Page 63 of Obsession & Oath

Her gaze softens slightly as she bites her lip. “I suppose you seem to have some capacity to surprise me still.”

We stop at a small café tucked away in a corner of Montecroce, the kind of place where the espresso is rich, dark, and served with an unapologetic shot of Italian pride.

I push open the door and let the sharp, rich smell of espresso hit me. This place smells likehome—the real kind of home, not the cold, forgotten castle I’ve been occupying lately.

I walk up to the counter and order in rapid-fire Italian, feeling the rhythmic pulse of the language slide smoothly off my tongue.

Carmen steps in behind me, looking around with wide eyes, like she’s stepping into a part of me I hadn’t shown her before. Her gaze drifts over the hand-painted tiles, the mismatched wooden tables, and the polished brass of the espresso machine.

“This is where you come for your fix, huh?” she asks, eyeing the counter, her voice soft but teasing.

I smirk. “There’s only one place I’ve ever found that rivals it. It’s in Brooklyn, funnily enough.”

Her brow arches in amusement. “Of course, you found a home away from home.”

I hand her a cup when the barista slides it toward me as I think about what she’s said. Montecroce, the Iron Castle…it was my home, wasn’t it?

“I’ll be sure to tell the owners ofCaffè di Montelunaif we ever get back.”

She raises an eyebrow, looking like she’s about to say something sarcastic, but then she takes a sip of the espresso. Her eyes flutter closed as the warmth hits her tongue, and I can’t help but watch her with a satisfied grin.

“Okay, fine,” she admits after a beat, “this is better than the coffee at the castle.”

I chuckle, leaning back against the counter. “Told you.”

We spend a few minutes just standing there, sipping our drinks in silence. I can feel her attention shifting to the crowd outside.

I’d almost forgotten how familiar the people in Montecroce are with me. They nod as we pass, offering deep bows and the occasional polite hello. Each one of them knows my name, and the feeling of respect is as bright as the sun on the pavement.

A butcher, his arms thick with muscle, greets me loudly. A pair of elderly women wave frantically from their fruit stall, calling me by name. I smile politely, nodding, acknowledging their respect.

Guilt begins to flare within me again. I’d been ignoring all of this for so long, hadn’t I?

Carmen walks beside me, her presence suddenly softening my growing anxiety a bit. There’s still time to make this right.

“Must be nice, huh?” she says with a smirk.

I give a half-shrug, looking around the market. “It’s part of the job.”

We continue through the narrow streets, wandering past shops and bakeries, picking up little things as we go.

She’s a curious one, always asking about the history behind this building or the recipe for that pastry. And when she smiles—when shelaughs—it feels like everything around me quiets down, even if only for a second.

“I thought you’d be the kind of guy who’d sit in a castle and have everything brought to him on a silver platter,” she says, tossing me a glance as we approach another market vendor.

“You think I’m that kind of asshole?” I reply with a laugh. “I’m notthatbad.”

Her eyes twinkle as she picks up a small bundle of herbs, studying them carefully. “I didn’t say anything.”

After a little while, we make our way back to the castle. I’m in no rush to return, but I can’t deny the way my body starts to hum the closer we get to the iron gates.

She steps up beside me as we enter the castle’s courtyard, and there’s this strange sense of intimacy between us now.

There’s so much to talk about, to settle between us. What happened last night, what it means for us, for the Guild, the Cartel. It’s enough to make me want to lose all sanity.

But right now, as we have done all day, we seem to exist in a perfect little bubble. Just the two of us.

Neither of us seems eager to burst it.

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