Page 7 of King of Obsession (Kings of the Underworld #1)

Some would say I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.

She’s constantly watching me, following me around, waiting.

Why she hasn’t made a move yet is beyond me—silent and unshakable as a shadow attached to my back.

This game we’re playing has provided me more entertainment than I thought possible.

I am not bored with life, but I’ve definitely been bored out of my mind.

Did she listen to me and run away? No. But I didn’t think she would.

Luciana has taken over my brain, consuming my thoughts. The more I find out about her, the more interested I become in this fascinating woman—this angel of death.

Raised as an orphan, Augustus took her under his wing and turned her into his personal assassin. While she only listens to him, I wonder why she’s so determined to break his trust and thereby the peace. I won’t rest until I discover her true motivation.

Leaning against my couch, I stare out the window as the night swallows the sky, making me feel better in my skin, cloaked by the privacy of darkness where all sinners thrive.

I live a dangerous life, and I have enough people to take care of.

A woman and a family of my own are so far down my priority list, that they’re at the bottom.

At some point, I’ll have to succumb. For whom the fuck would I have built all this if I didn’t have someone to continue my legacy?

Even though everyone should create their own.

I doubt I can postpone my father’s wish indefinitely.

“Family is what matters, son.”

Remembering him, I sigh, the past playing behind my closed lids.

Mika’s father and mine tried everything to keep us from being friends, but we gravitated toward each other.

Our loyalty goes beyond blood. We don’t have to tiptoe around each other, like our fathers did, hoping to avoid another bloody war.

There were enough casualties and even years later, some of our men have not forgotten.

We were rebellious boys who thought it was cool to test our father’s limits, but as their heirs, we got a lot of leeway.

Then that day happened when my sister was kidnapped at her eighteenth birthday party.

Everything shifted drastically. My father died, my brother’s father died, and I came too late.

The memory pours acid down my brain, slowly dissolving the strands of my sanity. Four years later, and it still feels like it happened yesterday.

Dragging a hand down my face, I try to channel my anger into focus.

Feeling restless, I head to the elevator and press the button to my personal garage, where a dozen cars await me. I choose my favorite, my black beauty of a beast, a Lamborghini Sian.

Punching the accelerator, it presses me into the smooth leather seat, and I zigzag through the traffic. There’s always life buzzing in Reno as the wicked never sleep. With its high capacity to provide entertainment, days blend with the nights, creating an endless loop of time.

Driving outside the city, I stop the car, parking it in front of the sign where “Reno” is written in big, lit up letters, but it might as well have my name on it. Climbing out, I think about how it’s a reminder that nothing great comes without sacrifice.

A black motorcycle zips past me before it stops in a heap of scrunching gravel.

Seeing that leather suit molding to her slender body sends a rush of desire flowing through my veins, heating my blood.

She takes her time, but that’s what we have been doing for the last few days: her pretending to kill me, me threatening her out of my town.

Three days later, we’re still caught in a stalemate. But damn, there’s something about this woman. I can’t force myself to act. I downplay the danger, allowing no one to intervene, even though I know Mika and my sister are getting more and more fidgety with each passing day.

“What a great spot you chose to die,” she says, pulling her long hair into a ponytail, and straddling her bike like I want her to straddle my lap. Just the thought gets me hard as granite.

I gesture around us. “Thought so too. Did you find anyone able to kill me yet?”

She purses her lips, and she hops off. Sashaying towards me as if the road is her catwalk, she taps her finger on her gun strapped at her back. I cock my head, standing with my legs spread in both a show of dominance and invitation.

I don’t play with a cobra who could strike me dead with one bite without remaining vigilant.

While I enjoy this, I am also prepared, feeling the weight of my gun at the back of my waistband.

She shoots her victims in the chest, but who knows what she’ll aim at this time, as I’ve proved to be the exception.

She might be fast, but so am I. Plus, I am wearing a bulletproof jacket.

One I had made specially after she crashed into my life.

She tilts her chin up, our eyes locking. With every passing minute, the temperature drops to chilly even in the spring, but my body turns hotter than magma with every second in her vicinity.

“Do it,” I say, lowering my head to her so we’re on the same level.

