of the footpath, nor do I hear the truck hurtling down the main road at a reckless speed. My focus is fixed on the universally known hospital icon on the old-school map I snapped a picture of months ago, and relief surges through me when I realize it’s mere blocks away.
I’m oblivious to the danger roaring my way, but thankfully, not everyone’s brain is as sluggish as mine when denied a morning shot of espresso.
A rough, urgent hand snatches my arm and plucks me out of the path of danger with barely a second to spare. My phone slips from my hand, and before I can catch it, I’m flattened against the cool metal of a dark SUV.
The good Samaritan who saved me from a head-on collision with a truck shields me with his body as the speeding motorist thunders past us. Our near miss is so close that the air whistling from the undercarriage of the truck whips my hair back and rattles my core.
That was a close call.
Too close.
For several heart-thrashing seconds, only my pounding pulse and the fading echo of the truck’s horn fill the silence.
Even with imminent disaster gone, the stranger doesn’t release me from his protective cocoon. I don’t mind. My skyrocketing heart rate is settling, but the spasms in the lower half of my body remain steadfast. They make me wonder if they stem from fear or if they’re associated with something I’ve not experienced in a long time.
I wipe the fear from my eyes with a handful of blinks before peering up at the man who saved my life. Though his body is still squashed against mine, since he stands a good foot taller than me, I encounter no issues drinking him in.
The sophisticated scent of his cologne matches the striking features of his face, and his messy dark hair is tousled in a way that suggests he runs his hands through it multiple times a day. It’s early, but his chiseled jaw already displays the start of a five o’clock shadow, and his sable eyes are intense.
When I huff, shocked someone can start their day looking this fantastic, my minty breath fans his cheek. Mistaking my sigh as a wordless request for space, he steps back, further highlighting his alluring package. He’s not just attractive. He’s also tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a tailored black suit. The collar of his crisp black business shirt is open. His watch looks expensive but understated, and his shoes have been polished to a mirror shine.
His commanding presence draws a crowd, but his intense gaze remains fixed on me. I won’t lie. The interest his eyes hold as he travels them over my face and body makes me blush.
