The Maddest Obsession by Danielle Lori

MY EYES NARROWED. “WHAT ARE you wearing?”

Gianna looked down at her modest gray cocktail dress and short white heels while unsuccessfully trying to fix a tendril of hair that had escaped her French bun. Then, she looked me in the eye and said, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to mold myself into a woman you could love.”

I didn’t know why the sarcasm in her voice annoyed the hell out of me.

“No.”

She raised a brow. “No?”

“That’s what I said, Gianna. Go put on something else.”

She glared at me as she tried to push that unruly piece of hair back once more. That was when I noticed the small tremor in her hand. She was nervous. I hadn’t liked this outfit from the beginning, but now I fucking hated it.

I smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from my jacket sleeve. “My time is precious, and you’re wasting it. You have five minutes to go change.”

She scoffed. “And what would you like to see me in, Your Highness?”

My bed, spread-eagled and naked.

“What you would normally wear to a wedding your father wasn’t attending.”

She stared me down for a moment, and, when she realized she wasn’t going to win, she turned around in a huff. But I didn’t miss a hint of a smile on that pretty mouth of hers before she disappeared into her apartment.

She came back out ten minutes later in a sequined red gown that sparkled under the lights like a disco ball. A slit in the dress revealed her smooth tanned leg and six-inch heels. The sight sent a rush of heat to my groin.

She cocked a brow that dared me to say something.

The woman had no idea.

She thought I liked her.

I’d gone out of my way and followed her around for goddamn years just to look at her. I’d insulted her just to hear her smoky voice and witty response. And now, after my move to Seattle, it was hard to believe she was here in front of me. That I could reach out and touch her. That she would let me. It didn’t matter if she dressed like a 1970s drug lord’s wife or a die-hard Ariana Grande fan—nothing could make me forget her. What was worse was now, I had the memory of her looking up at me from her knees. That image had burned itself so deep beneath my skin I’d never get it out.

As much as I wanted to keep her, I knew I shouldn’t.

I couldn’t give her everything she’d ask of me.

I was going to take her to this wedding, finish my business with Sergei, and then return to Seattle. Nonetheless, every time I thought about leaving, my collar felt too tight, the air too thick to breathe. I didn’t know if I could physically do it.

“Did you bedazzle it yourself?” I asked, watching the elevator doors as we descended to the lobby.

She sighed and reached out to shove me or do something else ridiculous, but I grabbed her hand before she could make contact.

She blinked innocent eyes at me. “I was just going to fix your tie clip. It’s crooked.”

“No, it’s not,” I said confidently, without even looking.

She tried to pull her hand away, but I held onto it just because I could. Just because she was so fucking soft. I ran my thumb across her palm. She shivered and wrenched it away.

She did her makeup in the mirror on the way to the airstrip, while I pretended my blood didn’t thrum in approval at having her in my space, even doing such mundane, non-dick-related things like applying mascara.

A frown pulled on her lips when she took in the private jet. “Please, tell me this plane doesn’t belong to the Bureau.”

“This plane doesn’t belong to the Bureau.”

“Liar.”

As we boarded the jet, she muttered something about getting a rash.

The blonde flight attendant smiled and greeted Gianna, but it felt like an unnaturally long time for her to meet my gaze and nervously ask if she could hang up my jacket. She disappeared with my jacket in tow, while Gianna rolled her eyes.

“You don’t even notice the way women act in front of you, do you?”

“I notice everything you do, malyshka.”

She stilled and held my heavy stare for a moment before looking away. “Who’s paying for this private plane ride? My tax dollars?”

I took a seat on the white-leather couch, watching her move around and touch everything in sight. “You have to make an income to pay taxes.”

“I do. I’m an . . . entrepreneur.”

“You’re a gambler,” I corrected dryly.

“Same thing, really.”

“Why does your father want your attendance at this wedding?”

She picked up an FBI paperweight to examine it. “For nefarious reasons, I’m sure.”

“Elaborate.”

She swallowed. “I’m a single woman now.”

“Are you?” I didn’t know why that question came out like a threat.

She flicked a hesitant gaze to me. “Yes. He probably wants to remedy it.”

I knew at that moment she’d never marry another goddamn man but me. And she wouldn’t marry me. “And if he does?”

“I told you, I won’t ever marry again.”

She would leave. The life, the city, me.

The irrational thought that I wouldn’t be able to find her sent an icy rush of panic through me. And I could find fucking anyone.

I’d never let her leave.

I didn’t care if I had to handcuff the little fugitive to my headboard.

The vow seared itself through my body, settling itself deep, and calmed the rush of blood in my veins.

