Page 71 of Lord of Obsession

Dario's grip tightens, his usual calculated control slipping to reveal something fiercer beneath. "Are they still looking?"

"Of course." I gesture toward my wounded leg. "I embarrassed them and escaped despite numerical superiority and tactical advantage. Uncle won't let that stand."

His free hand brushes hair from my forehead, the touch gentler than anyone would expect from Dario Greco. "We need to move. This safehouse won't stay secure forever. Not with both families hunting us."

"Both?" The question emerges sharper than intended.

Dario's expression shifts, calculation replacing concern. "My father isn't pleased about my... investment in you. Or the Ferrara conflict that resulted in my injuries."

Understanding dawns, heavy with implications. "He thinks I'm compromising your judgment. That I've turned you against family interests." I can't help the bitter laugh that escapes. "Mirror image of Salvatore's accusations against me."

"Patriarchs think alike." His mouth twists in something not quite a smile. "Loyalty to blood above all personal desire. Control disguised as protection."

"And now we've rejected both." The magnitude of our decision settles like lead in my stomach. "Every resource, every connection, every advantage either of us once possessed... gone. Or actively turned against us."

Dario raises my hand to his lips, the gesture carrying none of his usual mockery. "Not everything. Not everyone." His eyes hold mine, stripped of calculation to reveal raw truth beneath. "We still have each other. We still have what burns between us."

The words settle something restless in my chest, a truth I've been fighting since that first night in the library. Whatever this is between us—obsession or recognition or something darker still—it's worth the price we've paid. Worth the blood and bullets and burned bridges.

"What now?" I ask, the question encompassing everything left unspoken between us.

Dario's smile carries sharp edges, but genuine warmth beneath. "Now we stop running.Stop pretending we're something other than what we are."

"And what are we, exactly?" The question emerges quiet but steady, scraping from somewhere deeper than pride.

"Survivors." He brushes his thumb across my knuckles, the touch electric despite its gentleness. "Killers." His voice drops lower, intimate as a blade between ribs. "Mine and yours. Matched in blood and violence and everything neither of our families could understand."

The simple truth of it burns through my chest, consuming the last of my resistance. I lean into his touch, letting myself feel the full weight of inevitability. Of belonging. Of chains forged not through obligation but through choice.

"They'll never stop hunting us." My practical nature reasserts itself despite the warmth spreading through my veins. "Both our families, the Ferraras, everyone who wants us dead or controlled."

"Let them try." His confidence is absolute, bones-deep certainty that would seem arrogant from anyone else. "Let them waste resources and time while we buildsomething new. Something they can't touch or corrupt."

"Something permanent." I find myself thinking aloud, my strategic mind already mapping possibilities. "Outside traditional territories, beyond established power structures."

Dario's expression sharpens with interest. "You have something specific in mind?”

I nod, years of legal expertise and family knowledge coalescing into coherent strategy. "The Martinez case I was researching. Not just abstract study, but practical application. I mapped weaknesses in family-structured criminal enterprises. Vulnerabilities in how power transfers between generations."

"Leverage points." He follows my thought process immediately, that brilliant strategic mind catching fire with possibilities. "Pressure valves where legitimate and illegitimate interests intersect."

"Exactly." For the first time since waking, genuine excitement displaces pain and uncertainty. "We have knowledge both our families would kill to suppress. Names, dates, operational details for three generations of organized crime. Not enough to destroy everything, but enough to?—"

"To carve out neutral territory." Dario completes the thought, his grip tightening with approval. "Space we can claim without direct confrontation."

"Space we can defend." I clarify, unwilling to understate the challenge ahead. "With information as our primary weapon, backed by whatever conventional resources we can secure."

His smile spreads, slow and dangerous and achingly beautiful. "I knew there was a reason I wanted you. That strategic mind wrapped in Zegna suits and academic pretense." He leans closer, breath ghosting across my lips. "Beautiful and lethal and finally embracing what you are."

Heat floods my face, but I don't pull away as his hand finds my jaw. "What we both are."

"Mine and yours." The words carry absolute conviction as his mouth claims mine.

The kiss is different from our previous encounters—no violence or power struggle, just the slow exploration of new territory. I melt into it despite myself, letting him take what he's already claimed a dozen times in darker ways. There's a gentleness to his touch I never would have expected, a tenderness at oddswith everything I thought I knew about Dario Greco.

His hand cradles my face as he pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against mine. "We should get moving soon. This place won't stay secure for long."

"I know." My fingers trace the outline of bandages beneath his shirt, evidence of bullets he took protecting me. "Where will we go? Both families will have eyes at borders, airports, train stations."

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