Page 73 of Brutal Obsession
The bartender who started his shift an hour ago looks up, drinks in my fury, and then wisely looks away. Good. I don’t need comfort or meaningless words.
I need revenge.
I pull out my phone, which feels as heavy as a weapon, and then scroll to the name I swore I’d never use again. My thumb hovers for not even a second before it presses the call button.
The voice that answers is smooth and amused. “Thought our arrangement was over?”
“It is…afterthis.”
A beat passes before a knowing laugh cracks out of my phone’s speaker. “Who?”
“Valeria.” The mere mention of her name fills me with a venomous rage that suffocates all my objections. “I want eyes on her. Tonight.”
There should be a pause or an uneasy swallow. Anything that tells me he’s uncomfortable with my plan. I get nothing but an agreement. “Understood.”
I end our call to avoid questions since I’m not obligated to answer to anyone but Valentina. I owe her more than answers.
I owe her blood.
The frigid night air outside feels like ice, yet it fails to extinguish the fire consuming me. Nothing will douse the flames until Valeria learns what happens when you wedge yourself between a man and his obsession.
Under the streetlight illuminating the unmanned SUV, I make a vow I’ll die upholding.
Valeria marked Valentina, so now I’ll mark a headstone with her name.
28
VALENTINA
I’ve been pacing so long a rug worth thousands now feels tatty under my feet. It’s been over two hours since Matteo hauled me out of the pub like a sack of flour, and I still can’t breathe right. My chest hurts, and my throat is raw from how many times I’ve swallowed the panic bubbling up my esophagus.
I regret not fighting harder to make sure Giovanni knew my exchange with Valeria didn’t rattle me, but Matteo didn’t give me a choice. One second, I was standing. The next, I was over his shoulder. I begged for the chance to tell my side, but Giovanni didn’t hear a word I spoke. He was deafened by rage.
Now I’m confined in a room like a Disney princess. It should feel safe, but it doesn’t.
It feels like a cage.
Hunger and unease churn my stomach, but the tray Dante sent sits untouched on Giovanni’s desk. The bread and soup could settle my flipping stomach, but it’s such a twisted mess I’m scared to fill it with food.
I’d hate for anyone to mistake the reason I’m sick.
Flattening my palms against the dresser, I try to level my breaths,hopeful some air will stop me from pacing. It doesn’t work. My pulse drums my ribs too fast to ignore, and the walls creep closer every time I stop wearing a hole in the rug.
As I continue pacing, I replay the expression that crossed Giovanni’s face when he saw Valeria’s marks. Anger wasn’t the only source of his fury. Something darker and more sinister had the room holding its breath like a chemical weapon had detonated in the pub.
If only Valeria hadn’t worn those stupid charms. We could have avoided all this if she had been a little less vain.
Anyone would swear she wanted me to carry her marks. If that was her plan, she’s more foolish than beautiful. She’d have to know how Giovanni would respond. I had an inkling, and I’ve only known him for weeks. Why do you think I wore a long-sleeved shirt on an extremely humid day?
Giovanni and Valeria have known each other for over two decades, so her imprudence makes no sense…unless she wants a war.
Further deliberation is cut short by a rattling doorknob.
My head snaps up so fast my neck aches. It’s most likely Dante. He’s checked on me a few times and constantly assures me everything will be fine, even though it feels anything but.
It’s funny. Dante was thrown into fatherhood without preparation, but his instincts are natural. His protectiveness is as relentless as Giovanni’s. Nico and Elio are the more reserved of the brothers, and Matteo has the restless energy of a crack addict. Therefore, if I have to put money on who’s coming through the door, I’ll only ever wager on Dante.
Faster than I can blink, the door shoots open, and then a flurry of brown tumbles into my room. My breath snags when my eyes land on the shuddering lump indenting the plush rug I wore down.
