Page 57 of Sweet Obsession

I stood there for what felt like forever, watching her breathe, watching her rest. Then my gaze drifted to the far side of the room, where her handmade jewelry lay scattered, tangible pieces of her soul.

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see that familiar flicker of confusion, wariness, and rage solidifying into something colder. I didn’t want to see her pain.

Because her pain did something to me. It twisted me up, made me reckless and weak.

I moved to the window, dragging a hand through my hair, jaw clenched tight, pretending I still had control.

She’d signed it. That twelve month marriage contract. A single signature. Her name in ink beside mine.

It should’ve felt like victory. Instead, it tasted like ash.

The fire crackled in the hearth behind us, too warm against my back. I kept my fingers pressed to the cold glass, breathing slow, controlled. Below us, my city lay in perfect silence, blanketed in snow and secrets.

Ours now. No, mine. At least, that’s what it had always been about.

Power, control, bloodless succession and becoming Pakhan not just of my father’s empire, but of all five Bratva families. Uniting them under one iron fist—mine.

And I was close. So fucking close I could taste it. One year. That was all I needed. A stable marriage. A loyal image. A way to sever ties with Rojas as a supplier and move everything through Mexico instead. Then Luna could walk away. I could become the boss of all bosses.

She wasn’t supposed to matter.

But she did. God, she did. Every damn second since the first time I saw her, head high, eyes defiant, mouth set in a line that begged to be broken.

I still remember the first time I saw her at Bogotá. A gas station just outside the city. Two of my men were bleeding on the pavement while she stood between them, her knuckles split and chest heaving, eyes burning with the fire of someone who had already survived hell, and dared me to send her back.

She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t broken. She looked lethal.

Like a blade someone had tried to bury in silk, but the edge was still sharp, and she’d learned how to cut.

I’d wanted her from the start. And I hated myself for it.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch the faintest reflection of her in the glass. She lay curled on the bed, lost in sleep, hair spilling over the pillow like ink. Her hands were tucked beneath her cheek, her breathing soft and steady. She looked small, fragile, even, but Luna Rojas was anything but.

She was my weapon. My pawn. My ruin.

I didn’t go to her. Didn’t touch her. Because if I did, I wouldn’t stop.

And I couldn’t afford that. Not yet. Not when I still didn’t know what she was hiding. Not when she carried Stepan’s necklace. A black leather cord with a battered silver tag etched with two letters: S.P. It hadn’t left his neck until the day he was murdered.

I hadn’t said anything. I’d swallowed the storm. But the questions scraped like razors in my throat. Why did she have Stephan’s necklace?

How much did she know? Was this all a game? A slow, perfect vengeance?

I pressed harder against the window, blood rising in my temples.

Stepan, my brother had died for something I hadn’t yet uncovered. And now Luna, sweet, infuriating, irresistible Luna, might be the key to unlocking the truth.

The girl who crafted jewelry with trembling fingers. Who flinched when I touched her but stood tall in every room I tried to dominate. The girl who kept pretending she didn’t look at me when she thought I wasn’t watching.

But I saw it. I saw her watching. And God help me, I lived for it.

Her fear. Her defiance. Her quiet, reluctant pull toward me. This wasn’t just a game anymore. She was mine.

And the fucking irony? I was hers too.

Even if she never knew it. Even if I had to burn down everything between us to make her stay.

I dragged my eyes back to the snow beyond the glass, heart pounding too loud for a man raised to feel nothing.