Page 24 of Depths of Obsession (The Emerald Dagger Mafia #2)

CHAPTER 24

D o you have eyes on the entrance? I ask Nico telepathically as I weave through the crowd gathered at the entrance of the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, the towering structure casts long shadows across the piazza. The night air is thick with the scent of nearby trattorias and the golden lights of the historic glass-domed shopping gallery glow like a beacon against the dark Milano sky.

Yes, comes Nico's swift response.

Of all the times to be late. Being arrested and then dealing with the horrendous traffic—there was no way I could have gotten here faster without drawing unwanted attention. But now, having seen Pippa, relief soothes the edge of my anxiety. She's safe, she's here, and after this chaos, I can't wait to celebrate our marriage properly tonight. I have plans for her, plans that have kept me going through this hellish day.

Have many people entered? I ask, focusing on the task at hand, urgency prickling under my skin.

No one as yet. Looks like Calaba hasn’t put out the word that it’s time for the auction.

I scan the bustling crowd, trying to locate Nico. He’s always been the best at hiding in plain sight, and he loves rubbing that fact in my face. He says it’s about making your energy small, so people just look past you. I have no idea how he does it.

To your left, Nico says, a smirk clear in his voice, as if he knew exactly what I was doing.

I casually glance left, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter to blend in. There he is—standing next to an elderly woman dripping in diamonds and fur, her laughter carries over the noise of the crowd. Her hair is dyed an unnaturally light shade of blonde, almost white, and her skin is unnaturally taut, puffed from too many visits to the plastic surgeon. The older ladies always love us Valdici men. It’s a phenomenon I’ll never understand.

I should have known you were trying to find a date, I think at Nico, flashing a grin and hiding it behind my champagne glass.

Funny, Nico growls back, his eyes narrowing.

I suppress a chuckle, turning my attention to the main entrance of the Galleria. The place is opulent, the intricate iron-and-glass ceiling above us a wonder of 19th-century architecture, reflecting the grandeur of its age. I station myself at a slight angle, making it look like I’m admiring a nearby storefront window. My attention split between blending in, watching the crowd, and keeping tabs on Pippa.

I’m in, boss . Rocco’s voice crackles in my earbud. If it weren’t so damn loud in here, I wouldn’t even need the tech—normally, I could hear him straight from the van parked down the block. But with the clinking of champagne glasses, the swell of conversations, and the occasional bursts of laughter, it’d take too much concentration to pick out his voice through the noise.

Relief floods me, easing some of the tension in my shoulders. I was worried he wouldn’t be able to hack into the Galleria’s security system. Now that he's in, neither Nico nor I have to waste time guarding the entrance. Rocco can handle it through the cameras.

Rocco’s in, we can relax, I say to Nico.

He nods. Where’s Pippa?

I left her in the same spot you did, I answer, trying to sound nonchalant, though I know I’m failing.

Nico steps up beside me, grinning, an almost teasing edge in his voice. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, little brother.”

“I damn well better. She’s my wife.” I feel a growl building low in my throat, thinking of how much I want her. All I can think about is ripping that dress off her, making her scream my name. It’s maddening.

About that , Nico says going back to our private channel but still having a smirk in his tone. Thanks for the wedding invite.

Funny, I reply, shaking my head. We’ll have a big wedding this summer. You can come to that one.

Nico nods to someone across the room, the smile fading from his lips. Father is going to be pissed when he finds out. He’s more worried about the curse than he’s letting on.

It says "the brothers three," I remind him. All three of us need to be married . Just don’t get married, and we won’t have to worry about it.

I move toward where I last left Pippa, Nico keeping pace beside me. I don't like this, Luca, he says, his tone serious and wary. There's very little chance we're getting that necklace. This whole thing feels risky—getting involved with Gazzago’s mess isn’t wise. I don’t want his family to die, but I’m not sure this is the best move for ours.

