Page 3 of Depths of Obsession (The Emerald Dagger Mafia #2)

CHAPTER 3

I storm toward the front of the gallery, my mind spinning as I try to hold it together. It won’t do to fall apart in front of Luca Valdici. Better to lean into my anger than let fear and terror win. This day has been fucking unbelievable. I started it thinking I had the world by the tail, only to realize I’m being played. I honestly thought Marcello had hired me for my knowledge, for my talent. Finding out he only brought me on because of my ties to the mob? That’s a blow my ego did not need.

“Pippa,” Marcello calls after me, his voice grating on my frayed nerves. “You need to?—”

Blood boiling, I whirl around. “I don’t fucking need to do anything. What I want is to watch you die a slow, agonizing death, so stay the fuck away from me.” The words spill out like venom, and I don’t regret a single one.

His mouth hangs open, shocked, but then he sputters, “You have to help me. You just said so yourself.”

“I have to help find the Heart. I don’t have to do shit for you, or the gallery, or anything else. You’re on your fucking own. If you even think about coming near me, I’ll rip your balls off.” I spin back around and march to the front, grabbing my things with shaking hands before slamming the door behind me.

“Get into my car,” Luca’s deep voice cuts through the cool night air as he joins me on the sidewalk.

I hadn’t even realized he’d followed me. “I’m fine,” I snap, trying to shake off the burning anger still coursing through me. “I’m too pissed off. I need to walk it off.”

Luca’s gaze locks with mine, those dark green eyes pinning me in place. His voice is low, but firm, sending a ripple of electricity across my skin. “Get in the fucking car, Pippa. It’s after midnight. You’re not walking around Milano alone with your arms full of shit. Especially with blood all over your—” he gestures to my chest.

I want to argue. I want to tell him to fuck right off, to shove his overprotective bullshit. But damn it, he’s right. I’d attract all the wrong kinds of attention. “Fine,” I spit, the word bitter on my tongue. He opens the door to his car—a sleek, black Porsche 911, with a backseat not made for human beings.

I scowl, holding up my stuff. “Where am I supposed to put this?”

Without a word, Luca takes it from me, walks around to the front of the car, and pops the hood like it’s no big deal. He tosses my things inside. I mutter curses under my breath as I slide into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind me. The space feels too small, too suffocating, and I’m hyper-aware of how large Luca is beside me.

“Put on your seatbelt,” he orders as the car roars to life.

I sigh. “It’s fine. We’re just going a few blocks.”

Ignoring me, Luca reaches across my body, his arm brushing my chest, sending a shock wave of heat straight through me. My nipples harden beneath my soiled blouse, replacing my anger with something altogether different.

With a click, he locks the seatbelt into place.

“Stop treating me like a child,” I snarl, glaring at him. Having him this close is throwing off my equilibrium. I’m struggling to keep my emotions in check, and while anger is subsiding, desire is sliding into its place. I’m losing the battle to remain calm.

“Stop acting like one,” he retorts, pulling away from the curb with a surge of speed that pushes me back into the seat.

Okay, maybe I do need the damn seatbelt. My stomach twists as we weave through traffic, Luca’s driving is as reckless as his personality. The growl of the Porsche’s engine reverberates through me, mixing with the sharp citrus scent of him, filling the small space with tension. My pulse races, the confined space making me all too aware of his proximity, the brush of his arm, the heat of his body.

Now I’m not just pissed—I’m horny. Fantastic . I’m completely screwed up. Sure, I’ve always stayed away from Luca, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of him. I’ve felt him in every cell of my body at one time or another but so far, I’ve been able to shut the unwelcome attraction down. He’s dangerous as hell and I don’t need any more mob shit in my life.

I squirm, my leg pressing against the door as I mentally stomp on an imaginary brake when he takes a corner too fast. “Where the hell are we?” I demand, staring out the window, completely disoriented. Luca’s silence only fuels my frustration. He turns down a dark street, pulling up to what looks like a warehouse. The large garage door rolls up slowly, the lights flickering on, illuminating an empty, cavernous space.

