Page 16 of My Ruthless Obsession

“I’ll explain later. I need to get you to the safe room.”

We reach my private office, where I keep a small armory inside a state-of-the-art panic enclosure. Paulie insisted I have this thing built. At the time, I scoffed at the notion. I don’t run from fights, and I never back down. Without having any siblings or children, he stressed the importance of my protection as the head of this family. I couldn’t argue with his logic, and now that I have Lyla, I’ve never been more thankful I listened to my friend.

We cut through my office and I press the hidden button on the wall to reveal the heavily-secured room. Reinforced with concrete and steel and equipped with video monitoring, the space is large enough to accommodate up to ten people with room to spare and has enough supplies to last two weeks.

“Holy shit!” Lyla’s footsteps falter when she sees all my weaponry. If I had time, I’d laugh because this is nothing compared to the arsenal I have in the basement.

When the cumbersome metal door swings open, I don’t hesitate to shove Lyla inside. There’s no time to be gentle when glass is shattering downstairs and our assailants move closer. Commands are shouted in Italian while my men fight to keep the fuckers at bay.

I grab another handgun and extra magazines before kissing Lyla one last time, preparing to lock her inside.

“Wait! You can’t?—”

I ignore her cries while I push her back, closing the steel doors and engaging the seven-point security system.

Shoving my feet into a pair of sneakers by the door, I storm back downstairs and barely clear the landing when shots are fired my way. I dive to the floor, then army-crawl into the formal parlor, seeking concealment behind a leather wingback chair. The sound of boots stomping on hardwood surrounds me while bullets seem to fly in all directions.

I peer out from behind my cover, moving back before one of the masked intruders manages to land a shot. Sliding my hand beneath the chair, I aim at the gunman’s ankles, shooting them both before he falls to the floor in agony. I’m not taking any chances, so I fire off a few more rounds, then rush to his dead body and strip him of his weapon.

Without any communication, I’m going in blind, but my guys have trained for this and they all know what to do. My guards have worked for this family for years, each of them prepared to die to secure the Vanetti legacy. One of them is assigned to protect my safe room, assuming I’m the one locked inside.

I peek around the parlor door and see Tony climbing the stairs two at a time, relief flooding my veins as he takes his position. I don’t worry about Lyla upstairs because, God-forbid someone makes it to the third floor, my man will never let them get to her.

Spotting a dark figure in the kitchen, I crouch down and stealthily move along the wall. I don’t wait for him to turn around before shooting him in the head from the doorway, a satisfied smirk on my face when he drops to the ground.

I duck in time to avoid a shot fired in my direction from another attacker coming through the back patio door. Sinking to my knees, I slide across the floor to the other side of the island, peering around the side to pop off two rounds. I hit him in the thigh, taking him down while he groans in pain and blood spurts from his wound. I could leave him to bleed out, which shouldn’t take more than five minutes, but I want the gratification of looking into his eyes when he takes his last breath. I stand over him and aim my weapon at his forehead, his eyes widening as I pull the trigger.

The gunfire slows to a stop and I survey the wreckage around me, blood and bullet holes marking almost every surface. Movement from the entrance leading to the dining room catches my attention and I draw my weapon. Paulie and Dante enter the kitchen, their guns trained on one of the intruders while they shove him toward me.

I lower my gun, but stay alert, knowing you can’t take your eyes off these fuckers for a second. “Where’s the rest of 'em?”

“Dead.” Dante smirks before punching the assailant in the gut.

“And us?” I’m not stupid enough to think everyone made it out of this unscathed.

A grim expression covers Paulie’s face. “Nico and Bobby. A few others took hits, but they’ll survive.”

Fuck. Bobby’s girl just gave birth to their first son. I can’t bring them back, but I’ll make sure both men’s families are well taken care of.

“Call Sal to fix 'em up. Then call the cleaners.” This isn’t the first time we’ve experienced an attack and it won’t be the last, but we all know what needs to be done.

Fury rages within me as I approach the masked man. I smash my fist into his face, then tear off his balaclava.

“Who sent you?” My tone is deceptively calm as I prepare to take another life.

The fucker has the balls to spit at my feet. “Fuck you.”

I hit him with a right, then a left hook, and a few of his teeth fly out of his busted mouth. “Who. Sent. You?”

He gives me a bloody grin, but remains silent.

Always down to torture a motherfucker, Dante draws his hunting knife and steps closer to the man. I halt him with a raised palm.

“Don’t bother. The Celtic clover on the inside of his wrist tells me everything I need to know.” I hold out my hand, and Dante passes his weapon to me. Donohue’s man fights my guys, but they each take an arm and keep him still. I stand toe-to-toe with the Irish bastard, glaring into his eyes and holding his head up by a fistful of hair. “I’ll see you in hell.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I silence him when I drag the sharp blade across his throat, sadistically pleased when blood pours from the deep wound.

I clean the knife on the man’s shirt before they release his corpse, and it crumples on the floor. Returning the weapon to Dante, I tell them, “I need to get Lyla out of here. Come by the penthouse when you’re done.”

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