The Maddest Obsession by Danielle Lori

A TEAR RAN DOWN MY cheek. “It’s so beautiful.”

Valentina chuckled and handed me a tissue. “You only think so because you’ve won the bet.”

“Shh.” Nadia Abelli, the bride’s grandmother, glared at us from the other side of the aisle.

Val rolled her eyes. “Someone’s the party police.”

Elena looked so beautiful in her wedding dress it hurt my eyes. And Ace was as sharp as ever, pink tie and all.

I had won the bet.

But I was only so happy because the bride and groom seemed so happy.

They looked at each other like they were . . . in love. My chest hurt, and my smile fell. I wished love was visible, like the sparkles on Elena’s gown. Or the shimmer of the sun on skin. Then it couldn’t be hidden or faked.

I wondered what love felt like.

I wondered if it even existed.

Another tear dripped down my cheek, and I wiped it away.

As the usher directed each pew to leave, my gaze landed on Elena’s cousin Dominic walking down the aisle. “Oh, excuse me, Val. I have some business to attend to.”

“A little young for you, you think?”

“Shut up, he’s twenty. Plenty legal.” I winked at her.

She laughed and pulled her long legs to the side and out of the way.

I caught up to the handsome young man and grasped his arm. His gaze slid my way as we continued walking down the aisle.

“I’m here to apologize that you had to take care of me the other night at Elena’s little party.” My papà’s phone call had been haunting me day and night, and I might have gone slightly overboard with the alcohol at her bachelorette. “So, I have a proposal—whenever you go on a bender, I’ll be your DD, take you home, take off your shoes, cover you up, and leave a glass of water and a couple painkillers beside your bed.”

A corner of his lips lifted. “As much as I would love to accept that very specific and generous offer, I didn’t take you home.”

I faltered, pausing in the middle of the entrance hall. “But . . . who did?”

He only gave me a reassuring smile and walked away.

The last memory I had of that party was Dominic escorting me to his car. Tequila and self-loathing had churned in my stomach, and I longed to be home before unconsciousness swallowed me whole. I hadn’t made it, the night slotted into one of the many I’d never remember.

I stared out the glass doors of the church, and suddenly, my heart slowed as something came back to me.

There’d been strong arms, a warm chest.

And two rough words in my ear.

“I’ve never seen such a beautiful bride,” I exclaimed.

Elena blushed, placing a hand on her cheek. “The compliments today are going to go straight to my head.”

“Good. You’re too humble as it is. So”—I linked my arm through hers—“how has the married life been so far?” They’d eloped a short while ago. Apparently, Ace couldn’t even wait one more week.

“It’s been . . .” Her eyes sparkled. “Wonderful. He’s been really good to me, Gianna.”

“Of course, he has. His mamma raised him better than that, even if he’d like to deny it.”

“I wish I could have met her,” she said softly.

“She had her . . . issues.” An addiction to coke I couldn’t judge her for; she’d been in Antonio’s orbit, after all. “But she tried hard to be a good person and mother. She gave me a Willow Tree—you know, those porcelain angels—every year for my birthday.” My smile fell. “If she only knew I would eventually marry her husband . . .”

Shame was a sinkhole I never knew when I’d fall in.

“Oh, Gianna . . . it’s not like you had a choice. I’m sure she would have understood.”

“No, I went into that marriage willingly”—anything to get far away from Chicago—“with an open mind and heart. Let’s just say, I realized it wouldn’t be what I had fantasized it to be the night of my wedding.” I laughed lightly. “Anyway, one of those Willow Trees is yours. Come get one whenever you like.”

“Thank you, Gianna. I would love that.” Her gaze found Nico’s across the room. He was talking to his uncle Jimmy. If I stepped between that look, I was sure my dress would catch fire.

If love were visible, it couldn’t be far from the soft heat in their eyes.

“Gosh.” I fanned my face. “It’s getting so sweet in here I feel like I’m in the middle of a Hallmark moment.”

She laughed, pulled her gaze away. “Sure, minus the tension and guns.”

We both looked around the ballroom of the hotel hosting the reception. The Abellis stayed on one side of the room, while the Russos congregated on the other. The most enthusiastic pair was Luca, who leaned against the wall, chewing on a toothpick and staring at the other famiglia, while Nadia Abelli, the party police, flipped through a Vogue magazine. Even the kids watched each other like the others weren’t vaccinated.

