Page 1 of Dangerous Obsession

1

LEO

She’s there, in the brightly lit window of the gallery where her art hangs on exhibit, stroking a brush of bright blue paint onto a canvas. As always, her hair is tied up beneath a rag on her head, hiding the chestnut waves I once ran my fingers through. I can’t touch her, only watch. The distance has been painful but I know my father keeps his promises and his threat to kill her and her father—a detective with the NYPD—wasn’t an empty one. So I watch from a distance daily, and when I can’t be here, Tucker or Clem does it for me.

The paintings are exquisite. Willow’s talent seems limitless. When she graduated from Julliard I was never more proud. I was there, watching her, noticing the somber expression on her face, the pain in those hazel eyes. It should have been a joyous day for her, but joy left her face when she became Reba Sanders. She lost everything dearest to her because she dared to fall in love with me.

“All available units, we have a code 11-59 in progress on Fifth Avenue west of Broadway. Male subject, six-foot-four with a baseball bat. Potential female injured and two children on the scene….” The police radio scanner crackles as the dispatcher awaits response and I turn it down. My focus is on Willow. The scanner is just a tool I use to know where the cops are at all times so I can avoid trouble. I’m not doing any jobs for the family right now, so I can just relax and watch her work.

A few men enter the gallery and move away from the windows that line the front of the building. Willow glances at them and smiles, waving a hand before returning to her concentration. I see it there still—the pain—but it’s faded a bit now. It’s been twelve years. She’s moved on. Not a hint of interaction with her father even though they live in the same city, walk the same streets. I’ve made sure of it, sending a bit of help at times when needed.

I raise my binoculars up and focus them on her face. Fine age lines have started to gather near the corners of her eyes, a hint of aging appearing finally. She’s stunning even in her thirties. I was her age when it happened, when my father forced her out of my life—or well, when I forced her out of my life because my father gave me an order with a threat behind it. I still hold bitterness about that event, but for her sake, I sent her away. To safety.

I start to lower my binoculars when I notice one of the men who entered the gallery moves toward her. She sets her brush down and turns to face him, wiping a bit of paint off her fingers onto her smock. She talks to him, smiling warmly. My chest tightens. She’s mine. I don’t share. Not even a little. In fact, every man who has come her way for the past twelve years has been paid off or sent away by my hand. Her unplucked beauty will only be harvested by me, when I find a way to convince my father she’s not what he thinks.

The man leans an elbow on the tall table next to her. Her palette jostles, and a brush topples to the ground. She leans down to pick it up at the same time the man does and they bump heads. Both of them straighten as they begin laughing and hold their heads. Willow’s laughter is magical; what I wouldn’t give to hear that right now. The fact that this man gets to enjoy that melodic sound while I sit forty yards away in my car on a dark street stirs my anger. Both for the man and for my father.

She nods her head at him and slips off her stool, calling something to someone across the gallery. I can’t see the person to whom she is speaking but I gather that she is telling them she’s leaving. With a gift like hers she does nothing herself. The gallery has people for her assistance. I’ve never seen her clean a paintbrush or put paints away once, not in all the time I’ve been observing her. She reaches down and grabs her bohemian-style handbag and slings the strap over her shoulder, still talking and smiling with the man.

I tense, lowering the binoculars. The man’s back is to me; I can’t see his face even if I tried. I don’t like where this is going either. Willow has dated exactly fourteen men—once each. They don’t come back for a second date. I make sure of that. And that means I have to find out who this bastard is so I can make sure he doesn’t come back either. But I can’t do that if they walk off into the night.

When they exit the front of the gallery and stroll off down the dark sidewalk, I know I have to follow. If I follow with my car, they will see the headlights and be suspicious, so I climb out of my car silently, touching the piece on my hip to make sure it’s still there. My phone lays on the seat of my car, but I don’t need it. What I need is to follow her, make sure she’s not doing anything stupid like inviting him up to her apartment only a few blocks from here. He’d regret that greatly, I’m afraid.

Keeping a safe distance, I trail them. I can barely hear her laughing at his stupid jokes. His voice is gruff. There is a hint of an accent, but I can’t place it. He sounds older too, like me. Willow always goes for older men. The oldest being a man my father’s age who took her to a show on Broadway and then to dinner at some fancy restaurant. I persuaded him to leave her alone, though it took a bit of force. Like, Tucker and Matty following him around for several days with not-so-friendly reminders that Willow is mine.

