Page 21 of Veil of Obsession

It’s nine o’clock, and I watch as my brother’s men file out the emergency door, taking the body of the dead girl with them.

This shouldn’t have happened. And I shouldn’t have kept the truth from my brothers. But from some reason, the fucking words wouldn’t come out when they asked me who I thought it might be.

I pace in my living room, her voice still haunting me like a whispered sin. It curls around my thoughts, dragging me deeper into dangerous waters, tempting me to drown willingly. The way she whispered my name through the phone—soft, seductive, dangerous—was a tease, promising the sweetest poison, leaving me craving more than just words.

She’s out there somewhere, probably watching me now, hidden in the shadows. Knowing what she’s done doesn’t bother me. If anything, it makes the game more thrilling. I smile, savoring the hunt, because soon enough, I’ll catch my little stalker. And when I do…well, let’s just say she won’t whisper my name. She’ll scream it.

Instead of staying hauled up in my apartment for the whole day like Emiliano ordered me to, I change into jeans and a shirt before quickly making my way downstairs. I know she’s watching me. I can feel her stare—heavy, sensual and forbidden. It sends a sharp sense of anticipation running through me. This is going to be fun, the chase, because I know by the end of it, I will have her. She thinks she’s in control, but only for now.

I grab my keys from the valet and slip into my car, the cool leather settling against my heated skin. The city is buzzing with life. It’s just after ten, and the work and school rush has calmed down a bit, but traffic in New York never really slows down. I navigate through the streets of Manhattan, until I reach Greenwich, where the family townhouse lies.

One of the staff swings the door open. Silence.

Mara is at college. Probably in class, the little nerd loves learning. She watched the fucking National Geographic channel when we had to stay in New Hampshire. That was a whole shitshow that no one wants to remember.

I walk through the gray hallway. Fucking millennial gray got a hold of Ma, and the family’s interior designer wasn’t able to pry it out of her hands. All the hallways in the damn house had to be a shade of fucking gray. It nearly gave Pa a damn aneurysm.

Ma is in the kitchen with a bunch of different ingredients laid out on the island.

“Hi, Ma,” I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her head.

“Hello, amore. How are you?” she asks, wiping her hands on her apron.

Leaning against the island, she faces me. I can see the wrinkles on her face, that sad glint in her eyes that has been there since Pa’s death.

“Good. How have you been?”

She makes her way toward the brass sink, a bowl of a mixture of ingredients in her hands. “I’ve been better. But have you called your brother?”

“Which one, Ma? I’ve got two.” I say, causing her to send me a look through narrowed eyes, as if to warn me.

“Emiliano. I’ve been trying to set up a time with him and Valentina to help them with Bianca, but I don’t want to intrude or cause more exhaustion for Val.”

Scratching the back of my head, I say, “Ma, I have no fucking clue about any of this shit.”

She whacks me with a spatula on the arm. “Lucio.”

But I can see the small smile on her face as she shakes her head. I look out through the windows—tall, black-framed, and perfectly symmetrical, the light pouring in from the courtyard.

“I can go see Bianca with you if you want?” I ask.

She shakes her head and says, “The last thing Valentina and your brother need is more people to tend to. Bianca may be nine months old, but Val is still exhausted from constantly waking up at night to feed her, and to top it off, Bianca refuses to sleep.”

“I thought Eli was helping with the night feedings.” I say, confused.

Ma sighs. “He is, but Bianca tends to be fussier when Valentina isn’t up with her. The idiot used to wake Val up.”

“I’m sure you’ve explained to him why that isn’t an okay thing to do.”

She nods at my words, but her face drops when I ask, “Can you explain it to me?”

“For God’s sake, I’ve raised fools.” Ma doesn’t even attempt to lower her voice when she says that.

“Hey!” I try to argue, but I’ve got nothing, and she gives me a pointed stare as if to saygo on.

Sighing, she explains, “A baby will always be fussy at first, regardless of which parent it is. But once they settle, you’re goodto go. Please don’t torture your future partners just because you’re being lazy.” She pauses for a beat. “Got it, Lucio?”

“Yes, Ma.”