The Maddest Obsession (Made Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

  “I’m truly impressed with how quickly you put that together,” she said dryly.

  My mind whirled.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  The rhythmic tapping of his finger, the adjusting of his cuffs, the turning of his watch, it all played in my head on a reel.

  God, the man was more disturbed than I had thought.

  “What if they never get to sex? Does foreplay count as one of the times?” The vision of his head between my legs and my fingers interlocked with his flashed through my mind.

  She chuckled. “I don’t know. Trying to figure out if you have two or three turns left?”

  “Please. You’re the one who wants him, not me.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  I ignored the sarcasm in her voice.

  Silence settled between us for a moment as we both took a pull on our cigarettes.

  “Speak of the devil,” she muttered.

  My gaze followed hers down the sidewalk to see Allister walking toward us. His eyes were already on me, filled with a magnetism that made everything beyond broad shoulders and straight lines disappear.

  “And who is he with?” Interest laced through her voice.

  I finally noticed he had a companion. The stranger was dressed like a model in a magazine, in a charcoal suit and skinny red tie, but his eyes shone with the darkness only a member of the underworld could exude. He was handsome, but that was inconsequential compared to the intrigue that screamed with each step he took.

  While walking past us, Allister pulled the cigarette from my lips and tossed it to the sidewalk before entering the hotel doors.

  I sighed.

  Valentina laughed.

  The night of Elena’s bachelorette party fluttered through my mind. I got to my feet. “I need to gather some intel.”

  She blew out a breath of smoke between red-painted lips. “You do that. And while you’re at it, find out the handsome stranger’s name.”

  I caught up to Allister and sidled beside him as he and his companion walked to the ballroom. “Who’s your friend?”

  Allister didn’t even look my way. “None of your business.”

  “Name’s Sebastian.” The stranger winked at me, and I could feel it straight in my toes.

  “Sebastian what?”

  Christian’s shoulders tensed.

  “Perez.”

  I placed the light accent behind his voice. “Ah, a Colombian. Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Sebastian.” I held out my hand, but before Sebastian could shake it, Christian grabbed my wrist and pulled it to his side. “I’m—”

  “Married,” Christian finished, and then shot the Colombian a look I couldn’t decipher.

  A small smile pulled on Sebastian’s lips. “I’ll just go offer my condolences to the bride. It was my pleasure, Gianna.”

  How he knew my name, I didn’t know, but the fact he did made my chest squeal with girlish delight.

  Wait, condolences?

  Oh, whatever.

  “You too, Sebastian.” I tried to raise my hand to give a flirty wave, but realized Christian still had a tight grip on my wrist.

  I brought my unimpressed gaze to him.

  His eyes were narrowed on me.

  “Who peed in your Raisin Bran this morning?”

  He dropped my wrist, smoothed his tie, and eyed the room like he was on security detail. “I find your presence bothersome. Go put yourself somewhere else.”

  “Fine. I do need to find out more about Sebastian.” I took a step in that direction, but he grabbed my wrist again. I frowned, looking down at where he held me. “I’m confused. I think this is called mixed signals?”

  Something flashed in his eyes like he was going to spill with some other ridiculous command, but then a muscle in his jaw tightened, and he let me go and walked away.

  Because he clearly didn’t want me to, I followed him.

  “I didn’t expect you to be one to celebrate love,” I said.

  “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Oh? Are you who they hired to supervise the children?”

  “More like, the adults.”

  “Oh, please. We’re doing just fine.”

  “Looks like it,” he said, eyeing a room so full of tension a single wrong move could detonate a bomb.

  We stopped at the short line to the bar. Waiters flitted from here to there, but it seemed there weren’t enough to satisfy everyone’s need for alcohol.

  My shoulder bumped into Christian’s arm while I moved to stand beside him. His body tensed, but apparently he was still choosing to ignore my presence. The small touch lit a fire in me, and I fought the invisible pull to step closer to him. I crossed my arms, putting on my best interrogation pose.

