Page 66 of Lord of Obsession

My words land like physical blows. Several family members shift uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. They recognize the truth in what I'm saying, even if they'd never admit it aloud. We've all made compromises with darkness, justified violence with necessity, buried better instincts beneath family obligation.

Salvatore signals to the guards positioned near the doors. Not to detain me—we're well past that point—but to prepare for my departure. One last gesture of control in a situation rapidly spinning beyond his grasp.

"You understand what this means." It's not a question. "Once you walk out that door, you are no longer under family protection. No resources. No connections. No sanctuary if things go wrong with your... arrangement."

"I understand perfectly." I straighten my posture. "And I accept those terms."

My mother makes a small sound—not quite a gasp, not quite a sob. Her composure, legendary among family associates, fractures briefly before she rebuilds it through sheer force of will. "This is a mistake, Rafael."

"Maybe." I allow myself to truly look at her, to see beyond the mask to the woman who raised me with equal parts love and calculation. "But it's my mistake to make."

I turn to leave, each step carrying the weight of finality. The collected family watches in silence as I approach the doors, no one moving to stop me. They've made their declarations; I've made mine. What comesnext will be decided not by words but by action.

At the threshold, I pause. Not from hesitation, but from a sense of completion. One chapter ending, another beginning. I don't look back as I deliver my parting words.

"Goodbye. All of you."

Then I'm moving through corridors that suddenly feel foreign and too small for me until I finally walk out the doors.

Outside, rain continues to fall, soaking into my suit as I retrieve the car keys from their hiding place. Water drips from my hair as I slide behind the wheel, but I make no move to start the engine immediately. Instead, I take one moment—just one—to absorb the magnitude of what I've done.

A clean break. A total severance. Freedom purchased at the highest possible price.

The estate's gates part silently as I approach, sensors still recognizing the vehicle if not the man I've become. Beyond them stretches a world of uncertainty and threat, but also possibility. A life without pretense, without the constant strain of maintaining dual identities.

I don't look back as the gates close behind me, cutting off the view of my childhood home. There's nothing there for me anymore. Nothing but ghosts and old loyalties that no longer command my allegiance.

Whatever comes next, I've made my choice.

And god help anyone who tries to make me regret it.

I've barely reached the end of the estate's long driveway when my phone erupts with notifications. Messages flood the screen—cousins, associates, even distant relatives I've barely spoken to in years, all suddenly desperate to make contact. I silence the device without reading a single word. Whatever attempts at persuasion or threat they've crafted can wait until I'm safely away from Valenti territory.

The rain intensifies, fat drops hammering against the windshield as I navigate familiar roads. Muscle memory guides my hands on the wheel while my mind races ahead, calculating threats and countermeasures with the strategic precision Salvatore himself instilled in me. The irony doesn't escape me: using skills he taught to escape the life he designed.

I'm three miles from the estate when headlights appear in my rearview mirror. Two sets, moving in tactical formation—one directly behind, one maintaining parallel position in the adjacent lane. The pattern is unmistakable, one I've observed in countless family operations. Intercept and isolate. The dance of predators closing in on prey.

"Predictable," I murmur, though tension coils through my frame. I assess options with cold efficiency: defensible positions, alternate routes, potential weapons within reach. The car Dario provided carries a Glock secured beneath the driver's seat, but accessing it while driving at speed presents its own challenges.

My phone vibrates again—not a message this time but an incoming call from Luca. I consider ignoring it, but tactical necessity overrides emotional distance. Information is currency in this world, even from sources I've just rejected.

"You have thirty seconds." I keep my voice neutral as I answer, eyes never leaving the vehicles in my mirror.

"They're coming for you." Luca's words tumble out, urgent and stripped of his usualeasy charm. "Salvatore ordered immediate retrieval. Any means necessary."

Ice slides through my veins despite the controlled heat of anger building in my chest. "Define 'any means.'"

"Alive if possible. Contained if necessary." The euphemisms are familiar, a family code for escalating levels of acceptable violence. Contained means injured but breathing. It means broken bones and blood loss calculated to incapacitate without killing.

"Who's leading the team?" I press the accelerator harder, putting distance between myself and the trailing vehicles, though I know the reprieve is temporary.

"Vittorio."

My uncle's most efficient enforcer. The name alone tells me everything I need to know about Salvatore's intent. Vittorio doesn't do gentle retrievals or family counseling. His specialty is making examples of those who cross established boundaries.

"Rafael." Luca's voice drops lower, genuine fear bleeding through his practiced calm. "This isn't a negotiation anymore. After you left, things... escalated. Salvatore got a call. Something about the Ferrara situation andDario's involvement. He's convinced you've compromised our position in the three-family truce."

"That's ridiculous." But even as I say it, uncertainty creeps in. Dario hasn't been forthcoming about his plans regarding the Ferrara conflict, maintaining operational security even with me. "The Ferraras moved against both our families. Dario was shot protecting?—"

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