“What is this place?” Anxiety creeps in as I realize I’m alone with a dangerous man in a location I don’t recognize. I should be scared. Hell, any sane person would be. But all I feel is a rush of adrenaline, a pulsing need that I can’t quite explain. My emotions are all over the place and considering what happened tonight that’s probably normal. Or so I tell myself. The truth is I’m a hot mess.

Luca climbs out of the car, heading toward a freight elevator in the corner. I scramble to follow him, refusing to be left behind. He pulls open the heavy door, gesturing for me to step inside.

“You haven’t answered my question,” I say, scowling as I hesitantly step into the elevator. “Where are we?”

Luca follows me in, pulling the door shut with a clatter. “We’re at my place,” he growls, his voice low and rough, as if his mind is elsewhere. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t give me anything more, and it’s pissing me off.

I fold my arms, glaring at him. “Why are we here?”

“Because this is where I need to be,” he says, his tone clipped, eyes distant.

The elevator jerks to a stop, and Luca throws up the door and steps out into his apartment. I step out and immediately feel a shift in the air. The space is massive, but unlike the cold emptiness of the warehouse below, this top floor feels alive, pulsing with energy. The walls are exposed brick, and floor-to-ceiling windows span the entire length of the room, offering a sweeping view of Milano’s skyline. Industrial yet luxurious, the place screams power—Luca’s power.

Despite my out of control emotions, I take note of the stunning interior. The open floor plan leans into minimalist design. Sleek, dark leather couches frame the central living area, facing a large, built-in fireplace that flickers with the glow of warm flames. The ceiling is high, crisscrossed with steel beams, and polished concrete stretches beneath my feet. There’s an understated elegance here—everything functional, nothing frivolous.

But what truly catches my attention is the far wall, the one opposite the windows. It’s dominated by an array of monitors, each screen flashing with data, security feeds, and a map of the city. Luca doesn’t just own this space—he controls it, every inch of it. The screens blink in and out, displaying surveillance footage from various angles of the city, some locations I recognize, some I don’t. What’s on display isn’t limited to just Milano. I’m pretty sure that Rome and Firenze are also there. Venezia as well. And is that New York? I could have sworn I saw a quick flash of a New York street. It’s like something out of a spy movie, and a chill creeps up my spine. What the hell is this?

Suddenly, it dawns on me. I never really thought about what Luca does for a living. He works for his brother, but Renzo is the head of the family. I didn’t think about Luca’s role. “You’re in charge of security,” I blurt out.

Luca startles, like he’s forgotten I’m in the room, then glances at me and frowns. “Among other things, yes. I keep watch over our businesses, legitimate and otherwise.” He walks over to the setup, fingers gliding across a control panel as if it’s an extension of himself. Within seconds, one of the screens shifts, and a familiar face appears. It’s his brother, Renzo Valdici. Renzo’s cool, calculated demeanor fills the screen, his sharp gaze assessing Luca as if he can read more than just the physical distance between them.

“Luca,” Renzo’s voice is crisp, efficient, just like him. “What the hell happened with Gazzago?”

Luca leans against the counter, his arms folding over his broad chest, the tension in his muscles unmistakable. His gaze is dark as he glances at me and then focused when he turns back to the screen, as if he’s weighing each word before letting it slip free. "Apparently, Gazzago's cousin, Edoardo, tried to rip off both Gazzago and Marcello De Carlo. He was supposed to buy the Queen’s Heart necklace from De Carlo with two point five million of Gazzago’s money, but he only brought five hundred K." His voice drops lower, the danger thickening in the air around us. "De Carlo killed him over it. Now Gazzago wants the necklace and revenge. He knocked one hundred thousand off the original price as a fee for De Carlo killing his cousin, but I don’t trust him. He’s going to kill De Carlo as soon as he gets his hands on that fucking necklace."

The venom in Luca’s voice raises goosebumps on my body, but before I can even process it, Renzo’s voice cuts through, sharper, more calculated. "The hundred K isn’t all the revenge he wants,” his face flickering on the screen like an omen. "He’s already reached out, demanding Pippa as payment. His wife died last year. He claims Pippa played a role in his cousin’s death and he wants reparations in the form of her as his new young bride."

