Page 57 of Veil of Obsession

Cicely is laughing at something her father says, her head tilting back just slightly, her golden hair catching the light. She’s beautiful, almost angelic. But Matteo has never cared about beauty, nor innocence. He cares about control. Precision. Power.

And Cicely? She’s dangerous in a way I don’t think even she realizes.

Because Matteo shouldn’t be looking at her the way he is right now.

I take a slow sip of my drink, studying him. He’s always been unreadable, a mask of boredom and indifference, but there’s something else lurking beneath the surface now. Something restrained. Calculated. And I don’t fucking like it.

Matteo finally shifts his gaze, reaching for his drink as if nothing’s changed. But I saw it. That flicker of interest. The crack of his composure.

And so did someone else.

Vivian watches him, her jaw tight, nails pressing into her palm. She follows his line of sight, and for a split second, I think she’s going to snap. Say something. Make a scene.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she takes a long sip of her wine, her expression smoothing over into something distant and unreadable. A game played between them, silent but razor-sharp.

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.

This is bad. Cicely Hoffman is off-limits. And Matteo knows it.

But that won’t stop him, because he’s a Folonari and the men in our family tend to go after what they want. Aggressively.

22

Lucio

Ishould have told my brother about Princess.Should have. But I didn’t because there’s a curiosity that’s stopping me from telling Emiliano the truth. A curiosity that burns deep in the pit of my stomach.

Sliding into my car, I look through my messages, but find no new ones from my little stalker.

Strange.

Shutting my phone, I slide it into the cup holder and head to my apartment. I thought she would have taken the bait after the little stunt I pulled last night. But I guess I thought wrong. A light drizzle starts to pour over New York; the streets begin to gleam with the slick wetness of the rain. I turn up “Party Monster” by the Weeknd, the bass drumming against the speaker with vengeance.

Easing the car to a slow stop, I throw my keys at the valet before quickly heading up to my apartment. I’m not sure how to feel about the things that have taken place the past couple of weeks, with me finding out the true identity of my stalker andthe reason for those other women’s deaths. And the fact that I chose to keep her secret is all confusing me.

I don’t even know why the hell I care about the reason she’s doing all of this. I really shouldn’t be entertaining the thought of keeping her hidden from everyone, or even the thought of trying to figure her out.

She’s like a puzzle. A beautiful, dark, and twisted puzzle that makes me question everything I’ve known my entire life, and I’m not sure if I hate it.

The door to my apartment swings open, and I throw my phone on the couch before heading to my bedroom and throwing on a pair of gray sweats and a half-sleeved matching shirt. I sink into the plush couch cushions that face the windows, the city sprawled out in front of me. I should be angry at the fact that my stalker thinks that I belong to her, that I’m someone who can be kept, someone who can be controlled. But what she doesn’t realize is I’m more volatile than acid, and I will burn everything I touch.

I snatch my phone, eager to find out more about her. So I text the only person I know who can find information onanyone. Even though he did fail to findher.

But she’sdifferent, isn’t she?

Me:

Yo, Matteo.

I need you to find something about someone.

Matteo

No.

Me

Why not, asshole?