Page 18 of Obsidian Devotion

Lorenzo grunts as I tighten the bandage. "Gabriel has information... dangerous information."

"About the family business?" I keep my voice neutral, even as my pulse quickens.

“Yes,” His eyes open, meeting mine. "He knows things... no one should know."

I wonder what sins the Bellanti hide that are worse than the ones I already know about.

"Rest," I tell him, disposing of the bloody gauze. "You've lost a lot of blood."

"Stay," he murmurs, his hand finding mine again. His touch is gentler now, almost vulnerable. "Please."

Something twists in my chest—not quite sympathy, not quite desire. Something more dangerous than both.

"I'm not going anywhere," I promise, and I'm not sure if it's a lie anymore.

He drifts into unconsciousness, his breathing evening out. I watch him sleep, this man who destroyed my family, who ordered my brother tortured to death. In sleep, the hardness leaves his face. He looks almost... human.

I tiptoe around the room, exploring. His gun lies on a nearby table—loaded, within reach. I pick it up, feeling its weight.

Two years of planning. One bullet would end it all.

I point the gun at his sleeping form, finger hovering near the trigger. Images flash through my mind—Luciano's mutilated body, the video of his torture. But also Lorenzo laughing with his siblings, the gentleness in his hands as he showed me how to mix the perfect whiskey sour.

Monster. Brother. Killer. Protector.

My hand trembles. The gun feels heavier with each passing second.

I lower it slowly, disgusted with myself. Not because I couldn't pull the trigger, but because part of me didn't want to.

Settling into a chair beside him, I prepare for a long night. My phone buzzes in my pocket—a text from Carlos, no doubt wondering why I haven't checked in.

I'll deal with my uncle tomorrow. Tonight, I keep watch over the devil that I'm fearing I might not hate enough.

I feel something warm and firm beneath my head, rising and falling in a rhythm that doesn't match my own. My eyes flutter open—God, where am I?—and realization hits me like a truck. I fell asleep on Lorenzo's fucking chest.

I jolt upright, heart hammering in my chest, only to find him already awake, those dark eyes boring into me, watching me sleep like some kind of predator sizing up prey.

"You stayed," he says, voice gravelly with sleep and pain.

"I said I would."

He reaches for me, rough fingertips grazing my cheek in a touch that feels too intimate, too real. "Sofia..."

I should pull away. I fucking should. But I don't.

His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there as something electric crackles in the air between us.

Lorenzo runs his tongue across his lower lip, leaving it damp, and I hate myself for tracking the movement.

I notice everything—How his hair sticks to his forehead in dark strands, still damp with sweat from last night's fever. How his chest rises and falls a little faster now. The way he slowly leans towards me, like he's giving me a chance to back away.

But I stay frozen.

When his mouth finally crashes into mine, it's nothing like the careful, forgettable kisses I've known before.

This is violence and hunger and need.

His lips claim mine with a dominance that makes my knees weak, and oh Christ, my body betrays me instantly.

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