Page 20 of My Sweetest Obsession

“My God, you look just like your mother,” he said in an eerily calm tone. “And your grandfather.”

A chill spread through my veins. Grandfather?

“What did you say?” the woman whispered, her eyes widening.

Ignoring her, he watched me intently and grinned like a Chesire cat, revealing his teeth. “Your mother was Giuseppe’s daughter. Shame what happened to her and your stepfather.” He clicked his tongue. “But betrayal does have consequences.”

Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes at the nonchalant way he referenced my parents’ death. “You killed my mother?” I whispered.

The woman beside me began to weep.

“Stop crying!” he shouted, and she immediately stopped.

Without a hint of remorse, he turned to me and confirmed, “Yes. Your grandfather’s original plan didn’t work, so I took matters into my own hands. Now that’s the essence of true kingship. Your grandfather didn’t deserve to bear the crown.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I said softly. “I’ve done nothing.”

“Your existence is your crime.” He lowered himself until we were at eye level, locking his gaze onto mine through the bars that separated us.

“I can’t decide yet if I want to kill you now, make you suffer for your mother’s sins, or sell you to the next highest bidder.”

My throat closed up, and the acrid smell of the bile threatened to overwhelm me as I fought to keep it down.

He rose to his feet and began to move away before speaking again. “Oh, I nearly forgot. I have a gift for you.”

He said something in Italian to someone further down the hallway, and the door swung open. I heard chains clanking against the floor and the muffled sounds of someone in distress. As the figure came into view, I finally summoned my strength, leaped up, ignoring the burning sensation through my body, and grasped the cold bars.

Oh, my God.

“Uncle Malik?” I called out with relief that he was still alive and with heartache at the sight of his current condition. His clothing resembled a prison uniform, and he shuffled forward barefoot. He was filthy from top to bottom, and his beard now hung in disarray, tangled and unkempt. He had lost weight, and his once strong muscles seemed to have shrunk like deflated balloons.

“Uncle Malik,” I said again. He looked up at me, his eyes wild with fear.

“Malik?” the woman beside me whispered.

“No. No! No!” Uncle Malik shouted, struggling against his restraints. The guard punched him in the stomach, making him double over.

“Stop it! Please!” I begged, desperately pulling on the bars as if they would miraculously pry open.

Uncle Malik let out a gravelly, strained rasp. “Don’t you fucking touch her!”

The Puppet Master pressed a device against my skin, a jolt of electricity coursing through me like fire. I gasped, the shock seizing my muscles, and cried out in agony.

My legs buckled, and my body teetered backward, the world around me blurring. But then the woman was there, her arms wrapping around me just in time.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered.

In the distance, Uncle Malik’s cries echoed, a frantic sound that clawed at my mind, but it all faded into a distant murmur. The last thing I heard before the darkness closed in was the man’s voice, chilling and devoid of warmth.

“Merry Christmas.”

Those words filtered in the air, a mockery of the joyous holiday. The cold crept in, leaving only a lingering sense of dread.

“Oh, Gigi… I am so sorry. So sorry,” The woman sniffled, tears gathering in her eyes.

I blinked at her in confusion. “What's wrong?"

“I... I,” she said, her lips trembling. “I thought you both would be safe. After she... after your mother...” Her voice cracked, and she took a shuddering breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.”