“Lively bunch, aren’t they?” I said.

“Honestly, I’m just glad they’re being cordial. For a while, I was sure Papà and Nico would end up killing each other before the wedding.”

“Ohmygod!” The shriek came from behind us.

Elena closed her eyes before pasting on a smile and turning around to greet Jenny, her brother’s cheating girlfriend and one of Ace’s ex-flings.

“Oh no, I’ve just remembered I’m parched,” I dead-panned.

“Of course you have,” Elena muttered through her smile.

I drifted toward the beverage table, not the bar. If I couldn’t even remember who had taken me home the other night, I needed to stay clear of alcohol. As for my growing suspicion that it had been a certain Russian, and considering the way he’d taken care of me . . . well, I didn’t even want to think about it. Especially since less than two weeks ago, he’d insinuated I was easy, a boring lay, and had low self-esteem in one hit.

My gaze unwillingly searched him out for mere self-protection. Everyone knows where their enemy is in the room. He was either schmoozing some socialite in a dark corner or he wasn’t here.

“Gianna! I thought that was you.”

I turned to see Samantha Delacorte, AKA the Most Superficial Woman in New York City, beelining straight to me.

I forced a smile. “Samantha, how nice to see you.”

She air-hugged me, leaving a cloud of sensual perfume I could hardly see through when she pulled back.

“I’m not wedding-crashing, I swear,” she said. “I saw you from the lobby and wanted to say hello. Honestly, Gianna, it’s been too long. Are you . . .” She looked me up and down, grimacing at my blue halter tutu dress. “All right?”

I copied the sickly-sweet tone of her voice. “Honestly, I’ve been so busy—charities, weddings, tickets to the race tomorrow—I must have forgotten to keep in touch. I am so sorry.”

“Oh no . . .” she started.

I blinked.

“I sure hope Vincent didn’t forget to invite you to our trip tomorrow. The end-of-the-summer Bahama trip on his yacht?” She put a hand on my arm, fake pity shining in her eyes. “I’m sure it was just a mistake. I’ll talk to him—”

“No worries, Samantha,” I said blandly, sizing up the room. “I’ve found I’m allergic to the sea.”

“Bummer.” She pouted.

My gaze stopped on the bar, and I stared longingly.

“Well, Vincent, a few others, and I are up in the penthouse suite watching the game. Go, Yanks! You should stop by after this . . . eventful little party. I’m sure Vincent wants to see you, no matter what he says.” The sympathy in her eyes barely concealed her satisfaction.

To be honest, I was a little stung Vincent hadn’t reached out to me at all. But I knew it was for the best—there could never be anything between us like he wanted. I did miss his friendship, however.

“I’m not going to be able to make it.” I pouted. “I made plans with my cat weeks ago.”

“Shame. Well, don’t be afraid to stay in touch. We all go through periods of depression, you know.”

She air-kissed me on the cheeks and then drifted away.

I sighed.

Took a sip of the punch only the kids were drinking.

Tapped my heel on the floor.

This no-alcohol-and-drugs vow was working out just fine—

Val stopped nearby and shook a pack of cigarettes at me with a raised brow.

“Oh, thank God.”

I set my punch on a random table and followed her out the door.

“You wanna know the gossip I just heard in the ladies’ room?” she asked as we sat on a bench outside the hotel doors and lit a cigarette.

“No.”

“It has to do with Christian.”

I might hate him, but I still wanted to unravel him like a cat with a ball of yarn.

“Continue.”

She chuckled. “You know Jacie Newport—blonde, tall, disgustingly perfect—a member on the ACA charity board?”

I nodded.

“Well, I bumped into her in the bathroom—literally, mind you. She used to see Christian years ago, I remembered, and so I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to find out just how he operates.”

I crossed my legs and leaned back. “Please, tell me you’re not still interested in him.”

“A woman would have to be dead not to be interested, Gianna.”

“Just call me Elvira,” I muttered.

“Pretty sure she wasn’t undead, but I get your point.”

I wanted to tell her Allister was Russian. Italians didn’t have a great affiliation with Russians here in New York. The Cosa Nostra and Bratva didn’t clash often, but when they did, it was a time us women sat around wondering if our husbands would come home. If I told her, maybe it would turn her off. Though, for some reason, I kept it to myself. I didn’t want her to know his secret. It was mine.

