Page 50 of My Sweetest Obsession

The pathetic whimper that escaped his lips was music to my ears.

“No.Fuck you.” I pulled the trigger. The semi-automatic roared, obliterating his face. Tossing the rifle aside, I walked back toward the house, my boots crunching against the snow.

“Did you catch anyone?” Enzo asked as I reached the porch.

“Just one. He’s dead,” I declared.

“Did he give up anything before you killed him?” Alphonse inquired as I brushed past him.

Without breaking my stride, I came face to face with Enzo. “I thought this was supposed to be a safe house!” I spat, glaring into his eyes.

“Obviously, we’ve been compromised!” he retorted.

“Or maybe you orchestrated this little ambush yourself,” I countered.

He shook his head, a mocking scoff escaping his lips. “With me and my men still here? I’m not behind this bullshit! What do I gain by jeopardizing myself and my men?”

“Which could only mean one thing. You have a traitor in your ranks,” Alphonse interjected sharply, his eyes narrowed.

Enzo’s gaze swung to him, disbelief flashing across his face before he turned back to me. “I trust my men.”

“Whatever the fuck is happening, we need to get the hell out of here before whoever’s behind this decides to come back and finish us off,” Matteo urged.

I needed answers before this nightmare escalated any further.

I’d lost count of how many days I spent in this hell hole.

Valarie’s blood stained the ground, a permanent mark of their savagery. She lay there, still and silent. The faint rise and fall of her chest grew weaker, each breath becoming a battle.

My tears had long dried up, replaced by a seething rage. The pain, the loss, the agony, and the bitter taste of betrayal had all transformed into a burning desire with one singular purpose.

Vengeance.

Death would come to all who harmed me. If not by my hands, then by Nico’s. Despite Nico’s betrayal, I knew deep down within my soul that he would emerge from hell and rain down retribution upon those who had wronged me.

“Gigi.” Uncle Malik’s gravelly called out to me.

“What?” I snapped.

The cold ground had become my bed, and I welcomed the numbness it offered.

“Gigi, please, you need to stay hydrated,” Uncle Malik pleaded.

I scoffed. “For what, Uncle Malik? To endure more of this torture?”

Before he could respond, the worst sound I had ever encountered echoed through the corridor when the heavy doors at the end swung open. I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of dread washing over me, and I prayed that whatever the Puppet Master had planned would come to an end swiftly.

The metallic clinking of keys reverberated ominously against the old lock, each chime intensifying my anxiety. Then, with a creak that sent chills down my spine, the doors opened wide.

“Smells like shit in here,” the man sneered. I knew that voice.

Ceaser.

“Fuck you,” I retorted weakly.

“What did you say, bitch?” Ceaser fumbled with the key, the sound of metal scraping against metal grating on my nerves. Finally, with a sharp click, the bars creaked open. His face twisted with rage as he stepped inside, and before I could brace myself, his boot slammed into my side. The impact was like a hammer pounding against my ribs, pain radiating through me as I gasped, struggling to catch my breath.

“Leave her alone!” Uncle Malik erupted.