Page 111 of Veil of Obsession

That’s the last thing Emiliano says before they head out.

Matteo lags behind and says, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hand her over. No woman is worth betraying your brother and the Camorra over.”

He’s wrong. And he doesn’t understand the feeling, because if he did, he wouldn’t have said that.

Matteo doesn’t wait for a reply, stalking out after the rest of them.

They gave me an ultimatum: give her up or die with her. And I’d rather die for her than give her up. I need to get her out of Camorra territory before they do find her.

The rage comes in waves, violent and uncontrollable, crashing through me so hard I can’t fucking breathe.

It starts slow, a burn in my chest, a pulse at the base of my skull. My fingers twitch, curling into fists at my sides as I pacethe length of my apartment, my breaths coming out in sharp, uneven pulls. Then it erupts.

I grab the nearest chair and hurl it across the room. It crashes into the wall, splintering into pieces, the sound shattering the thick silence.

But it’s not enough. Not nearly fucking enough.

I storm to the bar cart, swiping my arm across the top, sending bottles of whiskey and crystal glasses flying. Glass explodes against the floor, liquor spilling across the hardwood like blood.

It’s still not enough. I rip a cabinet door open, grabbing the plates inside and hurling them one by one. Each one shatters on impact, ceramic shards littering the floor, sharp as my fucking fury.

“FUCK!” I slam my fist against the wall, once, twice, again, again, again.

Pain blooms up my arm, but it’s dull, background noise to the storm raging inside me. I tear the framed pictures off the walls, ripping them down and sending them crashing to the ground, stomping over the broken pieces.

The coffee table is the next victim to my rage. I grip the edge, flipping it over, watching as it topples, books and papers scattering, the wood cracking under the force.

But none of it touches the fucking rage twisting through me, boiling under my skin, choking me.

I should have let her go. I should have handed her over. I should have walked away from this whole fucking mess.

Instead, I’m here. Lying to my brothers. Betraying my family. For a fucking woman who looked me in the eye and lied to me first.

I grab a glass off the counter and smash it into the sink, gripping the edge so tight my knuckles go white.

My breath heaves. My chest burns. The room around me is wrecked, unrecognizable.

And still, I don’t feel better. I feel like I’m drowning in it. In this rage. In this fucking betrayal. In her.

I brace my hands against the counter, my head hanging low, trying to force air into my lungs. Trying to think. Because I only have two choices now.

Hand her over. Or burn every fucking bridge to keep her.

And the only right answer will be my demise.

41

Princess

It has only been a few hours since Lucio left me on the cold marble floor of his family’s New Hampshire mansion. He used me exactly the way I asked him to, and I should feel dirty and be disgusted over the way I willingly allowed him to humiliate me.

My fingers brush over the frames that line the wall beside the stairs. Picture frames of a perfect family. Lucio with his brothers and younger sister. He looks so young, probably nine in the picture, but he still has that mischievous glint in his eyes, in the way he smirks at the camera. He looks like a daredevil.

There’re more pictures of him and his brothers all together. Smiling, laughing, fighting.

Guilt is eating at me. Because of my selfishness, I put Lucio in a position where he has to choose between his family and me.

And I’m not too sure that he will pick me. I shouldn’t have bypassed the Camorra’s firewalls and jeopardized their entire existence. This is all my fucking fault. I should’ve just stayed the fuck away. If I had, the Chicago Outfit wouldn’t have had theopening to gather the information they wanted to coordinate the attack. And Lucio wouldn’t be in a position where he might lose the only parent he has left.