Page 113 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

I didn’t look at her—couldn’t look at her—because if there was a single red mark on her skin I’d snap.

“Get out, Gianna,” I said.

She hesitated.

“Out.”

As she headed toward the door, Donny looked to Saul to see if he should let her pass. Saul nodded tightly. Donny shut the door and stood beside it.

Saul sat back in his chair and adjusted some papers on his desk, as if he hadn’t just been caught assaulting his daughter. “Have a seat, Allister. It’s been a while since we’ve chatted.”

I’d never chatted with the man in my life. Never worked with him either. I was only an acquaintance of his through Antonio. And I’d only ever agreed to work with Antonio—an Italian, no less—because I was obsessed with his wife.

I remained standing. “I don’t know how I can make this any shorter and sweeter for you—Gianna doesn’t exist for you anymore.”

“You say that as if you have a claim on her, Allister. Remember, I’m the one who put her on this goddamn planet.”

“Did you? From what I’ve heard, someone else fucked your wife harder than you.”

Red washed his complexion. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

“I’m afraid it might be too late for that.”

Our gazes burned into the other’s.

“You want my daughter? Fine, you can have her. Just don’t come crying to me when you find her fucking your repairman. I’m afraid she takes after her mother in that regard.”

The man was so fucking bitter he stunk of it. But there was something else there—guilt. The boss was getting older and his conscience was filling up. He was just too twisted to know how to apologize and, instead, ended up choking out his daughter instead.

“I’ll take my chances.”

When I passed his underboss, a single pop ricocheted off the walls as I pulled out my .45 and shot him in the arm. He hissed in pain and slid down the wall.

Saul’s jaw was tight, but he only arched a brow.

“That’s because you touched her.” I put my gun away and opened the door. “Every time you touch something that belongs to me, I’ll fuck up something of yours.”

THE POP THAT CUT THROUGH the air sent a shard of ice through my heart.

As soon as Christian stepped into the parlor where I’d been pacing, relief sank beneath my skin and stole my breath.

My pulse raced.

My eyes burned.

The anger, the relief, the fear of this twisted family reunion—it all exploded. I strode toward him and shoved him. He didn’t budge an inch, and that only made me angrier. A tear slipped down my cheek.

“You’ve been working with my papà!” I accused.

“I have never worked with your father.”

A bitter sound escaped me, making it clear I didn’t believe him.

His jaw ticked. “I dealt with Antonio only. As you know, they happened to be in the same circle.”

What he said made too much sense. I’d jumped to conclusions because I always assumed the worst in men. But that wasn’t only it. I wanted to believe the worst in him. Because he made me feel like I was spinning out of control, as if that life raft was slipping from my fingers every time he put his hands on me.

I hated these feelings.