My blood runs cold. “What? No!” My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my throat. “I won’t marry that asshole! I didn’t do anything! I wasn’t involved, I swear it!” The words rush out, desperate, panicked, but there’s a tightness in my chest that makes breathing literally impossible. My head spins, and for a moment, the room tilts dangerously. I sway, my legs unsteady beneath me.

Before I fall, Luca’s arm shoots out, grabbing my bicep, grounding me. His touch is brief, but the heat lingers, though he pulls away almost as if touching me burns him. I manage to stand upright again, but the weight of the situation crushes me. Right on cue my cell phone goes off in my pocket. I don’t have to check to know it’s my father. I close my eyes against the horror of it all.

"She wasn’t involved," Luca growls, his voice a deadly promise. " Gazzago has no claim on her."

Renzo lets out a long, measured sigh. "Unfortunately, that doesn’t matter. Pippa, Gazzago already reached out to your father as well and he agreed to the match. My hands are tied."

The room feels like it’s closing in on me. “My father agreed to this?” His betrayal hits me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. Luca swears loudly, as he clenches his fists, struggling to contain his rage. He grabs my arm and pins me with his gaze as I struggle to breathe. Somehow Luca seems to calm my body down and a minute later, I’m breathing normally again. He drops his hand.

The screen flickers as Mia appears, her face solemn. She looks straight at me, regret all over her features. “I’m so sorry, Pippa. I just got off the phone with your father. He made the agreement with Gazzago without talking to us. Gazzago even showed him pictures of you… with blood all over you.” Her eyes dart downward, guilt written in the way she avoids my gaze.

My hand wanders to the crusted, dried blood spattered on my shirt. I don’t need to ask; I already know what pictures she’s talking about. It’s all over me. The humiliation of it knots in my throat. Again, I sway. My cell phone goes off and I jump. No way in hell will I answer it now. My father sold me out. I know if I answer he will scream at me for bring shame on the family. He will do more than scream when he sees me again. I feel ill.

“I fell when I was checking for a pulse,” I say through clenched teeth. I’m desperately trying to hold it together. “Why the hell would my father agree to this?”

Mia glances at Renzo who heaves out a sigh. “I’ve been told Gazzago offered him a position with him in Milano. Your marriage to Gazzago would not only be a gesture of forgive and forget about Edoardo, but it links the two families. It also washes your dad and your family clean of your Uncle Luigi’s betrayal. Sure, he sold us out to the Albanians, but, with this marriage, we stand united… All is forgiven. That’s the message.”

My stomach seizes and twists and bile creeps up my throat. This can’t be happening.

“I thought Danillo retired with Aldo? Aren’t they off playing golf somewhere?” Luca comments.

Off playing the ponies more like it. I don’t say that out loud. I’ve been taught to never reveal any family secrets. The fact that my father has become a gambling addict in the last years is not even discussed in our house, let alone outside of it. “He’s not happy about what he sees as forced retirement. If Two Guns offered him a position in Gazzago’s branch of the organization, I’m sure he jumped at the chance.” My father sold me out. I’m his ticket to redemption and a new career. That thought makes me ill and I have to swallow hard so I don’t throw up.

Luca watches me closely, but he doesn’t reach out. “That asshole De Carlo took pictures of her. He must’ve sent the pictures to Gazzago.” His voice is harsh, the anger simmering beneath his words as he addresses Renzo. “Let me kill that bastard Gazzago, and we’ll be done with this.”

Renzo shakes his head slowly, his expression grim. “We can’t kill him. Not yet. He’s the middleman in a deal I’m making with some Afghan drug lords. He’s the only one with the contacts. If he dies, the deal falls apart. We need him alive until the deal’s done.”

Mia chimes in, her voice practical. “How long will that take?”

Renzo shrugs, frustration visible in the tightness in his features. “I don’t know. It’s taking longer than I’d like. Maybe a few weeks, a month at the outside, but I can’t guarantee anything. Gazzago’s playing games, and these guys are cautious. I’ll have some people dig around for a new angle, but until then, Gazzago has to continue breathing.”