  “What were your whereabouts at approximately three a.m. last Friday night?”

  His gaze slid to me, sizing up my stance. “Home. Sleeping.”

  “See . . . I just don’t believe you.”

  “Why’s that?” he drawled.

  “Lucifer never sleeps.”

  He appeared almost amused, but I couldn’t be sure because he grabbed his drink from the bartender and left me standing there, alone.

  I sighed, turning on my heel to follow him. “You’re going to give a girl a complex.”

  “Another complex might be exactly what you need.”

  “Ha ha, very funny. But jokes aside—did you take me home the other night?”

  “No.”

  “Did your good twin take me home?”

  He let out a breath of amusement.

  He was now walking down a hallway off the ballroom, but I wasn’t going to follow him into any dark corridor. No matter if there was a door with Security written on it at the end. I stopped, and my frustration with his evasion finally bubbled to the surface and into my voice.

  “What did you do to me, Allister?”

  He paused, turned to face me. “You think I did something to you?” He laughed darkly. “Felt you up while you were passed out?”

  Well, no. That hadn’t even crossed my mind, but why had he taken me home? He had to have an ulterior motive. “Did you go through my underwear drawer? You know, you can buy used ones for sixty dollars on the internet these days. You didn’t have to take me home just to get your fix.”

  He looked like he wanted to strangle me. “I didn’t fucking touch you or your shit. I thought we already went over this?” His eyes flashed. “I’ve been there before. I wasn’t impressed.”

  That stung as though he had slapped me in the face. The anger sucked the air from my lungs, and my claws came unsheathed in an instant.

  I grabbed the glass in his hand with every intention of tossing the contents in his face, though before I could, he ripped the tumbler from my grasp and threw it to the floor. I stared at my failed revenge shattered on the marble but could see nothing but rage. I wanted to hurt him as much as his words had me.

  I pushed him, and when he didn’t respond, I did it again. Then, I beat on his chest and tried to knee him in the groin.

  When he’d had enough, he spun me around, pulled me back against his chest, and pinned my arms with one of his.

  “Calm down,” he ordered.

  “Go fuck yourself.” My chest heaved up and down, as I tried to fight my way out of his hold.

  His grip tightened, and I sucked in a breath. I leaned against him and dug my nails into his forearm when I realized it was all I could do.

  The hair on the back of my neck rose when his angry, mocking words brushed my ear. “Your entire family is just down the hall. What would your husband think if he saw you in such a compromising position?”

  Fury was dimming under the heat of his body pressed against mine. The tightness of his arm around me. The scent of his custom cologne. And then there was the undeniable press of his erection against my lower back. The bastard was getting off on putting me in my place. Though, regardless of the circumstances, just the idea that he was hard sent a heavy weight between my legs. I softened against him, not able
to get enough air in my lungs.

  “He’s at home with a nurse. He has pneumonia.”

  “Ah, I hear that’s a killer for an old man like him.” His hold loosened, and his hand, ever so slowly, slid from my waist to my hip. The touch seared through my skin, setting my heartbeat crackling like sparks. “Who’s next on your husband list this time?”

  He turned me, pulled my front against his, the heat of it becoming an overwhelming distraction. But then I reminded myself of what he said to me. Resting my palms on his stomach, I slid them up his chest as I rose to my tiptoes. He watched me through eyes too obscure to read.

  We were so close I could smell his aftershave, count his eyelashes. The barest inch lay between our lips. It was too easy to fill—impossible not to—and I let the distance close, my lips skimming his as I said, “Anyone will do. As long as they screw me with a little more passion than you.”

  I tried to pull away, but his hand slid up my neck, fisted in my hair, and kept my mouth brushing his. He stepped closer, forcing my back against the wall. “You seem to forget that I haven’t fucked you.”

