Page 39 of Lord of Obsession

TWELVE

DARIO

The maintenance key slides into Valmont Tower's rooftop lock with satisfying precision. Thirty stories up, the city stretches beneath a sky heavy with approaching storms. Perfect backdrop for what comes next. I check my watch: two hours until Rafael arrives. Time to prepare my stage.

"Security sweep complete," Marco reports, materializing from the stairwell. "Building personnel have been... encouraged to take early dinner breaks. Cameras are looped."

I dismiss him with a nod, surveying the space with a tactician's eye. The helipad offers clear sight lines to Old Harbor and Riverside Heights. Strategic placement of outdoorheaters will combat the autumn chill while creating intimate pockets of warmth and light. A bottle of thirty-year Highland whiskey—Rafael's secret weakness—chills in a silver bucket.

My security detail positions themselves at key points throughout the building. No interruptions. No witnesses. Just thirty stories of empty space between the ground and this private theatre where I'll strip away the last of his pretenses.

Wind whips around the tower's crown as I trace the perimeter. The low wall at the edge bears scuff marks from previous encounters—not all of them ending well. Far below, traffic weaves patterns of light through streets that belong to families like ours. The height triggers something primal in the blood. Up here, the city's rules mean nothing.

I check my phone: a single message confirming Rafael received the coordinates. No response needed. We're past the point of threats or manipulation. He'll come because he can't resist the pull anymore, can't maintain that careful distance now that I've shown him what lives beneath his designer suits and legal briefs.

The first drops of rain spatter against imported marble as I arrange vintage crystal tumblers on a teak side table. Each element serves a purpose: the whiskey to lower inhibitions, the storm for dramatic effect, the dizzying height to heighten every sensation. I've orchestrated this scene down to the smallest detail.

Lightning flickers on the horizon, nature providing perfect ambiance. The approaching storm front mirrors the inevitable collision building between us. I straighten my jacket, feeling the familiar weight of steel against my ribs. Not that I'll need it. The only weapons that matter tonight are the ones bred into our bones.

"Sir." Marco again, this time by the stairwell door. "The professor made the call and confirmed Rafael's civil procedure exam has been rescheduled."

Another piece sliding into place. Money and threats flow like water in our world, greasing wheels and removing obstacles. Even Valmont's academic integrity bends under enough pressure. I dismiss Marco with a gesture, and he melts back into the shadows, taking his team with him.

The rooftop stretches empty now, waiting. Rain beads on crystal and marble while wind reshapes clouds into towers. I pour two fingers of whiskey, letting the amber liquid catch the dim light. The first sip burns familiar fire down my throat, a preview of the heat building between Rafael and me.

Two hours. In two hours, I'll watch him step into this carefully crafted scene. I'll see that perfect mask crack further as he realizes every exit is blocked, every escape route closed. Up here, suspended between earth and sky, he'll finally stop running from what burns in his blood.

The storm edges closer, carrying electric promise. I taste ozone and anticipation on my tongue as I wait for Rafael to arrive, for the real performance to begin.

Two hours later,the rooftop door opens precisely on schedule. Rafael steps through, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face and his dark eyes blazing. His suit remains immaculate despite the late hour, but exhaustion mars the perfect image. Darkcircles ring his eyes, and his tie sits crooked—microscopic tells that feed my hunger.

"Quite a view." I keep my position by the edge, letting him take in the carefully arranged scene. "Tell me, does your uncle know you're meeting a Greco thirty stories up?"

His footsteps halt, measured and precise. "How did you get access to this building?"

I turn, savoring how the distance between us charges with possibility. "Same way you got your office, your apartment, and your precious law school admission. Money opens doors in this city." My hand gestures toward the sprawling vista. "Look at it. Really look. Your family's territory is bleeding into mine. The empire you pretend doesn't own every step you take."

Lightning splits the sky, illuminating how his fingers curl against his thighs. The storm front pushes closer, wind whipping his perfectly pressed shirt. He maintains that careful distance, but his eyes track my every movement as I circle the heaters.

"The civil procedure exam?—"

"Has been rescheduled." I pour whiskey into crystal tumblers, letting him see the label.His favorite, though he'd never admit to such mundane weaknesses. "Amazing how flexible academic schedules become with proper motivation."

Fury flashes across his features before that careful mask reasserts itself. "You're interfering with my life."

"No." I close the distance between us, offering one of the tumblers. "I'm showing you exactly what your life is. What it's always been, beneath all that pretense of legitimacy."

He takes the glass but doesn't drink, those amber eyes burning as I step closer. The height affects him; I can see it in the slight tension in his spine, the way he keeps precise count of steps between his position and the edge. Thirty stories of empty air singing in his blood, just like it sings in mine.

"Why here? Why now?"

I move behind him, close enough to feel heat radiating through Italian wool. "Because up here, there's nowhere to hide. No comfortable office to retreat to. No legal texts to hide behind." My fingers brush his nape, feeling how he shivers despite the heaters' warmth. "Just you and me and thirty stories of truth between us and the ground."

His breath catches as I guide him closer to the edge. The city spreads beneath us like a tapestry of light and corruption. I point toward the harbor, where cargo ships slip through dark waters. "See that warehouse? The place where your uncle's latest shipment disappeared?" My hand shifts, indicating downtown's gleaming towers. "The banks that launder our families' money? The judges who look the other way?"

Rafael's pulse jumps beneath my fingers as I press closer, using my body to keep him facing the view. "Your professors talk about RICO statutes and federal jurisdiction, but this is where real power lives. In whispered deals and midnight meetings, in blood and silence."

A police siren wails far below, the sound barely reaching our height. Rafael's fingers tighten on the crystal tumbler, knuckles white with tension. "I never asked for this. I chose a new life."

---