Page 70 of Lord of Obsession

"Why are you here?" I ask through gritted teeth as he begins cleaning the injury. "Why help us at all?"

His hands pause briefly before resuming their work. "Your uncle has lost perspective. The vendetta against Greco was tactical. This..." He gestures to my wounded state. "This is personal. Emotional. It riskseverything the family has built over three generations."

"You didn't answer my question." I hiss as antiseptic burns through ravaged flesh.

Marco's eyes meet mine, decades of service to my family reflected in their depths. "I served your father before Salvatore. I watched you grow up. I taught you to shoot when you were barely tall enough to hold a pistol." His focus returns to the wound as he prepares to suture. "Call it a debt to the past. Or insurance for the future."

Understanding dawns despite pain-induced fog. Enzo is playing both sides, maintaining loyalty to family interests while establishing connection to whatever power structure emerges from this conflict. A practical choice, though not without risk. If Salvatore discovers his role in tonight's events, Enzo's service record won't protect him from retribution.

"Dario?" I press through waves of pain as Marco begins stitching the wound.

"Second floor. Resting." His hands move with surgical precision, closing torn flesh with neat, even sutures. "Your warning reached him in time. His security teamextracted him minutes before Vittorio's men arrived."

Relief washes through me again, temporarily dulling the fire in my leg. Dario is safe. For now, at least, we've avoided the worst possible outcome.

"The apartment?" I grit my teeth against a particularly painful suture.

"Compromised. Everything in it is considered evidence now." Enzo bandages the freshly closed wound with practiced efficiency. "Salvatore has launched a full investigation. Bank records, phone logs, digital footprint—everything connected to you is being scrutinized for links to Greco operations."

"He won't find any." The certainty in my voice draws Enzo's attention. "I was careful."

A grim smile touches his lips. "Even so. Your uncle is determined to prove you've been compromised. That the Greco boy manipulated you into betraying family interests." He secures the bandage with medical tape, his movements betraying nothing of his thoughts. "It's easier for him to believe that than to accept you chose this path freely."

"Of course it is." Bitterness coats mywords. "The alternative threatens everything he's built. Everything he believes about blood loyalty and family obligation."

Enzo rises, gathering bloodied gauze and packaging it for proper disposal. No DNA evidence, no trace left behind. Old habits. "You should rest. You've lost a lot of blood."

"I need to see Dario first." I push myself upright, ignoring how the room spins momentarily.

"He's sleeping. Doctor's orders." Enzo's tone brooks no argument. "You're both safer if at least one of you is functional. Sleep now. Plan your next move when you're stronger."

Logic overrides emotional need. I allow Enzo to help me to a cot against the far wall, my body practically collapsing as it meets the horizontal surface. Exhaustion pulls at the edges of my consciousness, drawing me toward darkness that promises temporary respite from pain and consequence.

"Why did you really come back?" Enzo asks quietly, his voice already fading as sleep claims me. "After everything you built at Valmont, why throw it all away for him?"

The question follows me into dreams ofblood and bullets and Dario's arms around me.

I waketo the sensation of being watched. Daylight streams through cracks in boarded windows, turning dust motes to dancing stars. My body aches with memories of last night's escape, but the sharp edge of pain has dulled to a manageable throb. Medication, probably administered while I slept.

Dario sits in a chair beside my cot, his posture betraying lingering weakness beneath careful stillness. His eyes track my every movement as I push myself to a sitting position, cataloging injuries and assessing recovery with predatory focus.

"You're an idiot," he says without preamble, voice rough with emotion he tries to disguise as anger. "Taking on Vittorio's team alone. With a standard-issue Glock and no backup, no less."

"Good morning to you too." I manage a weak smile despite the fire reigniting in my thigh. "How are your stitches?"

"Better than yours." He leans forward,elbows braced on knees as he studies my bandaged leg. "Enzo says the bullet missed the femoral artery by less than an inch. Pure dumb luck."

"Or skill." I counter, matching his directness. "I know how to take a controlled injury."

His laugh holds sharp edges, but also a note of genuine warmth beneath. "Of course you do. Perfect Valenti training." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with surprising gentleness. "Why did you go back there? After everything your uncle did."

The question pulls at still-raw emotions, at choices made and consequences accepted. I let myself truly look at him, at the man who's systematically dismantled every wall I've built. Who's forced me to acknowledge the darkness living in my blood.

"I needed to make a clean break." My thumb traces patterns against his palm, each point of contact grounding me in the present. "To face them directly and declare my choice. No ambiguity, no room for misinterpretation."

"And no going back." He finishes the thought, understanding darkening his gaze. "You burned that bridge completely."

"I did." The admission carries neitherregret nor triumph, merely acknowledgment of truth. "Salvatore sent retrieval teams. Vittorio himself led the pursuit."

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