I close my eyes and curse. Business always comes first. That’s how it had been in my household growing up and that’s how it is today. Just once, I’d like someone to put me above business. I open my eyes and stare at the screen.

Renzo turns his attention back to me, his eyes sharp. “Do you know where the necklace is? Where De Carlo might be keeping it?”

I grimace, feeling the weight of my next words. “He doesn’t have it. He never had it.”

Incredulity twists Renzo’s face, eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted. “Are you serious? He was selling a necklace he didn’t even have to Tommy Gazzago? Is he that stupid, or does he have a death wish?”

Luca’s voice cuts in before I can answer, his tone flat and cold. “He was supposed to have it. It’s up for auction. Calaba’s running it. No word on the location or exactly when yet. He’s moving the necklace around and De Carlo was supposed to be one of the people who were holding it.”

Renzo’s eyes narrow. “Jesus. Who’s invited to this auction? Calaba’s a nightmare.”

Luca steps away from me, turning his attention to one of the screens on the wall, his gaze intent. “No idea,” he mutters.

My heart races at the mention of Marcello and the auction. The thought of that man makes my stomach churn. I catch Luca’s glance in my direction, his eyes dark, like he can feel my panic bubbling beneath the surface.

Renzo is right, Calaba is a nightmare. “Calaba spends a lot of money on art. He’s known for it. His personal collection rivals many small museums. If he’s running the auction, you can count on all the biggest names in the art world attending. At least those who don’t mind breaking the law and to be honest, that’s most art collectors.” I don’t bother to add that I know for a fact Calaba uses art to launder money as well. He’s been by the gallery a time or two and it always leaves me shaken. He’s a stone-cold killer. I’ve been around enough of them to know. Gianfranco Calaba is a scary man.

Renzo’s sharp voice breaks the silence. “The Queen’s Heart—why is it so damn famous?”

I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. “It’s worth millions, but no one can claim it publicly. The Vatican, the Italian government, a slew of private collectors—they’d all want it. Museums would jump into the fray, too.”

Renzo arches an eyebrow. “The Vatican?”

I nod. “The legend is that the King of Sicily got the necklace from Pope Clement XI, as a reward for his help in the War of Spanish Succession, although no one is really clear on what that help was. Clement was so grateful that he had some jewels from Spain made into the Queen’s Heart and, with the King’s blessing, presented it to the Queen at a grand ceremony to celebrate God blessing the kingdom. If it resurfaces, the Vatican would likely claim it as theirs.”

Mia sighs softly. “So, if the necklace shows up, it could be a massive legal battle.”

There’s a long pause as everyone processes this information. I glance at Luca, watching the way his jaw tightens as he stares at the screen. Something’s going on between him and Renzo that I’m not privy to.

“What is it?” My voice is as tight as my shoulders, the tension in the room amplifying with each passing second.

Luca remains silent, his jaw clenched, and the weight of his unspoken thoughts presses down on me. His silence only accentuates the anxiety bubbling inside me. It feels like there’s a ticking clock, and I’m already out of time.

Mia leans forward, her expression softening in that way she does when she’s trying to be comforting but knows it’s not enough. “We need to figure out a way to get you out of this mess, Pippa.”

I let out a bitter laugh, more out of frustration than humor. “You think?” I shake my head, immediately regretting the sharpness of my tone. “Sorry. I just… I had no idea what Marcello was involved in, and now I’m caught up in something way beyond my control. I am such an idiot.” My voice falters as the enormity of it all threatens to crush me. I never saw any of this coming.

Mia frowns, her brows knitting together. “We’ll deal with Marcello later, but why do you think Calaba let him hold the necklace in the first place? It didn’t take De Carlo long to try and flip it. Calaba isn’t stupid. Why would he trust De Carlo?”

I pause, considering her question, trying to get my brain to focus on something other than the mess I’m in. “I don’t think he ever intended for De Carlo to actually hold it. Calaba’s too smart for that. He probably spread rumors about who had it, making it harder for anyone to track the necklace. If people think four or five different people are holding the necklace, it becomes a logistical nightmare to steal. I’m pretty sure Calaba used Marcello as a front, a decoy. Marcello’s ego probably made him think Calaba trusted him with something that valuable.”

