Page 18 of Twisted Obsession

“When I find out where Mika’s stashed that little bitch, she’s gonna pay.” His voice is a snarl and the words that follow send a shiver down my spine, and I’m pretty damn hardened. It’s a must, in this life.

“I’ll string her up and whip her bloody. But not before I’ve fucked every single hole, choked her on my cock, and found out whether her tight little cunt can take my fist.”

I freeze, my hand tightening on the tray I'm carrying. The food shifts, nearly spilling, but I manage to steady it. My heart pounds in my chest as I strain to hear more.

"Then I'll carve her up real nice," Vito continues, his voice dripping with malice. "Make her scream until she begs for death."

I feel sick. The casual cruelty in his tone is astounding. I've done some brutal things in my time with LCN, but this... this is something else entirely. The sheer enjoyment in his tone makes my skin crawl because I can tell these are all things he’s done before.

"Mika won't like it," another voice chimes in. I recognize it as belonging to one of Vito's lackeys. "He doesn’t want to start a war."

Vito scoffs. "Mika’s a fucking bleeding heart who doesn’t have the right stuff for this life.”

Something about the way he says that gives me pause, but before I can put a finger on it, Vito’s talking again.

“Besides, by the time I'm done with her and send the video evidence of her suffering to her family, her brothers will be begging to give us what we want just to make it stop."

I lean against the wall, my mind racing. I'd known Roisin was in danger, but hearing it laid out so explicitly makes it impossible to ignore. The thought of Vito getting his hands on her, of subjecting her to such horrific torture, of taking her purity and innocence, makes my stomach churn. The image of Roisin—her fiery hair, those piercing green eyes—subjected to Vito's sadistic whims is more than I can bear. My grip on the tray tightens further, my knuckles turning white. God knows I’m no saint, I’ve done things that would get me chained behind bars for the rest of my life, but next to the likes of the Viper, I’m a goddamned choirboy.

“So, when are you planning to make your move?" the underling presses.

"Soon," Vito growls. "I've almost pinpointed where she's being kept. In other words… I know where she’snot, so it’s only a matter of elimination. Once I know for sure, we strike fast and hard. No mercy. And no fucking interruptions this time."

Their voices fade as they move away down the hall, and I stand there for a long moment, heart pounding, waiting until I'm sure they're gone before I move swiftly toward Roisin's room. My mind is racing, torn between duty and the unexpected urge to protect her. I shouldn't care. She's just a job, a means to an end for LCN. But the thought of Vito's hands on her makes my blood boil.

As I near, I hear her humming softly. The sound sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. I pause, listening. The melody is hauntingly beautiful, tinged with a sadness that makes my chest ache.

I reach her door and wait, taking a deep breath to compose myself. I can't let her see how rattled I am. With practiced ease, I slip the key into the lock and enter.

Roisin is sitting on the bed, a book in her lap. She looks up as I enter, her green eyes piercing through me, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. She's sitting cross-legged, her copper curls cascading over her shoulders. Even in captivity, she exudes a quiet strength I find myself admiring. "Dominic," she says, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

I set the tray down on the small table. "No chance of that, but I had some obligations to take care of, so nobody questions my whereabouts." I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "How are you holding up?" I’m not sure if I’m asking for her benefit or my own.

She shrugs, closing the book. I’ve managed to slip her a few, as well as set up a TV, so she’s not just sitting here staring at four walls. "As well as can be expected for a captive, I suppose. Though your company does make it more bearable."

I feel a pang in my chest at her words. The tension between us is palpable, crackling in the air like electricity. I try to push it aside, focusing on the task at hand, even though my mind is all over the place, and I feel more off-kilter than when Uncle Sal—Don Salvatore—first brought me into the outfit when I was just fourteen years old.

As I set the tray down, our fingers brush accidentally. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I jerk my hand away as if burned.

Roisin raises an eyebrow. "Are you okay, Dominic?”

I can’t believe she’s asking me that, like I haven’t spent most of my time avoiding her except when it’s necessary. No more running her baths, comforting her in my arms, and definitely not considering the offer she made, which has been front and center in my mind since I overheard Vito.

I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. "Fine," I mutter, taking a step back. "Just... tired."

Roisin's gaze softens. "You don't have to pretend with me, you know. I can see the toll this is taking on you."

Her words catch me off guard. I've been so focused on maintaining a professional distance, on not letting her see how much she affects me, how jarred I am at how much danger she’s in, that I didn't realize she's been watching me just as closely.

"I'm fine," I repeat, more firmly this time. But even to my own ears, the words sound hollow.

She sighs, reaching for the tray. "Suit yourself. But if you ever change your mind about what I said and want to talk..."

"There's nothing to talk about," I snap, harsher than I intended.

Roisin flinches, and I immediately regret my tone. "I'm sorry," I say softly. "I shouldn't have?—"

"It's okay," she interrupts, offering a small smile. "I’m the one who shouldn’t have mentioned it. I understand. This situation... it's complicated."

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