Whenever we interact, it feels like time stands still, trapping us in a strange limbo where nothing else exists but us and the invisible cord tethering us together, crackling with electricity.

Our hearts pound and I know it because her chest is pressed against mine. This nearness with our mouths almost touching wrecks both of our composure, making us forget we’re enemies.

I can clearly see the tinge of frustration battling in her eyes that are like bands of steel capturing me in their sturdy cage.

“Have you any idea how many times I could have killed you?” she asks, lifting her dainty manicured hand.

“Three,” I say. I am so aware of her presence that I always sense her, every nerve ending prickling.

I doubt I have ever been so aware of my surroundings.

She trains my senses to spot danger like a ninja.

I should thank her. If we continue like this, no one will even have the slightest chance of getting to me.

And damn, she’s good–– so stealthy, like a shade blending with the night, like any other tourist in the day—inconspicuous.

“Admit it. You have a soft spot for me.” I challenge her just to see that flush covering her neck and face.

Her pouty, heart-shaped mouth flattens while the tip of her nose crinkles.

She’s so adorable when I piss her off, those silver gems narrowing on me sharp as a diamond cutter.

Swiftly, her hand shifts toward her back.

Grabbing her gun, she points it at my chest, the muzzle pressing into my jacket.

I smirk. “A Glock 19. My choice of gun too.”

She digs the muzzle even further into my chest. Will she?

Won’t she? I don’t think it makes much of a difference.

I want her. We could spend our time together in more enjoyable ways, like making her beg for my cock.

Whatever happens between us, I doubt I can kill her.

Call it stupidity, but my gut tells me she won’t do it. She feels this strange connection too.

“Yeah, a soft spot to bury you under,” she sasses me.

Her teases are hot as hell and just as sinful.

“I am flattered you’d take such good care of me, even dead.”

“You’re not taking this seriously,” she huffs, her finger firmly planted on the trigger but not pressing down.

In one rapid move, I fist my hand in her ponytail, pulling her head back. One inch separates me from diving into her mouth and getting lost to madness forever. I bet she tastes like my perdition—sweet but deadly.

“Luciana, we both know you can’t do it, so let’s stop wasting time and move to more pleasurable activities.”

She licks her lips, and then she pulls the trigger.

She fucking pulls the trigger.

The pop rings in my ears, deafening me. I stumble back, gasping, the shot stealing my breath even though I am still standing.

Adrenaline floods my body. My heart pumps an erratic beat. My mind can’t process whether I’m alive or already fading.

I look down. No blood. No hole.

The bullet didn’t make it through. It falls to the ground at my feet, flattened, the last wisps of smoke dancing in the air before vanishing.

Her smile turns into a full smirk. “What was that?”

Too stunned to form words and relieved I am still alive, I barely register when she bends at her waist to pick up the bullet. I think I am in love.

Grabbing my hand, she slaps the bullet down, the implications clear. But all I focus on is that she had yet another chance to kill me but didn’t follow through.

The biggest grin arches the corners of my mouth. She knew I was wearing the jacket. She was by the window of my tailor when I showed it to her and winked, yet she shot me in the place where my lapels meet and not above to be lethal.

“Don’t be so self-assured, Enzo. Keep it as a reminder that you won’t know when your last moment comes, just that it will.”

She struts away, and I can’t let her have the last word, so I say to her back, “Same time tomorrow?”

She mumbles under her breath something that sounds like “impossible” before she puts her helmet on and climbs back on her bike. The engine roars to life and as she drives away, her departure echoes in my hollow heart.

I roll the bullet between my fingers before sliding it into my suit jacket pocket.

She shot me, and I am unfazed, holding on to my belief that she did it more for show than wanting to kill me. It’s right here and now I don’t have a doubt anymore. I am certain I have lost my mind.

As I head to my car, I am buzzing. The energy coursing through me rewires my system. I feel more alive than ever before.

When my best friend calls me, I put it on speaker, barely suppressing my excitement.

I hear his molars grinding. “Should I worry about your mental health?”

“I know what I am doing,” I grumble.

“I saw it live on the fucking cameras. You know the ones we installed to watch who the fuck comes in and out of Reno?” he snaps.