Page 105 of Veil of Obsession

I hesitate, gripping my phone in my lap, my fingers tightening around it.

He’s already taken me away. He’s already dragged me out of his apartment, driving me God knows where. And now he wants to take my only connection to the outside world?

I shake my head. “No.”

His head turns slightly, his dark eyes flashing. “Princess.”

A warning. A threat.

My pulse spikes. Slowly, I hold it out, my breath catching when his large hand wraps around mine, yanking it from my grip.

He throws it out the fucking window. I watch in horror as it smashes against the pavement, shattering into a hundred pieces.

“What the fuck was that for?!” I explode, twisting toward him, my chest heaving.

His voice is calm. Cold. Deadly. “Matteo already found you. You think they wouldn’t track your phone too?”

I feel lightheaded.

Because he’s right. They would. They probably already were.

And he just cut me off from everything. From them. From help. From any chance of escape.

I lick my lips, forcing myself to breathe.

“Lucio,” I try again, softer this time. “Where are we going?”

Nothing. Just silence. Just the hum of the road beneath the tires, the faint sound of the radio playing something low and slow.

A chill creeps down my spine, settling into my bones. Because for the first time since meeting Lucio, I don’t know what he’s thinking.

And I don’t know if I’m going to make it out of this alive.

39

Lucio

The car cuts through the dark, winding roads like a blade. The hum of the engine, the steady rhythm of tires against the pavement…none of it drowns out the storm in my head.

I grip the wheel so tight my knuckles ache, the tension coiling through my body like a wire pulled too taut.

I should have given her up. I should have handed her to Emiliano, let him decide what to do with her. Let him—or Romiro, or Matteo—drag her out of my fucking life and deal with her however they saw fit.

Instead, I’m here. Running. With her.

I grit my teeth, my breath hissing through my nose.

For what?

For a woman who lied to me. For a woman who stood in front of me, met my eyes, and fucking betrayed me.

The rage is pulsing, pressing against my ribs, tightening my lungs.

She hasn’t spoken since I threw her phone out the window. She just sits there, small and silent, her hands curled into her lap, her shoulders hunched. Like she knows she’s lost.

Good. She fucking should.

I drive for hours, the city shrinking behind us, the streets thinning into long, winding highways, then into forest-lined backroads where no one will find us. It isn’t until we’re nearly there—until I catch sight of the dark shape of the mansion sitting at the edge of the lake—that something heavy settles in my gut.