Page 31 of Bound in Obsession
Signed in bold, arrogant script:Andrea Gallo.
“That fucker,” I growl under my breath, fury igniting in my veins.
I look up sharply. “How the hell did these get here? Who delivered them?”
I need to know how close they were to the mansion. Was it Gallo himself?
Enzo shakes his head. “They weren’t delivered to the mansion, Boss. I found them at your downtown office when I went to pick up the documents you asked for yesterday. The receptionist said they were dropped off early this morning. I brought them straight here.”
I exhale, some of the tension easing. At least my home hasn’t been compromised. Gallo is playing games, psychological warfare, trying to rattle me.
I crush the card in my fist. “Double the patrols. Secure every perimeter. I want eyes on every approach road.”
The men nod and scatter immediately.
“Get Marco,” I order Enzo. “Now.”
He hurries off.
I stare down at the blood-red roses, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
Matteo Gallo thinks he can intimidate me. He thinks he can take what’s mine.
He has no idea who he’s fucking with.
I walk back into the house, still buzzing with irritation, when I spot her.
Eleonora is standing by the tall window in the living area, arms loosely wrapped around herself as she stares out at the front yard.
Daniel must have let her out of the bedroom like I ordered before my run. She’s wearing the tight black leggings that cling to her long legs and the curve of her ass like a second skin, paired with a simple white tank top that’s a little too snug across her breasts. Her dark hair is loose and slightly messy, falling down her back.
Fuck.
I groan internally. Just what I need this morning.
She turns when she hears me, eyes flicking to the crushed card still in my hand.
“What are the roses for?” she asks.
I quirk a brow at her.
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. I heard you and your men. They’re from Andrea.”
“Sherlock,” I mutter.
She rolls her eyes harder. “Shouldn’t you be figuring out how to fight him instead of being sarcastic with me?”
“Oh, I’m more than ready for Andrea,” I say, walking past her toward the kitchen. “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it.”
“I’m not worried,” she shoots back, following me. “Why would I waste any emotions on that?”
We enter the kitchen. As usual, Lea is already at the stove, humming while she cooks.
“Morning, Nico,” she says cheerfully, then glances at Eleonora. “Coffee?”
“Yes,” I answer, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. I take a long swig, toss the empty bottle into the trash, and accept the steaming mug Lea hands me.
Eleonora is still trailing behind me like a shadow.
