Page 1 of Depths of Obsession (The Emerald Dagger Mafia #2)

CHAPTER 1

" H oly shit! What the hell did you do?" I demand, my voice shaky as I take in the scene before me. My boss, Marcello De Carlo, stands over the body of a man lying in a pool of blood. A metallic scent fills the gallery’s small, dimly lit storage room where paintings and sculptures are stacked against the walls, waiting for their debut. My stomach churns as I start forward. Squatting down, I reach out to check for a pulse. My legs are shaking, and I lose my balance landing hands first in a pool of blood.

I let out a yelp and then struggle to stand, in the process getting blood on my pants and blouse.

"You shouldn’t have bothered. He’s dead. Bastard deserved it." Marcello’s voice is unnervingly calm as he steps away from the body, toward the center of the storage space. The cluster of half-unpacked crates and art supplies makes the room feel even smaller. The air is heavy with tension. Marcello casually adjusts his collar, checks his cuffs, and straightens his jacket as if this is just another day at work.

I immediately head across to the closet in the corner with the large sink. I jam my hands under the flow of icy water.

“What the hell happened?” I demand as I scrub my hands with an industrial scrub brush. There’s blood under my nails and I am desperate to get it off me.

I catch my reflection in the mirror. Blood is splattered on my cream-colored blouse. My hair is falling out of my messy bun and my dark eyes are the size of golf balls. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a dead body but it’s the first time I had my hands in blood. My stomach heaves.

I give up on my hands. I turn off the water and quickly dry them on a rag and then storm back into the main storage room.

“Did you kill him?” I ask, my eyes darting between the lifeless body and my boss, my heart thundering in my chest. The sight of the dead man in the pool of dull crimson blood on the cold concrete floor weakens my legs all over again. I’m supposed to be tough but the only time I’ve seen a dead body is in a casket.

“Of course I killed him." Marcello shrugs as if we’re discussing something trivial. "He tried to rip me off on a deal. I’m not putting up with that shit. I didn’t move to Italy to be swindled by some stupid bastard. If I wanted that, I would’ve stayed in New York.”

"Marcello, what the fuck were you thinking?" I ask, still in shock. The words barely make it past the lump of panic lodged in my throat. My gaze darts around the storage room, over the stacks of paintings leaning against the walls, the half-emptied boxes, and the random sculptures scattered about like silent witnesses to the unfolding horror. Dim lights cast eerie shadows across the space, making the scene feel even more surreal.

“I didn’t get any blood on the paintings, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Marcello says, sounding almost smug. “I made sure of it.”

“I’m fucking concerned about the body on the floor!” I snarl, my voice trembling with rage and disbelief. "What the hell are we supposed to do with it?"

Marcello makes a final adjustment to his jacket, then turns to meet my gaze, his expression indifferent. "It had to happen. Now, take care of this," he says, nodding toward the body as if it’s just another chore on my to-do list. Make the coffee. Check in the new inventory. Dispose of a damn body. "And don’t forget my bloody clothes in the office. Make sure the office is wiped down as well."

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open, struggling to process what he’s just said. "What the actual fuck are you talking about, Marcello?"

He glares at me, his expression hardening. "Seriously, Pippa, do I need to spell it out for you? You’re a mafia princess. Call your people and take care ”—he gestures at the body with the tilt of his chin—“of that. Why the hell do you think I hired you? This is your job."

Rage boils inside me, fusing my stomach into knots. "You hired me because I have an art degree from one of the top schools and a law degree. You needed help running this gallery and keeping your paperwork legal.”

Marcello snorts, a cruel smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I hired you because you’re mafia royalty. You’re Pippa Dominici, daughter of one of the major capos of the Giordano now Valdici mob family. I needed someone with connections to take care of things. This is one of those things.” He fucking snapped his fingers at me. “Now, take care of it.”

If the ground had been ripped out from under me I couldn’t feel any less adrift. My hands tremble as my mind races to make sense of his words. "I’m not a mafia princess," I spit out. "I’m the daughter of a former capo. I don’t have the contacts to deal with this shit. And I’m not getting involved in whatever mess you’ve made. This is where I draw the line. You’re fucking on your own here." I turn on my heel, heading for the door. I can’t get out of here fast enough.

“Pippa,” he yells, and I whirl around. He snaps my picture and then a cold smile warps his face. “You can’t leave,” Marcello says, his voice cold and commanding. "I’ll tell the police you did it." He shakes the phone in his hand. “And now I have proof. Look at you with blood all over your pants and blouse.

I stop dead in my tracks, loathing tightening around my throat like a noose. "They won’t believe you."

"Oh, they’ll believe me,” he says with a cruel smile. “You’re part of a known mob family, and you’ve been running the gallery for months now. When they dig around and find out I’ve been laundering money and making dirty deals, they’ll assume you were involved. I’ll make sure they believe you’re involved. If I go down, Pippa, you go down with me."