“Anyway, turns out the fed doesn’t stick around with the same woman for long.”

I scoffed. “That’s all the gossip you got? I could have told you that.”

“Well, surely, you didn’t know he’s only with the same woman a very specific three times.”

I frowned. “Like, three dates?”

“More like, three times between the sheets.” She smirked. When I still looked confused, she added, “Three romps in the sack? Three rolls in the hay?” I blinked. “Playing hide the pickle? Doing the horizontal hustle—?”

“Are you saying he only sleeps with the same woman three times?”

“I’m truly impressed with how quickly you put that together,” she said dryly.

My mind whirled.

Tap, tap, tap.

The rhythmic tapping of his finger, the adjusting of his cuffs, the turning of his watch, it all played in my head on a reel.

God, the man was more disturbed than I had thought.

“What if they never get to sex? Does foreplay count as one of the times?” The vision of his head between my legs and my fingers interlocked with his flashed through my mind.

She chuckled. “I don’t know. Trying to figure out if you have two or three turns left?”

“Please. You’re the one who wants him, not me.”

“Mmhmm.”

I ignored the sarcasm in her voice.

Silence settled between us for a moment as we both took a pull on our cigarettes.

“Speak of the devil,” she muttered.

My gaze followed hers down the sidewalk to see Allister walking toward us. His eyes were already on me, filled with a magnetism that made everything beyond broad shoulders and straight lines disappear.

“And who is he with?” Interest laced through her voice.

I finally noticed he had a companion. The stranger was dressed like a model in a magazine, in a charcoal suit and skinny red tie, but his eyes shone with the darkness only a member of the underworld could exude. He was handsome, but that was inconsequential compared to the intrigue that screamed with each step he took.

While walking past us, Allister pulled the cigarette from my lips and tossed it to the sidewalk before entering the hotel doors.

I sighed.

Valentina laughed.

The night of Elena’s bachelorette party fluttered through my mind.I got to my feet. “I need to gather some intel.”

She blew out a breath of smoke between red-painted lips. “You do that. And while you’re at it, find out the handsome stranger’s name.”

I caught up to Allister and sidled beside him as he and his companion walked to the ballroom. “Who’s your friend?”

Allister didn’t even look my way. “None of your business.”

“Name’s Sebastian.” The stranger winked at me, and I could feel it straight in my toes.

“Sebastian what?”

Christian’s shoulders tensed.

“Perez.”

I placed the light accent behind his voice. “Ah, a Colombian. Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Sebastian.” I held out my hand, but before Sebastian could shake it, Christian grabbed my wrist and pulled it to his side. “I’m—”

“Married,” Christian finished, and then shot the Colombian a look I couldn’t decipher.

A small smile pulled on Sebastian’s lips. “I’ll just go offer my condolences to the bride. It was my pleasure, Gianna.”

How he knew my name, I didn’t know, but the fact he did made my chest squeal with girlish delight.

Wait, condolences?

Oh, whatever.

“You too, Sebastian.” I tried to raise my hand to give a flirty wave, but realized Christian still had a tight grip on my wrist.

I brought my unimpressed gaze to him.

His eyes were narrowed on me.

“Who peed in your Raisin Bran this morning?”

He dropped my wrist, smoothed his tie, and eyed the room like he was on security detail. “I find your presence bothersome. Go put yourself somewhere else.”

“Fine. I do need to find out more about Sebastian.” I took a step in that direction, but he grabbed my wrist again. I frowned, looking down at where he held me. “I’m confused. I think this is called mixed signals?”

Something flashed in his eyes like he was going to spill with some other ridiculous command, but then a muscle in his jaw tightened, and he let me go and walked away.

Because he clearly didn’t want me to, I followed him.

“I didn’t expect you to be one to celebrate love,” I said.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh? Are you who they hired to supervise the children?”

“More like, the adults.”

“Oh, please. We’re doing just fine.”

“Looks like it,” he said, eyeing a room so full of tension a single wrong move could detonate a bomb.

We stopped at the short line to the bar. Waiters flitted from here to there, but it seemed there weren’t enough to satisfy everyone’s need for alcohol.

My shoulder bumped into Christian’s arm while I moved to stand beside him. His body tensed, but apparently he was still choosing to ignore my presence. The small touch lit a fire in me, and I fought the invisible pull to step closer to him. I crossed my arms, putting on my best interrogation pose.

