Page 15 of Obsession & Oath

When I step back, her eyes are assessing, ery obviously appraising every inch of me, her lips pursing in that infuriatingly indiscernible way that suddenly makes me feel like a child again.

I clear my throat. “Hello, mother.”

For a fleeting moment, a soft smile graces the older woman’s lips.

Then…

“¡Chingada madre!”

Her face hardens again as she takes in the Spanish cursing coming from the woman at my side. A cool sneer already replacing any lingering softness.

“This is your hostage? No?” Evelina takes a step forward to assess Carmen herself. “I have no quarrel with the Spaniards.”

“She’s Mexican,” I reassure her.

Evelina hums slightly before returning to me. “Non mi avevi detto che era bella.”

You hadn’t told me she was beautiful.

I wish the floor would swallow me whole.

“I didn’t think it was particularly relevant,” I reply in English before snapping at the man restraining Carmen. “Take her to the dungeons, get her settled in. I’ll see to her later.”

The look on Carmen’s face is something quite priceless.

“You’re not serious,” she hisses, caramel eyes molten with anger.

I chose not to address her out of sheer spite. “Feel free to ignore any questions she has and trust that whatever sob story she comes up with is entirely false. This woman is, in fact, a sexual deviant who enjoys preying on vulnerable men.”

“I’m going to murder you.”

The string of curses that leave her mouth is swiftly cut off the second she’s dragged away by my mother’s guard to the dungeons below.

The holding cells beneath the castle were, in fact, dungeons at some point in theCastello de Ferro’s long and quite boring history. They span pretty much the entire footprint of the property at ground level.

These days, most have been removed to make space for an extensive gym and sauna facility. But there are still a few cells that have been refurbished for purposes such as this.

Not that I suspect the Grasso de Ferro has had much use of them these last few years. The Italian mafia tends to do such business in the city of Modena.

Evelina has always liked to keep a healthy work-life balance.

TheCastello de Ferrois, first and foremost, our family home.

“Come,amore mio,” the matriarch summons me to her side with a graceful waft of her hand. “We have food prepared.”

My mother walks slightly ahead of me, her heels tapping an unrelenting rhythm against the stone floor. She doesn’t really need to escort me. I know this place like the back of my hand.

Yet, the air inside the castle feels heavier than I remember. It’s warm, sure, but it clings to me, wrapping around my neck like a collar.

Nine years. It feels like nothing has changed.

The high, vaulted ceilings still echo every sound, amplifying even the softest shuffle of footsteps. Sunlight streams through the tall, arched windows, gilding the polished floors with streaks of gold.

I used to think this place was beautiful—majestic, even—but now it feels suffocating.

Tapestries hang on the walls, their rich colors muted by age. I used to trace my fingers over them as a kid, pretending I was one of the knights embroidered there, sword raised, charging into battle.

Now they just look like ghosts of the past, threadbare and sagging.

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