Page 94 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

He made a frustrated noise in his throat. “This wasn’t what this was about, Gianna.”

I blinked, and then the heat inside me dimmed and went cold. The man’s hands weren’t even on me—hadn’t been on me the entire time I’d practically mauled him. It seemed like I was always touching him. What’s wrong with me? He’d listened to my sob story and I’d reacted like a clingy virgin falling for her first lover. Humiliation settled inside me.

And then I remembered Aleksandra. The man had a girlfriend and I was throwing myself at him. No wonder he wanted me to stop.

I swallowed. “I must have lost my head there, Officer. I’m sure, with that face, things like this happen to you all the time.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“No?” My voice was hesitant.

“No,” he snapped.

Oh.

I climbed off him, got to my feet, and headed to leave.

“Gianna, wait.”

His door lay wide open, and I walked through it into the hall.

“Gianna.” The word was harsh and vehement. Christian Allister was not happy. But there was something else in his voice. Something soft and nauseating. Something that sounded suspiciously like pity. The day I stuck around to see that on his face was the day I’d willingly roll around in my own self-loathing.

I slammed my door behind me.

MY SECOND HUSBAND’S FUNERAL CAME on a mid-September day.

Sunlight splayed through the trees onto the cemetery floor, silhouetting each shade of black. Black hearts, black suits, black dresses. Polished shoes and Glocks. The Cosa Nostra had come to pay their respects in a sea of black.

A light breeze tousled the mantilla veil around my face. As gruesome as it seemed, this was a day I’d been waiting for since the moment I’d been married. I thought I would feel different. Free. But now that it was here, I felt nothing. Numbness had spread through my body, filling every vessel and vein.

Elena squeezed my hand before drifting with Ace and the rest of the crowd toward the line of shiny cars.

“You ready to go?” Lorenzo asked.

“I’ll find another ride home. I have something I need to do.”

“All right. But stay out of trouble.”

Slipping my hands into my dress pockets, I headed through the cemetery. The headstone was small and simple. It was the first time I’d ever visited it. The first time I’d had the will.

Sydney Brown, it read. Beloved Daughter and Friend.

I stared at the word friend for the longest time, searching for the right words.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry you ever met me, that I ever introduced you to this world. To Antonio.” My voice cracked, and I wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

I’d forgiven her a long time ago, but the guilt I felt for dragging her into my twisted life was still a heavy weight in my chest.

My gaze caught on movement to my side.

The procession had left but Christian remained. He stood by his car, hands in his pockets and his gaze on me. It was thoughtful and warm enough to touch my skin like a ray of sun.

It’d been only sheer luck I hadn’t seen him since the night I went to his apartment. I’d bared my deepest, darkest secret with him, naively believed it meant something, and been turned down, hard. The cutting ache of rejection still burned whenever I thought of him. And, to my bemusement, that happened to be more frequently every day.

He watched me as I walked over to him.

“Did someone blackmail you to take me home?” I asked.