Page 39 of King of Obsession (Kings of the Underworld #1)

What the fuck am I doing? Playing with fire and ignoring the threat to burn me. But it’s better for my peace of mind, and apparently for my men, if she stays here, where I can keep an eye on her. I was on my way back when Lorenzo informed me about what happened.

I knew my men would hate having her here, but I trusted Lorenzo to have things under control. They would have never begun something if she didn’t start it.

While I never put a stop to the rumors, remaining silent on the topic, I can’t punish my people for being loyal to me.

That would be fucked up, but seeing her cheek all red and a bit swollen makes me fucking murderous.

At least she showed them what happens if they mess with her.

They’re being treated by our doctor, some of them are in bad shape.

I have a full day tomorrow, so I stand up. She’s seated on the stool, one leg crossed over the other––the embodiment of grace and sexiness even in clothes that have seen better days.

“Lockdown,” I say, and the house responds to my command by shutting the metallic blinds, locking us in.

“Follow me.”

She walks behind while Kill struts next to me as we climb the stairs. Along the long hallway, I glance at the three doors, each leading to a room with an adjoining bathroom. On the far right is my bedroom and of the other two, one is a guest room and the other my home office.

Not that I bring guests here, but it felt like a waste of space, so I had them both added.

I open the door closest to my room.

By the window, I watch as she takes it all in, including the green velvet drapes that match the upholstered bed frame.

“Have you decided what my role will be because I won’t be a foot soldier,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

I move past the ottoman at the foot of the bed. I am so fucking exhausted I barely keep myself upright.

“My personal guard.”

She snorts and I raise a brow at her.

“Don’t try anything,” I warn her.

She tilts her head. “You know me better than that.”

I do, but it doesn’t change a thing—we’re both trapped in this hell.

Leaving her, I go inside my bedroom.

Kill takes a seat on the plush carpet at the side of the bed while I undress and get inside the shower. Cleansing myself of the day and rubbing harder than needed, I try to erase my desire for her.

After I towel myself dry, I put some boxer briefs on and slip under the covers, looking at Kill, who looks from the door back to me.

“Don’t get attached to her. She’s the enemy,” I tell him, but he cocks his head, unperturbed by my anguish—this emotional turmoil that has had me in a chokehold for months.

Closing my eyes, I fall asleep with a grin. Knowing her, she’ll do something to piss me off. Just a few hours of sleep. I am not asking for too fucking much, am I?

A cry yanks me from sweet oblivion. Slamming my palm on the nightstand lamp, a soft glow lights up the room. I am alone and alive as I pat myself, the relief instant.

Then what the fuck is happening here?

“Hush, pretty doggy. Don’t make me slit your throat… Stop smiling at me. You’re just as deranged as your master.”

What fucking now? Rolling out of bed, I follow the commotion to the kitchen.

Luciana holds a pan in her hand and is about to make herself something to eat, while the traitor doesn’t think about attacking her. He just sees an opportunity to be fed.

Sighing, I say his name. He trots toward me, plopping on his ass and looking at me with big eyes as if ratting her out for not feeding him.

I can only hope she never discovers his incapacity to hurt her. He just sees her as a new food delivery slash caretaker.

I look at the mess on the kitchen island. She basically took everything out of the fridge and placed it there.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice groggy, just like I feel.

“Preparing something to eat,” she huffs, frustration ringing in her voice. “I am hungry, and if I don’t get something in my stomach in the next few minutes, I am going to kill everything and anyone. I am not fucking joking,” she says, looking the part of a hangry person to a fault.

“Do you even know how to cook?”

“That’s the least of my worries. I can’t figure out how to work this stupid thing,” she says, gesturing at the stove.

“Move.”

She listens, dropping down into the chair and staring at my every move.

It’s 5:50 a.m. so I am not going to bed only to wake up in half an hour. I move around, preparing some toast and an omelet, cutting tomatoes, cucumber, and a few slices of salami and cheese, all Italian. Look at me preparing breakfast for my captive.

She is silent, but I am so fucking aware of her presence. It’s as if I’m wearing her like a second skin.

“Wouldn’t have lasted long in the big evil world if you can’t even make the basics,” I snicker.

“I didn’t work all my life to overcome my poor upbringing to cock it up once I could afford to pay others to do it for me.”