Horror claws at my insides. "I had no idea about any money laundering or deals." How could I have been so stupid? So fucking naive?

Marcello checks his collar again, looking completely unconcerned. “Try convincing the cops of that,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I’m late. Take care of this, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

He steps toward the hallway that leads back to the gallery’s entrance, but I move to block him. No way in hell he was leaving me alone with a dead body. "You have no idea what you’re asking or who you’re dealing with," I growl, my voice shaking with fury. "You aren’t leaving me to clean up this mess alone.” I point toward the closet in the corner. “Stand over there while I make a call."

Marcello’s eyes narrow, but something in my expression must have made him think twice. He steps back and leans against the door frame of his office, arms folded across his chest, watching me like a hawk. My boss is slightly over six feet, with a runner’s trim physique. His blond hair is artfully highlighted, and his blue eyes are enhanced by contact lenses. His sainted Irish mother gave him the eyes, he always says.

That was the only thing she gave him apparently. She’d left him with his father when he was a baby. His father was wealthy but never around. Marcello considers himself the epitome of fashion in a city famous for it. That should have been my first clue that he would be an asshole to work for. Instead, I ignored my instincts and took the job. I wanted so badly to do something on my own, without my family’s influence. And look how that turned out. Maybe I should go grab his bloody clothes. It would at least prove he was here. If I’m going down, I’ll be taking him with me.

But I’m not going down for this.

Panic claws at my insides as I pull out my phone. I can’t call my father. He’d lose his mind—and then he’d punish me. Then he’d drag me back home, marry me off to the most disgusting mafioso he could find. I’d never escape. My mother would make sure the wedding happened by the end of the week. If only I hadn’t come in tonight. There was me being diligent. I thought if I came in and unpacked some of the new pieces tonight maybe, just maybe Marcello would let me attend his meeting tomorrow with one of his wealthiest clients. As much as I’m not a huge fan of Ria Tailor, she is a mover and shaker in the art world, and I’d thought this might be my chance to make a favorable impression. And look where that thinking got me.

Hands trembling, I scroll through my contacts, finding the only person who can possibly help me right now. I dial the number, my heart racing.

“Mia?” I say as soon as she answers, my voice shaky. “I’m in trouble, and I need your help.”

"Pippa? What’s wrong?" Mia’s voice is immediately serious, and just hearing her steadies me a little.

“You know that thing we used to joke about in boarding school?” I ask, my words barely making sense as they tumble out.

There’s a brief pause before she responds, her voice cautious. “We joked about a lot of things.”

“The thing we joked about most. The protected plants," I say, hoping she’ll understand. It was our code—a silly promise between friends that if we ever needed to bury a body, we’d plant a rare, protected plant on top of it so no one could dig it up. Being the daughters of mafia members, it seemed like a necessary evil to plan for this. Never, ever , did I think it would really happen.

I hear her sharp intake of breath. “Where are you?”

“Where do you think?” I glance around the storeroom, at the blood on the floor, and the artwork surrounding me, and the jackass leering at me from the doorway. “The gallery.”

“Okay, hold on.” A muffled conversation is carried on in the background before Mia’s voice comes back, strong and steady. “Stay where you are. Someone will be there in the next few minutes.” She pauses. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Not by a long shot, but I’m not physically hurt. Not yet anyway.”

“We’ll talk later. Stay put. Help is on the way.” She hangs up with a final I love you and I put my phone back in my pocket.

“See? I told you; you’d know someone to call,” Marcello says, straightening to his full height. His smug expression makes me want to claw that smirk right off his face. “Now that’s taken care of, I’ll be on my way.”

I step in front of the door, blocking his exit. “Do not fucking move. I’m not facing this alone. You made me a part of this mess, so you're going to stand there and deal with whatever happens next, asshole. And you're giving me a massive raise. I want twice what I’m making.” Money wasn’t going to help this, but it was the thing that would upset Marcello the most. He loved money.

He snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “I will not.”

“Think of it as a body tax,” I snap, narrowing my eyes at him. I need him to stay, even if I have to bluff and tell him I’ll kill him if he leaves or better yet, I’ll tell him that I’ll have la famiglia take him out.

Marcello glares, his lips tightening, but he doesn't move. He glances at his watch and heaves an irritated sigh, as if this entire situation is a minor inconvenience.

The smell of blood and death is starting to get to me. I force myself to breathe through my mouth, but the stench still makes me gag. I fight to keep my composure—any sign of weakness and Marcello will leave me alone to deal with this. And honestly, I’m not convinced he won’t try to sneak out and hop a plane to the U.S. or Panama, or wherever the hell he can disappear without a trace. I’m not going down for this.

I glance at the body again. Something about the dead man looks familiar, and my stomach clenches with cold dread. Sweat forms between my breasts as I realize where I might know him from. Is he one of us? A Valdici family member? Renzo, Mia’s husband, is the head of the family. If this guy is one of Renzo’s men, we’re in serious trouble. There’s going to be hell to pay.