  Each brush of his lips was a douse of gasoline on fire inside me. A hazy wave inside my mind. A wasteful breath I couldn’t inhale. I turned my head to the side so I could find the air to speak. “Everything about that night was forgettable. Why do you think I didn’t call you?” Sympathy filled my voice. “Seems I didn’t listen.” We both knew I was referring to what he’d said to me that night: “You won’t forget me.”

  My heart beat in my ears, and I hated myself for feeling a pang of regret.

  His eyes were dark and terrifying; a reflection of skies lit up with smoke and fire. His lips pressed against my ear, words rough and threatening. “Run home to your husband before I make him a widower.”

  I JUMPED TO MY FEET. “GO, BLACKIE, GO!”

  The grandstand rattled and roared as the horses closed on the finish line. Ears pulled back, hooves pounding into dirt, muscles sleek with sweat. Adrenaline saturated the air, like the heavy humidity the dark clouds had brought in a moment ago. The end of August was upon us, but the heat didn’t want to let go.

  My look was inspired by Clueless star Cher Horowitz’s closet—the small white dress her daddy had refused to let her leave the house in without a coverup. I had some issues with daddies, so here I was, in a small white dress—even sans sheer cardigan—as the clouds grew heavy with rain.

  It fell from the sky the moment the horses crossed the finish line. I sat, watched the jockeys lead their horses off the track. Watched the dirt turn to mud.

  A hand rested on my shoulder, a gaudy sapphire ring attached to the third finger. “I’m sure you’ll have better luck next time, dear.”

  “I knew he wasn’t going to win.”

  Patricia, a seventy-year-old widow, grabbed her purse. “What did I tell you about betting with your heart? It doesn’t win you a dime.” She patted my arm. “Well, I’m sure you’ll learn someday. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go collect my winnings.”

  A little girl with big blue eyes stared from a seat in front of me, while her parents conversed with another couple. She had to hold her fountain soda with two hands it was so large. “Why would you bet on him if you knew he wouldn’t win?”

  “Wouldn’t you want someone to believe in you, even if you knew you couldn’t do it?”

  She nodded. “Uh huh.” She slurped her soda, looking me over. “You’re gonna look silly when you get rained on.”

  I sighed and stood. Tugged my dress down my thighs and braced myself for New York’s unpredictable weather.

  I had just reached the overhang outside when I stopped, seeing a familiar face.

  “Gianna.” Vincent’s smile was small. “I didn’t know if I’d find you here.”

  “Of course I came. It’s Blackie’s last hurrah. I had to wish him well in his retirement.” I bit my lip as the soft drip of rain sounded between us. “I thought you had a trip to depart on today?”

  “The weather put it off until tomorrow.” He looked embarrassed, his gaze dropping to the pavement. “I was going to invite you—”

  “You don’t have to explain, Vincent. I get it.” I shouldn’t have been upset—I couldn’t have gone even if I wanted to—but I still felt the sting of rejection.

  I walked out from under the overhang and toward the sidewalk to catch a cab. The rain was a welcome relief from the heat, falling to my skin in fat drops.

  “Gianna, wait.”

  I turned around.

  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t like feeling like a coward.”

  I blinked. “Why would you feel like a coward?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it.

  An unsettling feeling expanded in my stomach. “Why would you feel like a coward, Vincent?”

  “I haven’t invited you to anything lately because I didn’t want to get you into trouble, but . . . I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t have to do with self-preservation as well.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I realize now . . .” He grew distracted as his gaze ran down my body, down the dress that was probably transparent by now. “Here.” He slipped his suit jacket off and rested it on my shoulders—as always, an exemplary gentleman. “I’ve known you’re a little out of my league when it comes to your family, but now, I get why you’re so cautious of them.”

  Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. Someone had visited him. Had threatened him, most likely.

  “Who was it?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, understanding what I was asking him. “I didn’t ask for his name. He was a bigger guy, intimidating.”

  Luca.

  I gritted my teeth to calm myself.

