Page 6 of My Treasured Obsession

He continued our banter. “What weapon are we using to commit this crime?”

I shrugged and grabbed my drink. “A gun obviously.”

“Why is that your choice?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Because I know how to wield one.” I sipped my spiked fruit punch. “And it’s efficient. One bullet through the brain and—bang—you’re dead. No screaming. No struggle. No hassle.”

“And where does a girl like you learn how to use a gun?”

“My dad. He’s a…ranger.” Well, he was a high-ranking member of the Irish mob, but semantics, right? “He taught me how to shoot when I was young.”

“Interesting.” Hunter’s gaze ran over me, from the tips of my crimson heels to my black cutout dress, to my red lips, to the long rhinestone earrings dangling down my neck, and to mylong, middle-parted hair. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who plays with guns.”

I gave him a shark grin. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

He puffed out a small chuckle. “Now are we doing this or what?”

I cocked my head, staring into his soulful blue eyes that reminded me of a serene body of water surrounding a tropical island. “Not convinced yet that you’re the right candidate for the job.”

He popped an elbow on the balustrade, getting comfortable like he was here to stay until he convinced me otherwise. “What else would you like to know?”

“Your full legal name, for starters, would be great so I can draft a contract.”

“Ah, planning ahead. Smart girl,” he crooned. “My full legal name is Hunter Saint Warren. Yours?”

I was a simple woman. Praise me—especially for my brain—and I melted like a burning candle. “Gabriela Regina Bellafiore,” I said. “Also—Saint? You’re not beating the gentleman allegation, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not?” he replied amusedly, leaning closer.

I liked how he smelled, his cologne a black ice and fresh leather mix. “Well, your middle name and the fact that you were quick to offer your execution services to a damsel in distress like myself says otherwise.”

His eyes raked over me in a scorching manner. “You’re far from a damsel in distress, sweetheart.”

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, causing the blood in my veins to rush faster and the beat of my heart to pound quicker than ever. Warmth suffused my face and I was grateful for the dark night. Otherwise, he’d see the blush smattering my cheeks.

How was it that I’d met this man numerous times, but tonight was the first time we were having an actual conversation?

Hunter and I followed each other on social media, and I’d already stalked his account in the past, so I knew the basics about him: he was single, kept a low profile, and was hot as hell. Now I was tacking on sweet and playful to his description as well.

“You’re right.” I smirked. “I’m not really a damsel in distress. I could probably execute the kill on my own and bury the body in the woods without blinking twice.”

Hunter laughed good-naturedly. My smirk transformed to a grin at the sound of it.

Unbeknownst to Hunter, I wasn’t kidding. That was the funny part. I really was my papà’s daughter.

Once his laughter faded into the distance, silence trickled in. We stared at each other, a light tension and understanding—the start of a camaraderie—passing between us. It felt tangible, like it could be gripped in my hand.

Hunter peered down at me, eyes softening. “All jokes aside, what’s bothering you?”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You looked upset before I came along.”

I swallowed thickly, surprised he was tentative enough to pick up on something like that. “It’s not really a big deal.”

“If you feel comfortable telling me, I’d like to know.” He shrugged. “No pressure, of course.”

Chewing my bottom lip, I stared into the moonlit sky, gathering my thoughts. Should I tell him?