Page 7 of Obsidian Devotion (Empire of Sin & Blood #3)

"What happened?" I ask, partly to distract him, partly because I need to know.

He hesitates. "Ambush. Went after the wrong person."

"The 'him' Matteo mentioned?" I probe, keeping my tone casual as I prepare to extract the bullet.

His eyes sharpen, despite the pain. "Exactly how much did you overhear that night?"

"Enough." I hold his gaze steadily. "This is going to hurt."

I don't wait for his response before pushing the forceps into the wound. His body arches off the table, a strangled sound escaping through clenched teeth. His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength.

"Easy," I murmur, not knowing if I'm talking to him or myself. "Almost there."

I feel the forceps connect with something solid. "Got it."

The bullet comes free with a sickening sound, and I drop it into a metal dish. Lorenzo releases a breath that sounds almost like a sob, his grip on my wrist finally relaxing.

"Not bad," he exhales, watching as I clean and dress the wound. "Ever consider a career change?" he grunts.

"Digging bullets out of mafia bosses? Not exactly my life goal."

He actually laughs at that, then winces. "What is your life goal, Sofia Rossi?"

The question catches me off guard. What is my goal? Once, the answer was simple: make Lorenzo Bellanti pay for what he did to my brother. Now...

"To survive," I answer honestly.

Something shifts in his expression—recognition, maybe. Understanding. "That's the only goal that matters in our world."

Our world. As if we share something, belong to the same dark universe. And maybe we do, though he doesn't know it yet.

"You didn’t go with your men? How come you came back alone, bleeding out?" I ask, securing the bandage over his wound.

His eyes close briefly as his jaw clenches. “Operation went wrong.”

“This guy… how dangerous is he?”

Lorenzo grunts as I tighten the bandage. "Gabriel has information... dangerous information."

"About the family business?" I keep my voice neutral, even as my pulse quickens.

“Yes,” His eyes open, meeting mine. "He knows things... no one should know."

I wonder what sins the Bellanti hide that are worse than the ones I already know about.

"Rest," I tell him, disposing of the bloody gauze. "You've lost a lot of blood."

"Stay," he murmurs, his hand finding mine again. His touch is gentler now, almost vulnerable. "Please."

Something twists in my chest—not quite sympathy, not quite desire. Something more dangerous than both.

"I'm not going anywhere," I promise, and I'm not sure if it's a lie anymore.

He drifts into unconsciousness, his breathing evening out. I watch him sleep, this man who destroyed my family, who ordered my brother tortured to death. In sleep, the hardness leaves his face. He looks almost... human.

I tiptoe around the room, exploring. His gun lies on a nearby table—loaded, within reach. I pick it up, feeling its weight.

Two years of planning. One bullet would end it all.

I point the gun at his sleeping form, finger hovering near the trigger. Images flash through my mind—Luciano's mutilated body, the video of his torture. But also Lorenzo laughing with his siblings, the gentleness in his hands as he showed me how to mix the perfect whiskey sour.

Monster. Brother. Killer. Protector.

My hand trembles. The gun feels heavier with each passing second.

I lower it slowly, disgusted with myself. Not because I couldn't pull the trigger, but because part of me didn't want to.

Settling into a chair beside him, I prepare for a long night. My phone buzzes in my pocket—a text from Carlos, no doubt wondering why I haven't checked in.

I'll deal with my uncle tomorrow. Tonight, I keep watch over the devil that I'm fearing I might not hate enough.

I feel something warm and firm beneath my head, rising and falling in a rhythm that doesn't match my own. My eyes flutter open—God, where am I?—and realization hits me like a truck. I fell asleep on Lorenzo's fucking chest.

I jolt upright, heart hammering in my chest, only to find him already awake, those dark eyes boring into me, watching me sleep like some kind of predator sizing up prey.

"You stayed," he says, voice gravelly with sleep and pain.

"I said I would."

He reaches for me, rough fingertips grazing my cheek in a touch that feels too intimate, too real. "Sofia..."

I should pull away. I fucking should. But I don't.

His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there as something electric crackles in the air between us.

Lorenzo runs his tongue across his lower lip, leaving it damp, and I hate myself for tracking the movement.

I notice everything—How his hair sticks to his forehead in dark strands, still damp with sweat from last night's fever. How his chest rises and falls a little faster now. The way he slowly leans towards me, like he's giving me a chance to back away.

But I stay frozen.

When his mouth finally crashes into mine, it's nothing like the careful, forgettable kisses I've known before.

This is violence and hunger and need.

His lips claim mine with a dominance that makes my knees weak, and oh Christ, my body betrays me instantly.

My thighs press together, seeking friction as heat blooms between them. I'm wet—embarrassingly, shamefully wet—and all from a fucking kiss.

Lorenzo's hand finds the back of my neck, fingers digging into my hair, holding me in place as he devours me.

And the thought that flashes through my mind shocks even me—I wish those fingers would slide around to my throat instead, pressing, controlling.

The thought shatters something inside me. I wrench away from him, stumbling back, struggling to catch my breath.

His taste is still there on my tongue, and I can't look at him, can't bear to see whatever's written on his face—triumph or confusion or worse, understanding.

I all but run out of the basement, leaning against the wall and panting.

What the fuck just happened?

My phone buzzes against my thigh, the vibration jolting me back to reality. With shaking hands, I pull it out and send a quick text to Carlos: ‘I've got something.’

What exactly I have, I'm no longer sure.