I sigh, shaking my head at her for being so obstinate. “It’s a skill everyone should know. It’s not beneath you to know how to cook.”

“I get it now. Happy, Enzo?” she asks, her voice shaking.

The patience I need with her rivals that of a saint. If that isn’t ironic, I don’t fucking know what it is.

Even famished, she takes her time, eating slowly and humming softly. My cock welcomes those sounds, wanting to elicit others as well, throatier and raspier as she moans while I am buried inside of her, not knowing where she begins and I end.

As I go mentally through all the scenarios that could put an end to my desire, a slice of ham falls from her plate.

Kill pounces, scarfing it down and cocking his head expectantly.

I swear there’s a glint in her eyes at finding a way to manipulate him.

I can’t let her train my fucking dog, so I call him and make him sit next to me.

“Don’t try me. You know who’s in charge.”

“Yeah? Who?” she sasses me.

Putting her cheek in her palm, she looks around and squints at the espresso machine.

“You want coffee?”

“Of course I want coffee.”

“Too bad,” I say and move to make myself one. Turning around, I prop my ass against the counter, sipping leisurely.

Her fingers clench around the knife and I place the empty cup down, prowling toward her. I grip her neck, tilting her head back.

“How much would you like to kill me right now, huh? You can try, but you’ll fail.”

“I could be persuaded not to if you’ll just make me a cup or show me how,” she tries, smiling so brightly you’d think she had sunshine for breakfast.

This feels too fucking intimate, of something we could have had, but she butchered it.

“Yeah, my life has always been worthless to you,” I snap, removing my hand that curls into a fist at my side.

She lowers her head, fidgeting with her fingers on her lap.

“That’s not true,” she whispers.

I let out a self-deprecating laugh, staring her down not to spew such utter bullshit in my presence. “What? I can’t hear you.”

“You heard me all right,” she yells. Standing up and pushing at my chest, she forgets for once that Kill is between us, not checking the tense situation at all.

“Tell me, Luciana, did you figure out who your parents are? Because I know. You didn’t even get paid for my kill, and in the end, you lost it all.”

“Who are they?” she murmurs, eyes swimming in hope.

“As if I would tell you.”

She grabs the knife, and just to see how far she’ll go, I allow her to press it into my neck.

“Tell me.”

“Kill me and you’ll never know.” I push myself further into her.

She takes a step back, knowing she won’t kill the only person who could give her what she desires most. And I must keep her in check.

It takes everything in her to lower it. The moment she does, I press my thumb and forefinger together, activating the shock in her collar. The knife clatters to the ground as a zap electrifies her body.

“Do that fucking again and I’ll keep this up until you beg for mercy.”

“I’ll never beg.”

“You did once. And I bet it won’t take much on my part to have you beg again.”

If looks could kill, I’d be buried six feet under right about now. But this image helps me more to remain in control than her trying to get under my skin once again.

“If only you could have waited…” The words rush out of me, my forlorn heart wishing for impossible things, living in a state of permanent nostalgia.

“Don’t need to make me regret my choice, Enzo,” she sighs. It sounds like she’s talking about something completely different.

I message Lorenzo to bring me a uniform for her, and I walk upstairs to change into one of my suits.

Hearing the ring, I head downstairs and watch as she picks at each piece of clothing as if it’s a freaking alien she has no clue what to do with.

“I have a meeting in the city. Go change.”

Her brows furrow, a contrite expression slipping over her face. “It’s a uniform.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Have a problem with that? Don’t like the working class so much?”

“No,” she says through gritted teeth. “Just my boss, who is a cheap ass and gave me a man’s uniform. Did the global search for me leave you bankrupt?”

Patience . I inhale deeply, trying to dig deeper into this well of patience she threatens to drain every time she opens that mouth of hers. I doubt the devil or God is listening—thoroughly entertained by the shitshow I produced.

She runs upstairs, stomping on the stairs like a damn child throwing a tantrum.

If I thought her wearing a man’s uniform would keep my desire at bay, I was sorely mistaken.

She walks downstairs, tucking the white shirt in her pants and rolls the sleeves to the middle of her forearms. Her shirt shows a bit of cleavage as she unbuttons the first two buttons.

She’s pulled her hair in a low ponytail, the shades low on her nose, giving her a touch of mystery that makes any man want to take another peek.

