Page 1 of Chains of Obsession

Prologue

The Deal With the Devil

The city breathes beneathme, a restless, writhing beast of sin and desperation. From my private club,The Imperiale, I watch the neon lights bleed into the night, illuminating the dark underbelly of a world most people pretend doesn’t exist. But I don’t pretend. Iownit. Inside, the air is thick with smoke, the scent of expensive whiskey mingling with the subtle sweetness of perfume clinging to the women draped over leather couches.

My men laugh, drink, and indulge. Because in this life, you take what you want before someone rips it from your hands. I stretch my arm along the back of the crimson sofa, a half-naked brunette curled up against me, tracing the inked veins of my forearm with delicate fingers. She’s beautiful, eager, and nameless—just the way I prefer them.

I tip her chin up, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip, watching as she shivers under my touch. But I feel nothing. Not really. This world is a game of power, and I play it better than anyone. I’m the guy that signs deals for smuggling guns acrossthe borders, oversees operations that move millions in blood money, and orders hits on those who dare to cross me. A low chuckle rumbles in my chest as I lift my glass, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. Across the room, one of my associates kneels before Enzo, my second-in-command, pleading for his life.

He’s already dead—he just doesn’t know it yet. It’s almost disappointing. I down the rest of my drink and rise to my feet. Peeling the woman off me without a second glance. She pouts, but I don’t care. There’s nothing in this club, in this entire goddamn city, that holds my interest for long. I turn toward the exit, my mind already elsewhere—on the next deal, the next kill, the next move in this never-ending game. But as I step into the dimly lit hallway leading out of the VIP lounge, something stops me.Someonestops me.

She collides into me, the soft gasp of surprise escaping her lips like a whispered prayer. The scent of jasmine wraps around me before I even get a good look at her. My hands automatically find her waist, steadying her, and when my gaze finally locks onto hers, the world shifts. Her deep brownish-green eyes meet mine, wide with startled defiance, framed by thick lashes. Her lips are parted, caught between protest and silence.

Fuck, she’s beautiful in a way that women in my world rarely are. Untouched by its filth. Untamed by its rules. She pulls away, her body stiffening beneath my grip, and I let her go—reluctantly.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs.

I watch as she disappears into the crowd, her presence lingering like a ghost beneath my skin. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at my lips as I roll my shoulders, adjusting my cufflinks. I step outside, the night air is thick with the scent of rain and gasoline.

The neon lights of the club cast a hazy glow over the line of expensive cars parked at the curb, each one a symbol of power, wealth, and the empire I built with blood. My empire. A pair of women stumble out after me, their laughter high-pitched and laced with intoxication.

One of them—platinum blonde, barely dressed, her lips stained red—wraps an arm around my waist, pressing herself against me.

"Leaving so soon?" she purrs, running her manicured fingers over the lapel of my suit.

The other, a sultry brunette, trails her nails down my arm, her body language all but begging for my attention. "We were just getting started," she adds, her voice thick with promise.

I chuckle, dark and amused. "You’re mistaken if you think I came here looking for entertainment."

They giggle, mistaking my words for playful arrogance. They’re not entirely wrong. I own this city in ways they’ll never understand. The Moretti name is whispered in fear, my reputation preceding me before I even step into a room. Money, power, women—I have them all at my disposal and I take what I want.

One of my men—Adriano—opens the door to my black Maserati, the engine already purring like a beast waiting to be unleashed. The two women slide into the backseat first, giggling as they drape themselves in luxury they’ll never truly own. They smell like expensive perfume and bad decisions, their eyes gleaming with the promise of a night they think will change their lives. I sink into the driver’s seat, adjusting my cuffs, brushing my fingers over the smooth leather of the wheel.

The city belongs to me, its streets bending to my will, just like everything else in my world. I press down on the gas, the car roaring as we speed off into the night, the neon lights of Italyblurring into streaks of color. One of the women leans forward, her manicured nails tracing along my shoulder.

“Where are we going, Matteo?” she purrs, her voice dripping with seduction.

I smirk, keeping my eyes on the road. “Somewhere you’ll never forget.”

By the time we arrive at my estate, the air is thick with anticipation. The click of their heels against the marble floor, sends a shiver down my spine. They know who I am, what I am, and they want a taste of the power that comes with my name. I toss my jacket onto the sleek leather couch and loosen the top buttons of my shirt, watching as the women make themselves comfortable, sinking into the velvet of my furniture as if they belong there.

They don’t. They never do. But for tonight, they’ll think they do. I pour a glass of whiskey, watching the amber liquid swirl before taking a slow sip. The heat burns down my throat, grounding me, reminding me of who I am. What I am. A king. A ruler of this world built on blood and power.

Chapter one

The Blood Pact

Matteo

The night is thickwith tension, the kind that wraps around your chest and refuses to let go. My office is dimly lit, the smoke from my cigar swirling in the air, mixing with the scent of leather and whiskey. It’s a quiet place where decisions are made in shadows, where power shifts with a single word. But tonight, Luca Ricci is about to make a deal that will bind us in a way he doesn’t quite understand yet. I hear the door open behind me, but I don’t turn. I know it’s him. Luca.

The man who thought he could play in the big leagues, who never realized just how close to the edge his family really is.

He steps inside, his boots clicking on the floor. He’s nervous, I can smell it on him—something sharp in his cologne mixed with the scent of fear. There’s a kind of arrogance in the way he holds himself. A desperate kind of pride.

“Matteo. You wanted to see me.” he says, his voice tight.

I don’t look up. “Sit down,” I command, taking a long drag from my cigar, savoring the burn. I can almost hear his hesitation, the struggle between doing what he’s told and trying to salvage his pride. Finally, the chair across from me creaks as he sits, and I exhale slowly, the smoke curling up like a snake in the air.

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