My brother isn’t wrong. I honestly don’t care about Gazzago. I do, however, care deeply about who’s behind framing me, who wants me taken down so badly. The fastest way to get to the bottom of this is through the necklace.

Nico grunts, shaking his head. Remember the first time we came here?

A small smile tugs at my lips. The day it opened. I remember. It was… incredible. The memory comes back clear and vivid. I still hear the excited chatter of women marveling at the shop windows, the awed gasps of the men gazing up at the miraculous architecture of the iron-and-glass ceiling. The place hasn’t changed much. The same kinds of people, the same sense of wonder.

I miss those days, Nico admits, his voice tinged with nostalgia. It was simpler. If we had a problem with someone like Gazzago, we’d just rip his throat out. Problem solved.

I nod, my jaw tightening. Agreed. Sometimes I wonder if running the clubs, managing the family—all this bullshit—is worth it. We’ve got enough money. Why do we need more?

Nico sighs, a knowing look in his eyes. It’s not about the money, Luca. It’s about power. That’s harder to give up.

I mull over his words, rolling them around in my mind. Maybe our cousin Kyros has it right. He seems contented enough, I say . He is an introvert who sticks to his corner of the magick realm.

Nico snorts, a skeptical expression crossing his face. Kyros is a fucking recluse. You’d be bored out of your mind without the clubs to keep you busy.

I grimace, shrugging slightly. Maybe. But right now, I’d kill for a little boredom.

We reach the spot where I left Pippa, and I stop abruptly. The place is bustling, people moving about in colorful gowns and black tuxedos, but she’s not here. A cold prickle of dread moves down my spine.

“Where did you say you left Pippa?” Nico asks out loud, his eyes narrowing as he scans the crowd.

“Right here. Same spot as you did,” I mutter, my gaze darting around, trying to pick out her face, her bright eyes. I look toward the open Louis Vuitton store, then to other storefronts nearby. But don’t spy her. I focus, cutting out the background noise, searching for her voice, her scent. My heart pounds harder, my gut twisting.

“She’s not here,” I say, the words bitter on my tongue. “She’s not in the Galleria.” Panic claws at my chest. I can’t lose her now.

Nico’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as his gaze sharpens. “You think she’d leave on her own?”

My gut clenches, the thought tearing through me. Would she run? Not now. Not after we got married. It makes no sense. Then again, once Pippa gets something in her head, there’s no stopping her, but if she did… God help her, I’ll wring her neck myself.

“Luca?” Rocco’s voice crackles through my earbud, sharp and urgent. “We’ve got a problem.”

Nico turns, locking eyes with me. He heard it too, his expression darkening with concern.

I grit my teeth, my voice low. “What is it?”

“It’s Pippa.”

My pulse hammers. “What about her?”

“She’s walking across the piazza toward the Duomo. Calaba’s with her. It looks like…”

My heart nearly stops. Calaba with Pippa—fuck. “Looks like what?”

“He’s got his arm around her. It looks like they’re lovers, but Luca, her expression is terrified.”

I’m already moving toward the side exit of the Galleria, the door that opens to the piazza. Nico is right beside me. “Rocco, keep your eyes on her. Don’t lose her,” I say, my voice tight with anxiety.

“I’m watching her, but I have to hack into the Duomo cameras to see inside.”

Nico and I stride across the cobblestones of Piazza del Duomo. The square is alive with tourists and locals—people taking photos, couples walking arm in arm. And there, far ahead, I catch sight of Pippa’s bright hair and vibrant green of her dress. Calaba has his arm wrapped around her, guiding her toward the grand facade of the Duomo. My blood runs cold.

Don’t do anything stupid, Nico warns me through our mind link.

As much as I want to tear Calaba apart for touching her, Nico’s right—it would only create more problems. He’s well connected, and his security is tight. I scan the piazza, and my eyes catch what Nico means. Men are stationed at various points—dressed in tourist clothes or posing as street vendors, but unmistakable to those of us who know what to look for. Calaba has surrounded the place with security, his extra muscle blending into the crowd. I also notice more cameras set up around the Duomo. He planned for this. He always planned on using the Duomo.