Even wearing a uniform that is one size too big, she makes it work. It’s her confidence that shines through, even in sneakers.

“Move.”

She snatches her sunglasses and bats her lashes at me. “Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”

“You’re really testing me, Luciana,” I gnash out.

This witch cursed me to perch on the edge of insanity.

“And we both know you’d like to punish me… Please keep your cock away. I am shivering.” She rolls her eyes at me, pretending to be annoyed but failing.

“You were when you took every inch.” My hoarse voice betrays me, and she gives me a sultry look.

The atmosphere rises to scorching hot. I rush outside, needing some fresh air to cool down.

We bypass my Lambo heading toward the Audi A8. I wait for her to do her job and open the door for me. She tilts her head and says, “I think you forgot a small detail.”

My jaw clenches tight enough to pop a muscle. “I am already running late, Luciana.”

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Then with the fakest smile this world has ever seen, she opens the door for me.

Once I am inside, she shuts it with more force than necessary.

My fingers itch not to wrap them around her neck and fuck out that attitude of her.

With my luck, it will give her even more ammunition to behave like a brat.

I am about to check my emails when a jolt rumbles through the car, propelling me forward, almost making me hit my forehead on the driver’s headrest.

She can drive. She has a driver’s license, but damn, if I knew she was this bad I would have thought about other ways.

“It’s fucking automatic. This shouldn’t even happen,” I snap.

“Give me a damn minute. It’s been a while,” she snaps back.

Most people would be terrified to make eye contact with me when I am mad. She not only does that, but she also gives me attitude, even when she’s at fault.

Automatic cars are dummy proof. If you have the slightest notion how to drive, it makes things easier.

“Just remove your foot from the brake gently and push the accelerator. The car will do what it’s supposed to do—drive.”

If we don’t get into a car accident, it will be a miracle. My men look at the car then at me. Even though they don’t dare say a word, the panic is clear in their bugged out eyes.

“Just so you know, I am an excellent driver.”

“I bet.” I snicker. “Satan himself handpicked you to deliver as many souls to him as you can.”

She turns her head to me while the car is in motion. I repeat. The car is in fucking drive while she gesticulates at me, calling me names. I see the iron gate rapidly approaching.

“Luciana,” I say, wanting to get her attention but failing as she enumerates on her fingers with the hand that is supposed to be on the damn wheel the reasons why she likes bikes more.

I’d like to stay alive, so I call out her name, eventually giving up as she’s on a roll. Thrusting my arm between the seats, I yank up the parking brake a few inches before we reach the gates.

“I saw them, just so you know.”

“Turn off the car and get out,” I say through gritted teeth, barely holding on to the grip I have on my control. She drives me fucking crazy.

I march back toward the house with her hot on my heels, shouting at no one in particular, “Someone teach her how to drive!”

“Excuse me, I can drive,” she says to my back in a high-pitched tone. She’s so fucking headstrong.

I get in my Lambo when she moves in front of the car and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m supposed to be driving you.”

I gnash my teeth, a deep exhale tumbling out of my mouth. “To my death, but we’ll have to postpone that. I have an important meeting that I am already late to.”

Why am I justifying shit in front of her is beyond me. Does she move? No. Do my men glance from me to her as if they’re engaged in an Olympic level ping-pong match. Yes.

She bends over, slapping her palms on the hood. “Get out and let’s try again.”

“Who the fuck do you think I am? I don’t give second chances.”

“I wish,” she mumbles.

I press the start button, but she doesn’t move, not deterred at all. I take several deep breaths, but that does little to ground me when she’s determined to push me over the edge.

I roll down the window. One scratch and I will spank her ass red until she won’t be able to sit down. Why the fuck do my thoughts run in a circle with me always ending up fucking her?

“Remove those fingers. You are forbidden to touch this baby after—”

“I saved your life?”

The audacity of this woman is unparalleled.

“Luciana, I swear to—” I am fuming, nostrils flaring not finding my words. My mind has checked out, having no idea how to deal with this woman.

“Stop making a scene. They have too much to talk about already. If you leave me here, you won’t like what you find when you return.” Her intent look promises havoc.

“Are you threatening me?”

She takes a step back, peering at her manicure as if she has no care in the world. “No, just warning you.”

This is what you get when you allow your biggest weakness back into your life—fucking misery with a heap of insanity.