Page 1 of Twisted Obsession

Chapter

One

ROISIN

Janey Mack! My brother, Callum, is a feckin’ arse sometimes.

Sometimes? Hell no. Most of the time would be a more accurate estimate.

It’s not like I’ve been shielded… Well, I suppose I have a little bit. But I’m certainly not ignorant of the Mafia life my family leads.

My brothers, anyway. I’m not really a part of it, except by association. An association that can’t be avoided since my Da was the big boss and that title has now been passed along to my twin older brothers.

Am I a Mafia princess? I suppose that’s how most people would describe me, yes. But it’s not how I really feel about myself. It’s not what defines me, although it sure as hell affects what I’m freely able to do. Where I go. Who I’m friends with. The men I can date.

Date. Yeah, that’s a joke in itself. I might be twenty-six years old, but first my Da, and now my brothers have a lot to say about thatparticular phenomenon. I thought things would improve when Ma and Da returned to Ireland, his homeland, but it just seems to have made Ciaran and Callum double down in their efforts to protect me. They like to joke that I need a man with a firm hand who’s not afraid to give me a good spanking, but in reality, the odds of any guy getting that close are about a hundred to one. And I wouldn’t be tempted to bet on it, even then.

And for the most part, that’s fine. I don’t have any real interest in men or dating, anyway. As long as there’s no danger of an arranged marriage, something our father might have entertained, but Ma and the twins would never stand for, then I’m happy to simply lead my life and have what fun I can while I’m young. There’s plenty of time for men, marriage, and babies after I’ve lived a little.

And living is what I’m truly aching to do.

You see, that’s where things get difficult in this life. Doing what I want, when I want, without a damn bodyguard watching my every move and reporting back to my brothers, is somewhat problematic. It makes me a little crazy, and I don’t mind admitting that one of my favorite pastimes is leading them a merry dance.

Well, a girl has to havesomefun in a life that’s dictated for her. And this is how I get mine.

Much to the twins' frustration.

And I feckin’ love it.

I love them, too. But right now? I amsofreaking angry with them. Kidnapping Maricela Escobar, fiancée to one of the Italian Mafia’s consiglieri, was one thing. Honestly, they did her a favor there.

But holding her down in the creepy-ass basement, which gave me constant nightmares as a kid when I’d hear the terrorized screams of whatever poor bastard had crossed my Da… that’s a step too far.

Of course, there’s not a lot I can do about it. No matter my own feelings, I’d never disrespect my brothers, the bosses of the Irish mob here in Manhattan, but I can vote with my feet and remove myself from the situation. Just being here makes me feel like I’m party to whatever they’re putting that poor girl through. And that’snotsomething I’m prepared to accept.

Grabbing a Louis Vuitton valise, I pack a couple of changes of clothes and my toiletry bag. Whatever else I need, I can borrow from Emylyah once I get to my best friend's house. And although I plan to give my bodyguard the slip, it’s not like Lyah’s husband, Niko–brother to the head of the New York Bratva–won’t let them know where I am. So I’m not really pushing the envelope.

Heading for the private kitchen area of the compound–which, unlike the rest of the Ár n-áit complex, the hub of the Irish mob, is only for family use–I make my way to the private side entrance my brothers’ soldiers don’t have direct access to. When I was a kid, and home from boarding school, it used to be monitored, but since I’m now an adult, and this is a gated, guarded compound, and the door is fitted with an alarm, it was long ago decided a soldier would be best used elsewhere. I can only hope Callum hasn’t decided to reinstate the guard after Maricela used this very door to try and escape.

Checking no one is around, I disengage the alarm and press the auto reset button, so it doesn’t give me away. Now I have thirty seconds to get out of here.

Luckily, I know all the tricks. It’s not the first time I’ve absconded without my brothers’ knowledge. Though admittedly I’ve not done it since I was a teenager, Emylyah and I used to pretend we were at each other's house so we could revel in the small slice of freedom and anonymity we could find. Away from the all-seeing eyes of my brothers and her bat-shit crazy mother who took paranoia to a whole other level. Well, at least until my bff married Nikolai Radaeva, anyway. Now I guess Lenka accepts that Lyah is well protected. After all, who would be stupid enough to take on the Bratva… or the Irish mob, for that matter? There are several opposing contingents of organized crime in Manhattan, but for the most part, they treat each other with cautious respect. Nobody wants a war between the factions. It would be nothing short of catastrophic. Tantamount to unleashing World War Three. Although, admittedly, things are probably the most volatile they’ve ever been in living memory. Well, mine at least. It’s been like that ever since Vito - the Viper - Rossi, consigliere of La Cosa Nostra, and brother of the Don, brutally murdered the mob's resident ho–Orla–after the girl was stupid enough to brag she was banging Ciaran. Yeah, I can’t believe my brother was desperate enough to go there. She wasn’t important enough to him to have protection, though, and as much as I disliked the woman, what was done to her was truly heinous. Which is how Ciaran and Callum came to abduct Maricela, the Viper’s fiancée, on their wedding day.

Retribution.

There are some things that can’t ever be allowed to be overlooked, and a direct attack on one of our own–no matter how insignificant that person might be–is one of them.

Doesn’t mean we should stoop to the same disgusting levels as the Viper, though. Maricela is a human being. None of this isher doing; her fault. And while I can’t do much about it, I can certainly refuse to be part of the way they’re treating her right now.

I come to the razor-wire-topped, pedestrian side gate and quickly key in the code, breathing a sigh of relief that my brothers have been too preoccupied with recent events to have it changed.

Am I a little too old to be sneaking out of my own home? Yes. Yes, I am. But there are some things in life a girl needs to take a stand on. And while I can’t help Maricela any more than I already have by providing her with proper clothing and a little bit of friendship, I sure as hell can make sure my brothers know I don’t agree with their actions.

My relief at successfully leaving Ár n-áit is short-lived, however, when not a few hundred yards away from the main gates, I have the sinister feeling crawling down my spine that I’m being watched.

Looking around, there’s nothing out of place, but I’m aware enough to understand that means nothing. Do my brothers or their foot soldiers have eyes on me already?

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I check to see if there are any irate messages from either of them.

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