Page 16 of Obsidian Devotion

Part of me—a dark, vengeful part I've nurtured since that night I saw my brother's mutilated dead body—whispers, "Ease the pressure. Stand up, walk away, and let fate take him."

It would be so easy.

No one would know.

The alley is empty; the night is dark, and Lorenzo has made enough enemies that no one would question finding his body here.

My hands lighten their pressure for just a moment.

His breath hitches, and something primal in me responds. I press down again, cursing under my breath.

I want his blood on my hands—just not like this. Not in some dirty alley where he'll become another statistic, another casualty in a world that creates men like Lorenzo as often as it destroys them.

No, I want him to face me. To know exactly what he’s done.

"Can you stand?"

He nods weakly, and together we get him upright. His body is heavy against mine, solid muscle turned deadweight. The scent of blood mixes with his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, like gunpowder.

"Hospital," I say, half-dragging him toward my car.

"No." His grip on my arm tightens painfully. "No hospitals."

"You've been shot, Lorenzo. You need—"

"Basement," he interrupts, each word an effort. "Take me... to the basement."

I frown. "What basement?"

His laugh turns into a grimace. "Secret... door. Behind the bar storage."

Great. Of course, the mafia enforcer has a secret torture chamber. Because why wouldn't he?

Somehow, I manage to half-carry, half-drag him through the club's back entrance, grateful that most of the staff has already left. The storage room is dimly lit, stacks of liquor cases creating narrow pathways.

As I adjust my grip on his shoulders, I tell myself that this is justice, not mercy. That keeping Lorenzo alive is the cruelest thing I could do to him. That watching him heal, only to face what's coming, is the revenge I've dreamed of.

But as I feel his weight against me, as I catch the familiar scent of his cologne beneath the copper tang of blood, another part of me—a treacherous part—whispers, "Maybe I'm saving him because, despite everything, I'm not ready to live in a world where Lorenzo doesn't exist."

And that terrifies me more than any threat he ever posed.

"There," Lorenzo mumbles, pointing weakly to what looks like an ordinary wall.

I shift his weight, reaching for the spot he showed. My fingers find a recessed panel that slides away, revealing a keypad.

"Code?" I ask.

"Eight... four... seven... two..."

The door slides open silently, revealing a steep staircase leading into darkness. As we descend, motion sensors trigger soft lighting, illuminating a space that makes my blood run cold.

It's a medical room and torture chamber combined. Surgical tools laid out with meticulous precision. Restraints bolted to a steel table. A drain in the center of the concrete floor.

I swallow hard, forcing down the bile rising in my throat. God knows how many people have been killed in here.

"Put me... on the table," Lorenzo gasps, his usual tan skin turning dangerously pale.

I help him into the cold steel. He fumbles with his shirt buttons, fingers slick with blood, until I push his hands away and rip the fabric open.

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