She sat on the chair opposite me and flipped open a fashion magazine. “How are you going to explain why you’re with me?”

You’re mine. And I go where you go.

“No one will question me.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out.

Aleksandra: Father wants to have dinner soon.

Frustration ran through me. Sergei would only talk to me through his daughter. I was surprised he hadn’t paraded her naked in front of me and offered to let me fuck her yet, as motivated as he seemed about this alliance. He wanted to dip his hands in the American underworld while still maintaining his traditional Russian values, and, apparently, a tie with me was the way to do it.

The Russian government had upped regulations on border security, and Sergei just happened to have most of that security in his pocket. I didn’t give a shit about Russian politics anymore, but unfortunately, the only relative I had left did.

After being released from the overcrowded cells of Butyrka at nineteen, I’d come to the States, while Ronan chose to stay in Moscow as a measly enforcer in the Bratva. Fifteen years later, he owned his own empire. But he still had a more hands-on approach to getting what he wanted, while delegation—and a bit of manipulation—was a better fit to win over Sergei Popov.

I texted Aleksandra back to tell her I was free on Friday and then slid my phone in my pocket. When I drew my attention back to Gianna, it was to see her chewing her lip, her olive complexion a shade paler.

She was scared of her papà.

It sent a rush of anger through me.

The only one she should be nervous of was me.

“Voy kak volk, malyshka.” Howl like a wolf.

Her soft eyes flicked to me. They burned a small hole in my chest.

“Voy kak volk,” she whispered.

She’d said it right.

And I suddenly knew I was going to keep her.

I hadn’t set foot in a church in years. And not even because I thought I’d be smote down where I stood, but because they were either too hot, too dusty, or too pretentious. The magnanimous atmosphere practically swallowed you whole when you entered, yet not a single church had ever fed me a scrap of food when I was thirteen, starving, and humbling myself enough to beg.

Gianna’s family nearly knocked her over with hugs and a ridiculous number of kisses as soon as we stepped into the church. She was flushed, wearing a genuine smile I never got from her. One of her aunts glanced at me, fanned herself vigorously with her wedding program, and then looked at Gianna and mouthed, “Madonna.”

Gianna sighed and glanced at me. “This is . . . ah—”

I remained silent and let her struggle just because I wanted to see what she would say, but, unfortunately, she was interrupted by a cavalier voice behind us.

“Allister.”

Gianna tensed.

I slid a hand to her waist and turned toward her father.

“Saul,” I said, the name familiar on my lips.

I didn’t look at her, but the betrayed gaze I could feel on my face sent an odd tightness to my chest.

“I didn’t expect your presence today.” Saul’s eyes drifted to my hand on Gianna’s waist. “And with my daughter, no less.”

“You’d think a man your age would have learned to expect the unexpected by now.”

Gianna sucked in an uneasy breath.

It was a cheap insult, but I’d learned over the years that cheap got the quickest results.

Saul’s expression didn’t falter as he held my gaze. But, as his eyes finally drifted to his daughter, his next words came clipped with the slightest clench of his teeth. “I’d like to talk with you at home before the reception, Gianna.”

“I’d love to, but . . . I swear, our schedule has been filling so fast I can hardly keep up with it.” She blinked at me. “Do you think we’ll have time, Christian?”

I wanted to smile. To kiss her for being such a good little wolf. Instead, I only said, “I think we can fit it in.”

Uncertainty crossed her expression.

I liked Gianna’s father about as much as I’d liked Antonio. Accepting a hit on their heads would have been a vacation for me. But if Gianna didn’t deal with him now, he’d keep coming back until he got whatever he wanted.

“I’m glad to see you can spare a few minutes for your papà.” A subtle threat flickered in Saul’s eyes. “Until then, cara mia.” The tightly-reined venom in his voice drifted past us as he headed up the aisle to take a seat at his pew.

Gianna was internally shaken but was hiding it well. Her anger? Not so much.

“Gianna—”

She left me standing there.

As much as it pissed me off that she’d jumped so fast to think the worst of me, I let her have her anger, because it was what she needed right now.

The Catholic ceremony was long and a little melodramatic. Gianna hadn’t said a word to me since she’d taken a seat on the pew beside me. Not a single joke or insult. I didn’t like it.

She stared out the window and stayed silent on the way to her papà’s house. When this was over, I was going to force her to talk to me for two hours straight before she got her orgasm.

One of her cousins, who Gianna had called “Guccio,” and who couldn’t be more than a teenager, answered the door and led us to her father’s office.

Guccio avoided my gaze. “He wants to, uh, talk to you alone, Gianna.”

“Fine,” she sighed.