Luca nods, his expression grim, his eyes sharp. “Exactly.”

“Who does have the necklace?” Renzo presses, his voice clipped through the computer’s speakers.

I wrap my arms around myself as a chill starts crawling up my spine. “I don’t know.” My words feel hollow, the uncertainty in my voice betraying my fear.

Luca adds, “Knowing Calaba, he’s made sure it’s impossible to steal. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

Mia leans forward, her eyes calculating. “If we can get the necklace, maybe we could use it to bargain for Pippa.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “That thing is worth a fortune. I can’t imagine Calaba letting it go for anything less than fifty million, and that’s being conservative. It could go for twice that easily.”

Luca raises an eyebrow. “Fifty million?” He tosses it out as if it’s an inconsequential number. “Why was De Carlo trying to sell it for two point five million then?”

“Because he had a limited window of opportunity, and he couldn’t offer it to many people. Gazzago was probably the first one to bite at his offer. The smell of desperation would drive the price down.”

Luca rubs his jaw, “Fifty million is doable.”

I know the Valdicis are rich beyond my wildest dreams. We always had money in my family…well, until recently. As a capo to the head of la famiglia , my father was paid handsomely on top of what he made himself, but we don’t even come close to the money the Valdicis have. But spending fifty million on the necklace is not something I want them to do. Not for me. I cannot fathom the debt I would owe.

I hesitate, licking my lips as the room suddenly feels smaller, more suffocating. “There’s more to the story,” I say quietly. “The Queen’s Heart is also known as The Heart of Darkness. Every single person who’s owned it has come to a bad end. Pope Clement died not long after giving it to the Queen on the King’s behalf. She died soon after, and her sister didn’t last long either—some freak riding accident. Every time it resurfaces, the person who has it ends up dead. Owning that necklace… it’s just bad luck. Someone always dies.”

Renzo and Luca exchange loaded glances, silent but speaking volumes. Their unspoken communication only adds to the knot forming in my stomach. There’s so much more going on here than I understand, and I’m sick of being in the dark.

My phone vibrates in my pocket again. My father. I shiver involuntarily as I hit silence. I don’t have the energy to face him right now, not with everything spiraling out of control. I’m too angry and hurt. I will say something I can never take back. Worse, I know I won’t want to.

“We need a plan,” Mia says, breaking the silence. “Something that will get Pippa out of trouble and not put a target on our backs. Any ideas?”

Renzo sighs, the weight of the situation clear in his voice. “I have a few ideas. Let me think on it a bit more and do some digging into this necklace. I’m going to reach out to Ria Tailor and see what she knows. She usually has her fingers in these types of pies. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s probably her.”

“I know Ms. Tailor. She’s also big in the art scene. She’s been in the gallery a few times.” I add, “Which, when I think of it, is sort of odd since she’s way out of Marcello’s league. She uses the big galleries to do her bidding.”

“Ria will visit every gallery in town once or twice regardless just to make sure she’s got her finger on the pulse of business. She doesn’t want anything to get past her.” Renzo glances at his phone. “I’ll work on this and call you later,” Renzo says before the screen goes black, leaving an unsettling stillness in the room.

I turn to Luca, frustration bubbling over. “Now what?”

“Now, I go to work.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like everything’s just business as usual.

I blink at him, feeling a surge of panic at being left alone and then irritation at my own panic. “What am I supposed to do?”

Luca shrugs, walking across the loft with a casualness that steams my blood. He tosses a comment over his shoulder. “I don’t fucking know, but you’re staying here. I don’t trust Gazzago not to make a move, and I promised Mia I’d keep you safe.” He pauses at the start of a hallway I didn’t notice earlier. Presumably it leads to his bedroom. “So, you’re going to have to stay put.”

I cross my arms, my voice rising. “Wait! You’re just going to leave me here? Alone?” I blurt out my panic rising.

