Page 13 of Lord of Obsession

My phone buzzes: another message from Laura asking why I left the club so suddenly. I silence it without reading. How can I explain that I ran because I was afraid of what I might do if I stayed? That the violence living in my bones nearly surfaced when Dario pressed me against that brick wall?

Cool air whispers from hidden vents, but sweat still pricks at my collar. I loosen my tie, then stop myself. Even alone, I'm performing, playing the role of the dedicated law student, as if perfect appearances could somehow make the act more real.

The case brief still waits on my desk, its precise margins and highlighted passagesmocking my attempt at normalcy. But the legal language keeps shifting into Sicilian curses, my carefully maintained control fraying with each passing hour. My hands ache for something more substantial than a pen, something that could actually protect me from the hunger growing in my chest.

I need to focus. I need to remember who I'm trying to be. But all I can think about is the way Dario saw through every defense, every pretense. The way he knew exactly how to make me feel the blood in my veins, the training I've tried so hard to forget.

The security system chimes. Routine check, all clear. But my pulse still races, and the night stretches endless before me, full of memories I can't seem to shake.

A car door slams in the parking lot below. I'm at the window before I realize I've moved, scanning the shadows between streetlights. Old instincts surge to life as I catalog vehicles, looking for the sleek black cars favored by both our families. Nothing. Just a resident returning late. Still, my hands shake as I step back, and I hate myself for showing weakness even in private.

The city stretches vast beyond mywindows, but suddenly my apartment feels like a cage. Every carefully chosen piece of furniture, every meticulously arranged object seems to mock my attempts at reinvention. The modern art on the walls, selected to project sophisticated taste, now looks like empty promises. Even my bookshelf betrays me—law texts lined up with military precision, spines perfectly aligned, a soldier's attention to detail that I can't seem to shake.

I strip off my tie completely, letting it fall to the floor in a silent act of rebellion. The gesture feels childish, but it's better than the alternative. It’s better than admitting how much I want to give in to what Dario stirred awake in that club hallway. Better than acknowledging the thrill that ran through me when he called me out for what I really am.

The security system chimes again: another perimeter check, another all-clear signal. But for the first time since I moved in, the multiple layers of electronic protection feel less like security and more like self-deception. No alarm system can protect me from what's already inside: the hunger, the violence, theneedI've spent years trying to deny.

My phone buzzes again. This time it'sLuca, probably wondering why I missed our coffee meeting. I should call him back and warn him about Dario's sudden interest. But the words stick in my throat until I feel it close shut. How can I explain what happened in that hallway without revealing how close I came to breaking? How do I tell my cousin that every defense I've built is crumbling under the weight of Dario's knowing gaze?

Without warning, the security alarm screams to life, shattering the silence. My phone lights up with alerts: west entrance compromised, surveillance cameras disabled, security protocols failing in cascade. Each notification represents another layer of protection falling, another barrier between me and the chaos I've tried to keep at bay. The screens of my security monitors flicker and die one by one, leaving me blind to my building's perimeter.

I'm moving before conscious thought kicks in, muscle memory taking over. The gun safe behind my abstract painting springs open to my touch, but I stop myself from reaching inside. The metal gleams in the city light filtering through my windows, promising protection, power, everything I've tried to leavebehind. That's not who I am anymore. Not who I'm trying to be. Still, my fingers itch with the memory of cold steel.

A soft knock at my door freezes me in place. Not the harsh pounding of a raid, not the subtle clicks of a break-in. Just three gentle taps that somehow terrify me more than violence would. The sound echoes through my apartment, making the space feel suddenly foreign, hostile.

"Your security system is shit." Dario's voice carries clearly through the door, wrapping around me like silk over steel. "You should get better contractors. Ones not so easily bought."

My heart slams against my ribcage as I approach the door. The hallway beyond my apartment stretches silent and empty in the security feed's last frame, now frozen on my phone. Through the peephole, I see him leaning casually against the frame, dressed in black that makes him look like a shadow come to life. No visible weapons, but that means nothing. We both learned to kill bare-handed before we learned to drive.

The temperature seems to drop despite my climate control's perfect settings. Mybreath fogs the peephole's glass as I watch him shift his weight, every movement calculated to appear casual while broadcasting lethal grace.

"Go away." My voice comes out steadier than I feel, years of training hiding the tremor that wants to surface.

"Make me." His smile sharpens, white teeth flashing in the hallway's dim light. "Or invite me in. Your choice, Rafael. But we both know you're not calling the police."

He's right. I can't involve normal authorities. I can't risk exposing either of our families. The consequences would ripple through both our worlds, destroying everything I've built here. My fingers hover over the keypad, trembling slightly. One code to trigger the silent alarm, another to alert family security. Instead, I find myself disabling the remaining protocols, betraying myself with every number pressed.

The door opens with a soft click that sounds like surrender. Dario's cologne hits me first—something expensive and dark that makes my pulse jump. He steps inside like he owns the space, his presence immediately making my apartment, once a sanctuary, feel smaller, more dangerous. The air changes,charged with potential violence and something else I refuse to name.

"Nice place." He surveys my living room, taking in the minimalist furniture and careful order. The city lights paint shadows across his face as he moves, making him look otherworldly, dangerous. "Very sparse. Very clean." His eyes lock onto mine, dark with promise. "Very fake."

I should throw him out. Or fight. I should do literally anything except stand here with my heart racing as he moves through my space, picking apart and examining my life like it's an exhibit he's critiquing. The soft whisper of his expensive shoes against my hardwood floors sounds like a countdown. To what, I’m not yet sure.

"How did you get past the entrance security?" I manage to ask, buying time to steady myself. The question echoes in the space between us, hollow with false normalcy.

"You mean the rent-a-cop watching porn on his phone?" Dario picks up a law book from my coffee table, thumbs through it with exaggerated interest. The pages rustle like nervous wings. "Or the cameras that mysteriously lost power ten minutes ago?" His smileturns sharp as a blade. "You're slipping, Rafael. The old you would never have trusted building security instead of your own people."

I close the door behind him, and it clicks with quiet finality. Dario infiltrates deeper, his presence filling the space like smoke, making it hard to breathe. He moves with lethal grace across my polished floors, touching things at random: my perfectly arranged desk, my carefully curated bookshelf. Each touch feels like a violation, a claim staked on my territory. The city lights streaming through my windows cast his shadow long across the floor, stretching toward me like grasping fingers.

"What do you want?" I hate how rough my voice sounds, how it betrays everything I'm trying to hide.

He turns, and the hunger in his eyes makes my mouth go dry. The distance between us shrinks with each measured step he takes. "I want to see what happens when you stop pretending. When you admit that all this"—he gestures at my apartment, my law books, my entire carefully constructed life—" is just gift wrapping on a lethal weapon."

My back hits the door, the cool metalgrounding me in reality. I don't remember stepping back, but suddenly I'm retreating from his advance. His smile says he notices, that he reads every tell my body betrays. Above us, the ventilation system hums softly, a counterpoint to my thundering heart.

"Fifteenth floor," he says, nodding and moving to stand before my windows. The city spreads out beyond the glass, a glittering tapestry of lights and shadows. "Perfect vantage point of Old Harbor. Must be convenient, keeping an eye on everything from up here."

The observation hits like a physical blow because he's right. And he’s seen through another carefully constructed lie. This apartment, chosen for its strategic position overlooking both family territories, betrays everything I claim not to be. Another crack in my facade that he's found and exploited. The truth of it burns in my throat, and my silence damns me more than any response could.

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