Page 25 of To Love a Monster (Oaths & Obsessions #1)

Lila doesn’t blink as I keep going. “He’s a specialist, Lila.

His skill is subtlety. He builds connections the way people build castles, with careful precision and patience.

He’s happy to take his time and wait until you let your guard down completely.

And then...” I let the silence finish the sentence.

She swallows hard, voice barely there. “How long has he been watching me?”

“Longer than you think.” I reach into the folder again, pull out a few pages and slide it across the table toward her.

“He didn’t just lie to you, Lila. He killed Jake.” Her breath hitches and she stares at the documents like they might explode in her hands.

“No,” she whispers. “No, that’s not—” She stops. Then grabs the photo. It’s grainy, but clear enough. A still frame from a security camera inside the hardware store.

Jake’s body. Blood seeps out from beneath him in a thick, spreading pool. His hands are bound behind his back with zip ties, his face swollen, eyes half-open but lifeless.

But I’m not done. I pull out the next photo, enhanced and color-corrected by Matteo’s team.

I lay it down gently in front of her like I’m placing a gravestone.

This one shows Jake’s wife slumped in a folding chair.

Her wrists bear ligature marks, there's blood at her temples and her eyes are shut, but there’s a trail of dried red down her cheek.

Lila’s body locks and she stares at the photos like they might crawl off the page.

“They didn’t just kill them,” I say quietly.

“They tortured them. For hours. Maybe longer. I think Jake fought back, tried to protect her. That’s why it looks like he took the worst of it.

” She makes a strangled sound, barely a sob, barely a breath.

I reach for her, but she jerks away. Stands up and paces.

“That’s his store,” she says, her voice shaking. “These pictures. It shows where it happened. He killed them there, in the hardware store not far from here.” She turns toward me, eyes wide and frantic. “We have to call someone. The police. The FBI—”

“It’s useless.” My voice cuts sharper than I mean for it to.

She stops. Blinks. “What do you mean it’s useless?”

“By now the store’s been sanitized. Every drop of blood scrubbed, every trace of evidence gone.

Bodies disposed of, witnesses paid or silenced.

These people don’t leave messes, Lila, they rewrite the entire scene.

The police won’t find a damn thing because half of them are on Syndicate payroll or scared shitless to cross them. ”

She looks like I just knocked the air out of her lungs and I soften. “If you go to the authorities now, the best-case scenario is they write you off as paranoid. Worst case? They report it. Right back to the people we’re trying to stop.” She sits again and her face pales even more.

“What would they even want with me? I’m not anyone important—”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “You are.” She laughs. But there’s no humor in it, just disbelief. A breathless, jagged sound that shakes as it leaves her mouth.

“I’m an artist,” she says. “I sell acrylic paintings at local art galleries. I don’t have secrets. I don’t know anyone important. Why would someone like him, why would an entire fucking syndicate, care about me at all?”

I don’t answer right away, because the next truth is the heaviest one. And it’s tied to everything. I lean forward, slow and deliberate. I place another photo on the table and meet her eyes. But I don’t answer right away.

Because the next truth is the heaviest one. The one Matteo warned me not to touch.

You want to tell her everything? That everything she’s built for herself is balanced on a lie I crafted to keep her alive? he said. You think that won’t shatter her?

But how the hell is she supposed to understand the gravity of any of this—Carl, Annalise, the Syndicate—without knowing who she really is?

Why they want her. Why they’ll burn the world to take her.

I stare at the folder in front of me, fingers tightening around the last piece I’ve been holding back.

This ... this is the line. And once I cross it, there’s no going back. Not with her, not with Matteo.

But I’ve already made my choice. I made it the second I let her into my chest and didn’t pull her back out. So I lean forward, slow and deliberate, and pull out the final photo I managed to find of Matteo. Twenty-three years younger. Clean-shaven. Still terrifying, still powerful.

But he’s not in a boardroom, not in a darkened office. He’s sitting in a garden, smiling and cradling a tiny baby to his chest. The infant’s wrapped in a pale pink blanket, half-asleep, one fist curled against her cheek.

I set it on the table between us and look at her. No more lies. “Because you’re not who you think you are, Lila.” Her brow furrows and she leans forward, staring at the photo.

“Wait ... is that me?” she asks, blinking. Her voice is light, confused, trying to laugh it off. Then her eyes narrow. “Who's the ... fat man holding me?”

I wince. “That’s Matteo Ferro.” She jerks back.

“Matteo...” Her voice trails off, then comes back sharper. “Is he the man who hired you?” I nod. Her stare cuts through me like a blade and she drops the photo before pressing her fingers to her temples. “The fuck is going on, Nikolai?”