Luca stops, turning to face me with an exasperated look. “Yes. You’ll be fine. No one’s breaking in here, Pippa. That would be signing their death warrant.” He says it like it’s obvious, like I should just be okay with it.

I glance around the loft, suddenly hyper aware of the isolation. “What about food?” I ask, more out of spite than real concern.

Luca snorts, shaking his head. “I’ll have something delivered by one of my people.” He checks his watch, muttering under his breath. “I’m already late.”

He disappears into the bedroom, leaving me standing in shocked silence in front of all the monitors. I’m still there minutes later when he emerges dressed to kill. His damp, dark hair curls over his forehead, and he’s wearing a black dress shirt that clings to his broad shoulders, along with sleek black pants and shoes that probably cost more than my rent. Everything about him radiates power and control. The only color evident on him comes from his eyes, which gleam like rich emeralds in the dim light.

“I won’t be back before dawn,” he says, his voice low and dismissive. “The couch is comfortable, and you can sleep there. Blankets are in the closet.” He nods toward the hallway he came out of.

I mutter a half-hearted thanks, but inside, I’m seething. This day has been a nightmare, and now I’m being dumped here like an afterthought. It fucking sucks.

As Luca steps onto the freight elevator, he glances back at me, his expression unreadable. “And, Pippa,” he adds in a dark voice, “don’t do anything stupid.” With that, he pulls the door down, leaving me alone.

Easy for you to say. I stand there staring but see nothing. I started out this morning thinking about how I was going to sell a couple of paintings we have at the gallery. I was worried about picking up my dry cleaning and how to keep my mother at bay. She’s still furious that Mia’s parents announced her engagement before giving her a heads up. Thanks to Mia being engaged, no one else could do anything until she was married, at least, not without being seen as upstaging her. But once Mia married, my father was no longer one of the top dogs, so my prospects as far as they are concerned have gone downhill. Not to mention Uncle Luigi’s betrayal did not add to my appeal as a wife. Like I give a fuck.

The sound of the elevator hitting the bottom floor and the grate being thrown up reaches my ears. Luca really is leaving. My eyes sting, and I breathe shallowly, trying to stem the flow of tears. But I can’t hold them at bay any longer. I’m too upset, angry, devastated. My vocabulary isn’t big enough to convey what I am. The whole thing is just beyond comprehension. I still have the dead man’s blood on me. I need a shower. I need to breathe. I need…

I have no fucking clue what I need. My knees wobble, as if unable to hold me upright even a second longer. I gasp for breath like a fish on dry land.

Suddenly, Luca is in front of me, pulling me into his arms. I try to resist but he just crushes me to his chest. “I’ve got you,” is all he says but he holds me close and I cry into his shirt. A while later my tears finally subside but I don’t let go. Now I’m just mortified. His shirt is soaked and, after ugly crying, I know I look like hell.

Luca ease me away from him but leaves his hands on my shoulders. “Feel better now?” he asks. I swear he’s gritting his teeth.

Anger flares inside me. I take a large step back, freeing myself from his touch. “Yes. Sorry. Unlike you I’ve never seen a dead body outside of a funeral, much less actually touched one. It’s been a long day.”

Luca nods, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

“I’m fine. You can go,” I say stepping back further. “I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

He just stands there staring at me and then he raises his fingers and traces my jawline. “I’ll keep you safe, little one. I won’t let anyone touch you. Promise.” His whispery soft voice does more to me than just allay my fears. His words come across like a promise.

My heart hammers away. I swear he can hear it, it’s so loud. Our gazes are locked, and I’ve lost all ability to speak. Is he serious? Will he really protect me from all this? Does he actually care? His touch has set my skin on fire. I want nothing more to crawl back into his arms. His emerald eyes glow and sparkle, like they’re inviting me to touch him. I put my hand on his chest as I move forward slightly.

He immediately drops his hand and turns to go. “I’ll send someone over with food,” he tosses over his shoulder as he disappears through a door next to the elevator. Standing motionless, like a mannequin with my hand still outstretched, I catch a glimpse of a stairwell before the door clangs shut. Moments later, I hear his Porsche start up and then silence.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?