“What were your whereabouts at approximately three a.m. last Friday night?”

His gaze slid to me, sizing up my stance. “Home. Sleeping.”

“See . . . I just don’t believe you.”

“Why’s that?” he drawled.

“Lucifer never sleeps.”

He appeared almost amused, but I couldn’t be sure because he grabbed his drink from the bartender and left me standing there, alone.

I sighed, turning on my heel to follow him. “You’re going to give a girl a complex.”

“Another complex might be exactly what you need.”

“Ha ha, very funny. But jokes aside—did you take me home the other night?”

“No.”

“Did your good twin take me home?”

He let out a breath of amusement.

He was now walking down a hallway off the ballroom, but I wasn’t going to follow him into any dark corridor. No matter if there was a door with Security written on it at the end. I stopped, and my frustration with his evasion finally bubbled to the surface and into my voice.

“What did you do to me, Allister?”

He paused, turned to face me. “You think I did something to you?” He laughed darkly. “Felt you up while you were passed out?”

Well, no. That hadn’t even crossed my mind, but why had he taken me home? He had to have an ulterior motive. “Did you go through my underwear drawer? You know, you can buy used ones for sixty dollars on the internet these days. You didn’t have to take me home just to get your fix.”

He looked like he wanted to strangle me. “I didn’t fucking touch you or your shit. I thought we already went over this?” His eyes flashed. “I’ve been there before. I wasn’t impressed.”

That stung as though he had slapped me in the face. The anger sucked the air from my lungs, and my claws came unsheathed in an instant.

I grabbed the glass in his hand with every intention of tossing the contents in his face, though before I could, he ripped the tumbler from my grasp and threw it to the floor. I stared at my failed revenge shattered on the marble but could see nothing but rage. I wanted to hurt him as much as his words had me.

I pushed him, and when he didn’t respond, I did it again. Then, I beat on his chest and tried to knee him in the groin.

When he’d had enough, he spun me around, pulled me back against his chest, and pinned my arms with one of his.

“Calm down,” he ordered.

“Go fuck yourself.” My chest heaved up and down, as I tried to fight my way out of his hold.

His grip tightened, and I sucked in a breath. I leaned against him and dug my nails into his forearm when I realized it was all I could do.

The hair on the back of my neck rose when his angry, mocking words brushed my ear. “Your entire family is just down the hall. What would your husband think if he saw you in such a compromising position?”

Fury was dimming under the heat of his body pressed against mine. The tightness of his arm around me. The scent of his custom cologne. And then there was the undeniable press of his erection against my lower back. The bastard was getting off on putting me in my place. Though, regardless of the circumstances, just the idea that he was hard sent a heavy weight between my legs. I softened against him, not able to get enough air in my lungs.

“He’s at home with a nurse. He has pneumonia.”

“Ah, I hear that’s a killer for an old man like him.” His hold loosened, and his hand, ever so slowly, slid from my waist to my hip. The touch seared through my skin, setting my heartbeat crackling like sparks. “Who’s next on your husband list this time?”

He turned me, pulled my front against his, the heat of it becoming an overwhelming distraction. But then I reminded myself of what he said to me. Resting my palms on his stomach, I slid them up his chest as I rose to my tiptoes. He watched me through eyes too obscure to read.

We were so close I could smell his aftershave, count his eyelashes. The barest inch lay between our lips. It was too easy to fill—impossible not to—and I let the distance close, my lips skimming his as I said, “Anyone will do. As long as they screw me with a little more passion than you.”

I tried to pull away, but his hand slid up my neck, fisted in my hair, and kept my mouth brushing his. He stepped closer, forcing my back against the wall. “You seem to forget that I haven’t fucked you.”

Each brush of his lips was a douse of gasoline on fire inside me. A hazy wave inside my mind. A wasteful breath I couldn’t inhale. I turned my head to the side so I could find the air to speak. “Everything about that night was forgettable. Why do you think I didn’t call you?” Sympathy filled my voice. “Seems I didn’t listen.” We both knew I was referring to what he’d said to me that night: “You won’t forget me.”

My heart beat in my ears, and I hated myself for feeling a pang of regret.

His eyes were dark and terrifying; a reflection of skies lit up with smoke and fire. His lips pressed against my ear, words rough and threatening. “Run home to your husband before I make him a widower.”