“Shit,” Rocco growls in my ear. “I can’t hack into the cameras inside the Duomo. Not enough time, and they’ve boosted security protocols. I’m flying blind here.”

Calaba and Pippa reach the doors, and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed. Pippa glances back over her shoulder, her eyes searching. I know she’s looking for me. Rocco’s right about her emotions; I can see the fear in her face. My stomach plummets, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to break into a run.

“Don’t do it,” Nico says quietly beside me, sensing my turmoil. “It’ll draw attention to us—and to how important she is to the Valdici family. Most people don’t know about your marriage yet. If they know how much she means to you, it’ll only make her a bigger target.”

The fact that he’s right doesn’t make it easier. “What the hell does Calaba want with her?” I hiss.

Nico shrugs. “Maybe she knows him from the gallery?”

“She does, but De Carlo wouldn’t let her deal with Calaba. He’s too much of a big fish.” We approach the Duomo’s wide steps, my heart thundering in my ears. “Rocco, got anything?”

“No, boss. Nothing I can do electronically. I’m going to use my powers. Keep your earbud in—I’ll update you.”

We’re almost at the doors when three men emerge from the shadows, blocking our way. “Invitation,” one of them demands, holding out his hand.

I pull the invitation from my pocket and hand it over. He nods and starts a body search—his hands patting me down, making sure I’m not armed. My entire being tenses with fury, and it takes everything in me not to snap his neck. But I stand still, ignoring the insult. Beside me, Nico is being patted down as well and radiating anger to match mine. His jaw is clenched, but he stays silent.

Finally, the third man opens the door, and we step inside the Duomo. The enormous cathedral is dimly lit, the soaring arches casting elongated shadows. The intricate marble floor is hard and unyielding under my feet, the grandeur of the place swallowed by my creeping anxiety.

I cast my senses out, trying to locate Pippa. There’s a trace of her perfume—lavender—but it's faint. The large space swallows her presence. Where has Calaba taken her?

“She’s on the roof,” Rocco says suddenly. “He’s showing her the view. It’s part of a tour—something for the tourists.”

I spot a sign indicating the way to the roof. I take a step toward it, but Nico grips my arm. “Don’t. It won’t help,” he says, his voice steady.

“I can’t leave her up there alone with him,” I growl.

Nico nods toward the doorway leading to the roof. Two guards step out, positioning themselves on either side of the door. “You won’t get past them without making a scene. We can’t afford that if you want to find out who’s behind all this.”

“I’m more worried about Pippa,” I say, my voice coming out in a snarl.

Rocco cuts in via our earbuds. “She’s okay for now. Looks like Calaba might be holding the auction up there. He’s altered the roof line. There’s a flat section now instead of the whole thing being sloped. They’re setting up chairs, a bar—servers are bringing out drinks. Hell, there are mink stoles for anyone who gets cold.”

“Shit,” Nico mutters.

“No, this is good,” I say, forcing myself to think rationally. “If the auction’s up there, then Rocco can monitor it. We aren’t totally blind. Rocco, keep an eye on Pippa. If anything happens, if she looks like she’s in trouble?—”

“I’ve got it, boss. I called a couple of my brothers. They’ll be here in ten, setting up in the buildings around the piazza. We’ll have your back with a little magick if needed.”

“Thanks,” I say, appreciating his foresight. He’s a good friend.

He’s a better mage , Nico adds.

I’m still uneasy, but knowing we have eyes on her helps. The hairs on my arms prickle as a burst of laughter echoes through the cathedral.

We turn and see Marcello De Carlo enter the Duomo, a silver-haired woman on his arm, her laughter echoing against the cathedral’s stone walls. She’s impeccably dressed—an elegance not often seen today.

