Page 20 of His Ruthless Obsession

I crack the pistol across his temple and he crumples like a marionette with cut strings. Around us, the fighting dies down. Three Mantione soldiers lie motionless in growing pools of red. The rest fled like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Just another night defending what's ours.

"Status?" I ask, surveying my crew.

"Ray needs stitches. Otherwise just cuts and bruises," Marco reports, pressing a cloth to Ray's arm.

I nod, holstering my weapon. "Clean this up. Make it look like they were never here."

Leaving Marco to handle his job, I slide behind the wheel of my BMW, the leather seat creaking under my weight. Blood stains my shirt cuff - not mine. The engine purrs to life as I shift into first gear, muscle memory taking over while my mind drifts.

Jazz. Her name echoes in my head like a bullet ricocheting off steel. Tonight could've gone differently. If the Mantiones had gotten wind of her connection to me... My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

"Fuck." I downshift harder than necessary, the gears grinding in protest.

My phone buzzes. Marco's text confirms the cleanup is underway. Good. But it's not enough. These turf wars are escalating, and Jazz is too close to the action managing The Vault. Every night she's there is another night someone could use her to get to me.

I accelerate through a yellow light, the empty streets of Chicago stretching before me. It's late, and I hope that she is at least getting some rest. I had her tucked away just in case.

And now, it's time to talk. I love a good game of chase, but she's not pushing me away anymore. I want her to understand my intentions — but that doesn't necessarily mean she gets options.

She wants me. That much is evident. So I'm not letting her go again. I'm done giving her space that she doesn't need. Always with the excuses, always keeping that professional distance. Playing it safe.

"Not anymore, little dove," I murmur.

The city lights blur past as I weave through traffic. Jazz thinks she can keep running, keep pretending there's nothingbetween us. I'm sure given the opportunity, she'd ask me to forget the kiss even happened.

I reach up, touching the spot where Sal's punch grazed my jaw. It'll bruise, but I've had worse. What I can't handle is another night wondering if Jazz is safe, another day watching her walls go up the moment I enter her space.

"Enough games." The words taste like iron and gunpowder in my mouth. Tonight changed things. The Mantiones are getting bolder, and I won't risk Jazz becoming collateral damage because I wanted to keep playing.

Once I park, I slip through the back entrance of The Vault, my footsteps echoing off steel stairs as I take them two at a time. The thrum of bass from the club below vibrates through the walls, but up here it's muffled, distant.

My private quarters sit two above the main floor — a necessity in this business. Every property I own has a space like this, somewhere I can conduct real business away from prying eyes.

Keith and Tony flank the unmarked door, both straightening as I approach. Tony takes in my face, looking a little relieved, but the worry still there tells me something else is wrong.

"Boss." Tony shifts his weight. "Just wanted to give you a heads up. I don't think something is right."

My hand freezes on the door handle. "What happened?"

He shakes his head. "We heard cussing and pacing and something drop. She said she was fine but…" He shrugs. "Just so you know."

I nod as I push through the door, scanning the room. Jazz paces near my desk, her heels clicking against hardwood. Her usual confident stance is gone, replaced by tightly crossed arms and quick, nervous movements. When she turns, her eyes are wide with barely contained panic.

"Someone's watching me." The words tumble out before I can speak. She grabs her phone, fingers trembling. "The messages, they-" She stops, staring at the screen. "Fuck, I forgot they're gone."

"Slow down." I cross to her, but she backs away. "What messages?"

"Ones that asked if you were worth dying for, that I was running out of time and needed to choose." Her voice cracks. "But that's not-" She runs a hand through her curls, messing up the careful styling. "They had photos, Nerio. Me leaving work last week when my car died. The night you drove me home."

Ice slides down my spine. That night was private, just between us.

"There was a video too. Me getting coffee. Shopping. At my fucking garden on the roof." She hugs herself tighter. "The messages deleted themselves. All of it, just vanished. But I swear-"

"I believe you." The words come out harder than intended, anger coiling in my gut. Someone's made this personal. Made it about her.

I close the distance between us, my hands finding her shoulders. She tenses but doesn't pull away. "Look at me." When she hesitates, I cup her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. "I will figure out who is doing this and stop it. Nobody touches what's mine."

"I'm not yours." The words lack conviction, her pulse racing beneath my fingers. Now that my hands are on her, she starts to melt into me like she wants my comfort.

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