  “He had a badge on him, made me feel like a criminal just for liking you, if I’m being honest.”

  Wait, what?

  My breath stilled, and I asked my next question very slowly. “Did you say he had a badge?”

  “Yeah, FBI, if you can believe it or not.”

  My laugh was dark. “Oh, I can believe it.”

  That son of a bitch. I was going to kill him. Murder him in cold blood. Toss his body to the sharks.

  Was my life an amusement to him? A game, just like all the others we played? Frustration bubbled up my throat.

  “I want you to know I wasn’t ignoring you, Gianna. I just think it’s better if we . . . part ways.”

  Great. I’d been exiled from an entire group of friends. Vincent was the ringleader—without him, one simply didn’t get an invite. On the other hand, I could say I’d never been more turned off in my life. How easily he’d conceded to one measly threat.

  “I agree, Vincent.”

  “You agree,” he said, like he was confused.

  Did he think I would beg him to keep me in the loop? I’d been a Russo for the last eight years of my life. We wouldn’t beg with a gun to our heads.

  “I have to go now. Thanks for the jacket.”

  I turned around and raised my hand to hail a cab.

  Rain poured from the sky, weighing down my hair. Soaking my clothes. But doing little to cool my ire.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked.

  I rattled off the address to Ace’s club.

  My hands shook with resentment and something pent-up I couldn’t even explain. All I knew was that I couldn’t keep playing games with this man. I was going to wave the white flag to our rivalry, because in the end, I’d never win.

  I stepped out of the cab in front of the club. It was only two o’clock and currently closed, but I’d been informed of a meeting happening here this afternoon, only because Elena had told me why they’d put off their honeymoon until tomorrow.

  Angelica stood in front of the basement door looking at her nails. Her gaze came up, and she pursed her lips. “You can’t be here.”

  “Well, I am. Move.”

  Her eyes fell down my body. “You know, some of us girls actually use a mirror when getting dressed in the
morning.”

  “Some of you also drop to your knees for a twenty-dollar bill,” I retorted, as I pushed past her and opened the door.

  Being careful not to get my strappy white heels stuck in the steel staircase, I didn’t notice the large meeting currently taking place in the middle of the room until I stepped off the last stair.

  I looked up and froze.

  Twenty male pairs of eyes pinned me to the spot. All of them filled with the darkness of the Cosa Nostra.

  I swallowed.

  Meetings were always in the conference room.

  Why weren’t they in the conference room?

  Nico sat at the front of the room next to his uncle and Luca. Jimmy looked like he was trying to hold back a low chuckle, but the other two, not so much. Ace’s expression said he would strangle me if I was in reach.

  Black suits, testosterone, and a thick tension eating away at any oxygen filled the area. Nothing but Abellis seemed to be sitting or leaning against the card tables on one side of the room, including their don, Salvatore, while Russos sat on the other. And smack dab in the middle of them sat a special agent who used his badge to threaten law-abiding citizens for catching feelings for the wrong woman.

  His eyes were on me, simmering with an anger that told me I was in deep shit if he caught me alone after this. I was suddenly more worried about his reaction than having to face Ace.

  Christian’s fury cooled and burned my skin as his gaze skimmed down my body.

  And then I remembered my dress. My very white, very wet dress.

  My cheeks grew warm, but I refused to show my embarrassment by pulling Vincent’s jacket closed.

  The words were filled with arrogance and amusement. “A hundred bucks says I could make her that wet.”

  It was a stupid bet and an even stupider joke, but the fact it came from an Abelli mouth only amplified the tension. Something shifted in the air. The slight lift of a murderer’s lips after a kill. A starving dog catching the scent of blood.

  “Watch your goddamn mouth,” Luca snapped. “That’s the wife of a capo you’re talking about.”

  The Abelli who sat toward the middle of the room, his ankle resting on his knee, scoffed. “A capo on his deathbed. She’s practically fair game now.”