Page 20 of Obsidian Devotion

Blood soaking through my shirt, I had no choice but to retreat, barely escaping as sirens wailed in the distance.

Gabriel had vanished in the chaos, neither captured by me nor secured by his protectors.

A complete failure.

My phone buzzes, pulling me from the memory. Matteo. I answer with a grimace.

"What?"

"We need to talk," my brother says without preamble. "Face to face. About the Gabriel situation."

Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting across from Matteo in his immaculate office, the wound on my side throbbing with each heartbeat.

"So," he begins, crossing his fingers. "You want to tell me how everything went so spectacularly wrong?"

I meet his gaze without flinching. "I had an inside man. The plan was solid. Gabriel had a weapon that shouldn't have been there."

"A weapon?" Matteo raises an eyebrow. "In witness protection? Someone slipped up."

"Or someone helped him," I suggest. "Either way, the extraction failed."

Matteo leans back in his chair, studying me. "Well, there's a slight consolation. The agency can't tie us directly to the incident. No survivors from your team, and your inside man is keeping his mouth shut—for now."

"And Gabriel?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.

"Gone." Matteo spreads his hands. "He ran during the chaos. The protection agency has lost him too. He's in the wind."

The knowledge sits like acid in my stomach. Gabriel is free, with everything he knows about our operations, our contacts, our weaknesses. A ticking time bomb.

"I'll find him," I grunt.

Matteo studies me for a long moment. "See that you do. Father is... displeased, to put it mildly."

I stand, ignoring the pain that shoots through my side. "Gabriel has a daughter. I'll start there."

"Just make it clean this time," Matteo advises. "No more complications."

The club is already pulsing with energy when I arrive that evening, bass thumping through the walls, colored lights painting the night in neon hues. Despite the chaos of the past weeks, business has never been better—thanks to Sofia.

Sofia.

The thought of her brings a complexity of emotions I'm not ready to untangle. Since that kiss in the basement, we've been circling each other like wary predators, neither willing to acknowledge the tension crackling between us.

I spot her from across the room, her copper hair cascading down her back as she leans in to speak with the bartender.

In just a short time, she's made herself indispensable—the staff respect her and the customers adore her.

And then I see him. Some clean-cut businessman type, leaning too close to her, his hand casually resting on the small of her back. She laughs at something he says, and something dark and possessive unfurls in my chest.

Without thinking, I cross the floor, my eyes never leaving them. Sofia spots me just as I reach them. Something flickering across her expression—surprise, perhaps. Or guilt.

"Mr. Bellanti," she says, straightening. "I didn't expect you tonight."

The businessman looks between us, sensing the sudden tension, but he’s smart enough to back away with a murmured excuse.

"My office," I say to Sofia, my voice low enough that only she can hear. "Now."

She follows me without protest, though I can feel the indignation radiating from her. The moment the door closes behind us, she turns on me.

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