“Ria Tailor,” Nico supplies. “Renzo knows her. I haven’t met her.” Behind them, two men in tuxes enter, exuding the air of the elite. “Alfred and Peter Krinst.”

I nod. “Alfred’s the art lover, but Peter’s wife, Danielle, is into jewelry. He’s probably here to bid on her behalf.”

“You think he hates his wife, or he just doesn’t know the necklace’s history?” Nico asks.

“Probably the first. Danielle married him before he got rich—no prenup. If she gets cursed and dies, he’s free.”

Nico grins, shaking his head. “How do you always know all the gossip?”

I return the grin. “You’d be surprised what I hear in my clubs.”

Another couple enters—Hal and Dorothy Miller. “Real estate in the US,” I say. “She’s an ex-model, rumored to be ex-MI6.”

“Constantine and Dimitry,” Nico says, pointing as two men and a woman enter. “And Natalia—their sister. Looking good tonight.”

He’s not wrong—Natalia is striking in her floor-length gown, her hair flowing in loose curls. She’s stunning, and trouble. “You don’t want any part of that,” I mutter.

Nico arches a brow. “Been there, have you?”

“Once.” I shrug. “She’s willing to do anything, but she’s also a daredevil.”

“Daredevil could be fun,” Nico muses.

“Not that kind of fun.”

“Do you think she could be behind all this?” Nico asks, curious.

I hesitate to consider the idea. Then reject it. “I don’t think so.”

“Good, because here she comes.”

“Natalia.” I greet her with a kiss on the cheek when she approaches. “Nice to see you.”

“Is it?” she replies, her smile forced. “I wouldn’t think so, considering you abandoned me. You left me to fend for myself.” Her eyes narrow. “I haven’t forgiven you, you know.”

She turns to Nico, her expression softening. “I haven’t met you. Perhaps we should get acquainted.” She lets her gaze rake over him.

“Perhaps,” Nico replies smoothly.

“Natalia!” Dimitry calls, waving her over.

She flashes a seductive smile at Nico and gives me one last glare before walking away.

“Well,” Nico comments, “seems she’s pissed at you. And maybe you’re right—crazy isn’t always fun.”

I ignore him, my thoughts turning back to Pippa. “Rocco, what’s Pippa doing?”

“She’s sitting, has one of those mink stoles around her. Calaba’s talking to some guy in a tux. I’m running a facial scan… it’s Carl Anderson, an art dealer. He’s talking to her now—she looks a bit relieved.”

“Keep me updated.”

People continue filtering into the Duomo, high society in all its wealth and pretension.

“The whole world’s here,” Nico comments. “CEOs, bankers, arms dealers.” He nods toward two men in traditional white robes. “Even royalty. Those are Saudi princes, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Any of them have a reason to hate me?” I ask.

Nico studies the crowd. “I don’t know. Have you pissed anyone else off?”

I let my gaze drift over the room. “I’ve had run-ins with more than a few of these people, but nothing that would make them want me dead.”

“Well, someone does.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Suddenly, there's a stir. Calaba stands near the cathedral’s entrance, flanked by his guards. He claps his hands, commanding everyone’s attention.

“Good evening, everyone!” he announces in a loud, carrying voice. “Thank you for coming tonight. I know you’re all eager to see what we have to offer. I thought it fitting to hold this auction here, given the divine nature of the pieces being offered.”

The crowd murmurs, a few polite chuckles mixed in.

“Since it’s such a lovely evening,” he continues, “I thought we’d do this on the roof—closer to the celestial heavens.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. When did he get so full of shit? Nico groans. I remember when Calaba used to be all business.

Art makes people poetic, but I think there’s more to this. I think he’s trying to tell us something about the pieces up for auction. I thought it was just the necklace, but now I’m not so sure.

Why the roof, though? Nico questions.

He’s right. Why the roof? Something about this doesn't sit right, and unease deepens within me. I thought I was prepared for anything, but falling in love with my wife has upped the stakes we’re facing here tonight.