They turn a corner and I see the coffee shop more than a block away. The man points at it, which only makes me more upset. She agreed to coffee with him? She doesn’t even know him. Doesn’t she know this is New York City? Sleazeballs of all kinds live here. I pick up the pace, coming closer to them as they continue down the street. It’s darker here, where large scaffoldings tower over the sidewalk casting dark shadows the streetlights can’t touch. I get a sense this creep isn’t all he’s cracked up to be, but I won’t ruin her evening if all she wants is coffee.

When his arm reaches behind her, and his hand finds the small of her back, I rest my hand on my weapon. If he so much as breathes on her, he’s mine. My fingers itch to draw the gun, but I stay calm, keeping pace behind them about fifteen yards now. I stick to the shadows and hug the brick building. He glances behind himself, but I’m nearly invisible in my all-black attire shrouded in the darkness. I see the glint in his eye, but before I can react, he swings her off the sidewalk and into the alley.

“What? No!” Willow’s yelps send a shot of adrenaline up my spine. I draw my weapon and hurry to the alley. “Let me go!” she shouts, and I turn off the safety.

“Hold still, bitch,” the man says gruffly, and when I peek around the corner, he has his hands on her, inside her smock.

“Get off me! Help!” Willow pummels him with her fists and he drags her father into the blackness of the alley. I round the corner and advance on them slowly. I don’t want to startle him, because if he has a gun on him, he could hurt her before I get a shot off.

“I said, hold still!” The man smacks her, and as she is recoiling and covering her face, he reaches for her slacks and starts to pull them down.

“Motherfucker,” I growl under my breath and I can’t control myself any longer. Willow’s creamy legs are exposed to the night air and I take off, sprinting toward the man. He never sees me coming. I plow into him with my shoulder, launching him into the dumpster a few yards away. He slams into it with a sickening thud, and I don’t even stop to see if she’s alright. I hear her crying, but all I’m thinking about is finishing this sick pervert off.

“You’re going to regret that,” he snarls as he stands up but I’m there already, kicking him in the groin hard. I hear the breath forced up out of his lungs as he doubles over and I chamber a round and aim at his chest.

“You sick fuck. You should know better than to put your hands on a woman.” My finger trembles over the trigger and he stands. I see the shimmer of metal reflecting the tiniest bit of light, and without thinking, I fire. The gun booms as it discharges, echoing down the alley, and the man drops to the ground. I still don’t get a good look at his face, but now he’s not my concern.

“What the hell!” Willow’s cries force me to turn to her. With shaking hands, she pulls her slacks up. Her bag is on the ground by her feet. I move toward her and pick it up and hand it to her.

“We have to go, Willow.” I grab her by the elbow and walk her deeper into the alley, past the dumpster. The man utters gurgling breaths as blood pours out of his body. I can’t even see where I shot him.

“Who the hell are you? You just killed that man!” She doesn’t fight me. She falls into line beside me with stutter-steps. “You know my name?”

I don’t answer, I keep moving. I need to get her to my car and out of here. If that guy doesn’t die, she’s going to be a primary witness. If that happens, she’ll be reunited with her father and that will mean my father’s orders to keep her away from her father will be impossible to uphold.

“Stop, you’re hurting me,” she whines and plants her feet. I turn to face her again and see headlights at the end of the alley. A car pulls in, and I press her against the wall, holding a hand over her mouth. She whimpers and squirms, but here we are safe for now. As long as they don’t drive deeper into the alley, they won’t see us.

“Shut the fuck up.” I stare at the car, which stops. Its headlights shine down onto the pavement where the man lays bleeding out. Two men get out of the car, the same two men I saw enter the gallery with Willow’s attacker a bit ago. From this angle, I can see clearly that the man on the ground covered in blood is none other than Romeo Leoni—underboss for the Italian mob. “Fuck’s sake,” I hiss, suddenly realizing the error of my ways.

“Mmm, mmmm.” Willow tries to knee me in the groin, so I turn my hip against her body and pin her there while I put my lips right beside her ear.

“If you don’t fucking stop, you’re going to get us killed. That man who tried to hurt you is mafia.”

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