Page 67 of Lord of Obsession

"It doesn't matter what actually happened." Luca cuts me off, frustration evident despite the poor connection. "What matters is what Salvatore believes. And right now, he believes you're either a traitor or compromised beyond salvation."

The trailing vehicles gain ground, their high beams now illuminating my car's interior. I take a sharp right onto a narrow access road, using local knowledge to seek temporary advantage. Rain-slick asphalt makes the turn dangerous at this speed, but I complete it with calculated precision.

"I appreciate the warning." I scan the road ahead, mapping potential choke points and escape routes. "But I need to go."

"Wait." Luca's voice takes on an urgencyI've rarely heard from my usually collected cousin. "There's a complication. After you left, Enzo approached Salvatore with concerns about security at your apartment. They're sending a secondary team to secure anything that might connect back to family operations."

"I have nothing at my apartment that—" Understanding hits like a physical blow. "When?"

"They're probably already there." Regret colors his tone. "I'm sorry, Raff. I tried to delay them, but?—"

I end the call, cold calculation replacing momentary panic. The apartment holds nothing of tactical value to the family—I've been careful about that—but it does contain something infinitely more precious. Someone infinitely more vulnerable.

Dario.

Still healing from gunshot wounds that should have killed him. Still weak from blood loss and confined to bed rest under doctor's orders. A predator temporarily caged by his own broken body.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel asI assess options. The trailing vehicles have reappeared, joined now by a third that must have been held in reserve. Vittorio is nothing if not thorough in his pursuit strategies. I can't outrun them forever, not in a straight chase.

Which means the rules need to change.

I grab my phone, dialing Enzo's personal number, the one not issued by family security. He answers on the first ring, voice clipped with professional detachment.

"You shouldn't be calling this line."

"Listen closely." I cut through formalities, each word razor-sharp with urgency. "There's a medical facility on 49th and Hargrove. Owned by the Nardi family. Password is 'penitent sunrise.'"

Enzo's silence speaks volumes. He recognizes what I'm offering: the location of Dario Greco, vulnerable and contained. Information worth its weight in blood.

"Why tell me this?" Suspicion colors his tone. Years of service to my family have taught him to question unexpected gifts.

"Because I need you to make a choice." I navigate a sharp curve, momentarily losing my pursuers. "Salvatore sent a team to myapartment. If they find what's there, this conflict escalates beyond repair. Beyond blood price."

"You're asking me to?—"

"I'm asking you to prevent a war." I cut him off, voice hard with certainty. "Salvatore thinks he's retrieving a wayward nephew. He doesn't understand what he's actually walking into."

The rain hammers harder, visibility dropping to near zero. Behind me, headlights reappear, more determined than before. Enzo's breathing is the only sound for long seconds.

"You chose this path." His words carry the weight of decades serving my family. "You chose the Greco boy over blood loyalty."

"Yes." No point denying it now. "And I'd do it again. But this isn't about loyalty anymore. It's about preventing slaughter on all sides."

Thunder rolls overhead, punctuating my words with nature's percussion. I can almost see Enzo weighing options, calculating outcomes with the precision that's made him invaluable to three generations of Valenti leadership.

"49th and Hargrove." He repeats the address, committing it to memory. "If I do this?—"

"You'll have enough leverage to negotiate terms." I finish his thought, understanding how his mind works. "Salvatore gets what he wants—Dario Greco contained—without risking an all-out war with Antonio's operation."

My rearview mirror fills with light as Vittorio's team closes in. Time is running out. Enzo's decision hangs in the balance, teetering between family obligation and calculated risk management.

"Make the call." I press harder, voice dropping to steel-edged certainty. "Or prepare to bury more Valentis than you can count. Starting with me."

His exhale carries the weight of choice. "I need ten minutes."

"You have five." I end the call, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat.

The diversion is set. Now for the hard part.

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