“Look, I don’t have all night, and it’s starting to stink in here. Get this cleaned up,” Marcello says with a dismissive wave as he tries to push past me. I plant my feet firmly and block his path. His hand shoots out, grabbing my arm, and he yanks me hard enough that my feet nearly leave the floor.

“I’ve had enough of you,” he sneers, his face close to mine. “You’ll do what I say, or I’ll take you down.” His grip tightens painfully, shaking me so hard my teeth click together.

“You will release her and apologize, or you’ll be joining your friend on the floor,” a cold, deadly voice says behind me.

Electricity races up my spine. I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. I would recognize that voice anywhere. Oh God, I never thought Mia would send him. I can’t decide if I’m happy or horrified.

“Let her go,” Luca Valdici growls, his voice vibrating with authority. There’s no mistaking it—it’s an order.

Marcello hesitates, his jaw tightening, but he lets go of my arm. “About time you got here,” he mutters, still trying to act tough. “Take care of this. I have places to be.”

He tries to shove past me again, but Luca steps into the doorway, his towering frame blocking any chance of escape. He’s taller than Marcello by a few inches, and the muscles straining against his white button-down shirt and blazer make it clear that this is a man you don’t want to mess with.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Luca says, his voice low and dangerous. He gestures with his chin for Marcello to back up.

Marcello crosses his arms, trying to appear unfazed. “I’m not taking orders from some errand boy she called. Move, now.”

Before I can blink, Luca drives his fist into Marcello’s gut. Marcello doubles over, gasping for breath, dropping to his knees as the wind is knocked out of him.

“I’m no one’s errand boy .” Luca’s voice glacial. He turns and gives me the once over, I’m sure taking in the blood on my clothes. I know I look just how I feel, dazed and confused, which is the last thing I want to look like around Luca. He’s as sexy as sin and I’ve been kind of obsessed with him since I first laid eyes on him at a dinner for Renzo and Mia. He reaches out and touches my blouse next to the dried blood. “What happened?”

I swallow hard, my mouth dry. Luca has always both fascinated me and scared the hell out of me. “I-I don’t have a fucking clue, to be honest. I came back here, and Marcello was standing over the guy, fixing his suit like it was just another day at the office.”

Luca’s stare flicks from my face to Marcello’s, then back at me.

I licked my lips and plowed on. “He told me he killed him because the guy was trying to rip him off. I didn’t want anything to do with it, but Marcello said if I didn’t take care of it, he’d tell everyone I did it. He took a picture of me with blood on my clothes, which I got when I tried to check for a pulse and fell over. He said he’d tell the cops I knew about the illegal shit going on here, and that I was part of it. I am not going to jail for this asshole.” The words tumble out in a rush, my panic rising with every breath.

Luca’s lips twitch, amusement dancing in his eyes. He’s trying not to laugh at me.

“It’s not fucking funny,” I snap, but my voice cracks with frustration and fear.

Marcello, still wheezing for air, struggles to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Stay there,” Luca orders, his voice sharp. Marcello freezes, not daring to move.

Luca walks over to the dead man, crouching beside the body. His jaw clenches as he stares down at the bloodied corpse. “Do you know who this is?” he asks, his eyes flicking back to me, his gaze suddenly far more serious.

“He looks familiar, but I don’t know why.” My voice wobbles in time with the speed of my heart pounding in my chest.

Luca stands, his expression grim. He glances back at Marcello, who’s pale but trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“He’s some guy who got sent here to screw me over,” Marcello says, his voice shaky, his gaze darting around the room. “Said his name was Edoardo.”

He’s lying. Marcello knows exactly who this is. I know because he has a tell. He always clears his throat before he says the lie. My knees go weak again. This isn’t going to be good.

Luca’s face hardens. “This is Edoardo Gazzago. He’s Tommaso Gazzago’s cousin.”

“Oh, shit,” I breathe, as air rushes out of my lungs. My stomach drops, a wave of nausea washing over me. This can’t be happening. “Of all the stupid shit you could’ve done, you kill Tommy Two-Guns’ cousin? Are you out of your fucking mind?” I stare at my boss. Make that former boss. Forget the money, I need to get as far away from this as possible.

Marcello shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the color drains from his face as the gravity of the situation finally starts to sink in. “It was necessary. I needed to send a message that Tommy can’t rip me off.”

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. Tommy can do whatever the fuck he wants. He’s the only guy Renzo left alone. He runs his part of Milano with an iron fist, and no one messes with him.

I blurt out. “Tommy is going to kill you without blinking.”

Marcello’s bravado falters, his eyes widen with fear. “He’ll kill you too,” he spits, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’m not going down alone. You need to fix this.”

I shake my head, horror twisting my insides. Underneath Marcello’s bluster, I can see the truth—he’s scared shitless. And now, I’m in this mess too. God help me, we’re both in deep, deep trouble.

Marcello might be a dead man walking, but I’m his fucking shadow. I’m going down too.