Page 63 of King of Obsession

I doubt she knows anything about the Mafia, but my warning will enrage him enough to do something.

I glance at her friends, who stare at me, not knowing where to place me.

In my world, they wouldn’t survive a day without their husbands. What would it feel like to have someone like that, knowing if an enemy dares to approach any of them, they’ll end up dead? All my life, I’ve had to look after myself. It’s getting tiresome.

“You are a fly, Chiara, and I could swat you anytime. But I didn’t come here for you, but to show Cato what I am capable of, not that he isn’t aware.”

Standing up, she does the same, not appearing to be intimidated by me at all. This girl has more balls than most men I’ve met. A lesson in humility wouldn’t hurt her.

“I could have killed you a hundred times in the span of a few minutes if I wanted.”

“What’s stopping you? Oh, right?” She slaps her forehead dramatically. “You won’t do anything because my husband would make sure you die a slow, painful death while stripping you of everything.” She sounds so self-assured in his love for her, so sure he’d do all that and more. Her smirk just confirms it.

I hate her all right, flaunting what I could never have. Not that I need any of that. I burst into laughter, this dichotomy ruling over my insides, splitting my sanity in two.

That gathers even more attention, and she stops her guards from approaching by simply lifting her hand. This girl serves me a dish of power, I almost choke on it. I turn on my heel, so disconcerted I fume the entire trip to the airport.

My job here is done. The flight back to Venice, I sip from a glass of wine, knowing at least I was the master of my fate for once. I chose destruction as my final act.

Realistically, my chances of survival are minimal. I have too many enemies and absolutely no allies. All I did was for Augustus and for the Council. While I know I must endure punishment for this so-called betrayal, I only executed orders. They won’t risk their best assassin just to appease the Syndicate.

Either way, I win. They will surely want Adamo, and knowing Augustus, he’s just as eager to get rid of him. And then my problem will disappear.

As soon as I arrive in Italy, Augustus summons me.

The anger radiating from him is palpable. He casts me a hard look, snapping, “Fix this.” He tosses a folder my way before dismissing me.

I wait until I am back in my office before I open the folder. Augustus has set up a meeting for me with the Syndicate for the next day—Hayden and Cato.

While my face remains stoic throughout the meeting, the moment a billion dollars is pulled out of the Council’s bank accounts, I blink at my laptop, not believing they could get this far.

This will be the fucking ruin of the Council. The Syndicate doesn’t negotiate, they conquer. The small hope that my punishment will be a slap on the wrist vanishes.

I fail to fix the precarious situation and these two get a meeting with the Council.

The next day, as the Council gathers to talk to them, I steal glances, nerves getting the better of me. The tension in the air suffocates me.

And when Augustus, my mentor, the man I swore my loyalty to, excommunicates me, sending me away, basically feeding me to my enemies, I take off. My survival instinct greater than the hurt caused by his easy dismissal.

Cato’s final condescending words ring in my ears. “You were nothing more than a tool.”

I’ve never had power. I was nothing more than a deadly tool in the hands of the Council, a pawn on Augustus’s chessboard.

I risked it all and lost everything. At least Adamo, the one who ensured my downfall, won’t survive the Syndicate’s wrath, allowing me some time until they will find me as well.

Yeah, my power was nonexistent all along, but I am still alive.

They want blood. They’ll get it.

***

With so many out to kill me, I look over my shoulder, trying to pass by undetected. I haven’t slept more than a few hours since I left Venice. I am exhausted, my paranoia reaching dangerous levels.

I’ve planned my revenge diligently, blaming Cato and Chiara for my perilous situation. When I receive a picture of them on my phone, I think it’s poetic that I will kill them on their honeymoon.

They chose Greece, staying at a remote white villa sitting at the edge of a cliff.

The moon is high in the sky, its reflection dancing on the sea that laps unperturbed at the rocky cliff, as if slapping it for holding it back.

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