I grabbed her wrist when she took a step toward the door. “You don’t have to go in there alone.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll try to make it quick so you two will have plenty of time to talk business afterward.” Her eyes flashed with resentment.

My jaw tightened, but I let her go.

She shut the door behind her.

Guccio rubbed a fist in his hand, shifting his weight to his other foot. “You can wait in the parlor.”

“I’ll wait here.”

He swallowed. “The parlor would be preferable.”

I sent him a look that let him know he was annoying the fuck out of me. He muttered, “Okay,” and drifted away. Standing by the door, I could hear their muffled voices inside.

“You move fast, Gianna,” Saul said. “Didn’t your husband just pass a week ago?”

“A week and a half,” she corrected.

“Don’t get smart with me, girl. Were you trying to make me look like a fool today?”

“I have no idea how I would make you look like a fool.”

“That dress . . . showing up with a man like Allister—it makes you look like a goddamn whore.”

She let out a bitter noise. “I was a whore to you when I was ten years old wearing my pink church dress. That word is a little worn out, Papà. Can’t you think of something a little original?”

“I see your lavish life in New York has spoiled you.” Some papers shuffled. “No matter. I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be beat out of you. From what I remember, you were always too easy to break. Tell me, are you still afraid of the dark?”

Silence.

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought. We don’t need to discuss such . . . matters right now. Do you think Allister will marry you?”

That amused her. “No. I don’t.”

She sounded so fucking sure it made me want to drag her to the courthouse right now.

“What do you think, Donny?” Saul addressed his right-hand man, who must be in the room.

“I don’t think so, boss.”

“Then I’m sure he won’t care that you’re moving back to Chicago,” said Saul. “Once you’re settled, we’ll talk about arranging a marriage for you. It’s about time you have children, Gianna. You’re almost past your prime.”

“As much as I appreciate the genuine concern in your voice—no. No to moving. No to the marriage. And no to fucking a man of your choosing.”

Good girl.

A hand slapped on a desk. “You have a duty to this family, dammit!”

“Duty?” She scoffed. “What have you ever done for me? You sure as hell didn’t protect your eight-year-old daughter from one of your sick-minded friends!”

Thick silence crept under the door.

I knew at that moment, when he didn’t try to play her accusation off, that he hadn’t known. And it was the only thing that would save his life.

“I clothed you, I fed you—”

“Basically, the bare minimum of keeping someone alive. We get it, Papà—you were an outstanding father.”

“You ungrateful bitch,” he spat.

Her voice shook with emotion. “You know, I feel sorry for you. You were obsessed with Mamma, and she hated you. She hated you so much, she risked running from you again, and again, and again—”

I moved at the sound of a chair slamming against the wall and pushed open the door. My voice was unnaturally calm. “Take your hand off her now.”

Saul held her by the face, his fingers digging into her cheeks. His jaw tightened but he released her, stepped back, and then brushed off his sleeve.

I didn’t look at her—couldn’t look at her—because if there was a single red mark on her skin I’d snap.

“Get out, Gianna,” I said.

She hesitated.

“Out.”

As she headed toward the door, Donny looked to Saul to see if he should let her pass. Saul nodded tightly. Donny shut the door and stood beside it.

Saul sat back in his chair and adjusted some papers on his desk, as if he hadn’t just been caught assaulting his daughter. “Have a seat, Allister. It’s been a while since we’ve chatted.”

I’d never chatted with the man in my life. Never worked with him either. I was only an acquaintance of his through Antonio. And I’d only ever agreed to work with Antonio—an Italian, no less—because I was obsessed with his wife.

I remained standing. “I don’t know how I can make this any shorter and sweeter for you—Gianna doesn’t exist for you anymore.”

“You say that as if you have a claim on her, Allister. Remember, I’m the one who put her on this goddamn planet.”

“Did you? From what I’ve heard, someone else fucked your wife harder than you.”

Red washed his complexion. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

“I’m afraid it might be too late for that.”

Our gazes burned into the other’s.

“You want my daughter? Fine, you can have her. Just don’t come crying to me when you find her fucking your repairman. I’m afraid she takes after her mother in that regard.”

The man was so fucking bitter he stunk of it. But there was something else there—guilt. The boss was getting older and his conscience was filling up. He was just too twisted to know how to apologize and, instead, ended up choking out his daughter instead.

“I’ll take my chances.”

When I passed his underboss, a single pop ricocheted off the walls as I pulled out my .45 and shot him in the arm. He hissed in pain and slid down the wall.

Saul’s jaw was tight, but he only arched a brow.

“That’s because you touched her.” I put my gun away and opened the door. “Every time you touch something that belongs to me, I’ll fuck up something of yours.”