Page 46 of Obsession

“But how…” Fede’s words trail off as his fingers tap a steady beat. Suddenly, it stops, his eyes darting up to meet mine. “You have to play both sides.”

“That sounds like a death sentence.”

“It might be,” he says, a bit too casually to be talking about my life. “Listen, we want to make this whole thing implode, send them all to prison, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And we could interfere, like we planned. But they might just do all the dirty work for us.”

What Fede is saying clicks in my head. They’re going to burn themselves to the ground. And all I need to do is stand to the side and fan the flames.

“You work from both sides, feed them both information, and just watch everything burn.”

“Fuck,” I say as nerves rush through me. “That’s a good idea. We just need to keep me alive long enough to pull it off.

Fede laughs. “Okay, brother. Where do we start?”

The house smellslike pasta when I walk in, and the scent jolts me for a moment. The last time my house smelled like this, Madi proceeded to throw my favorite meal into the trash. Which then led to me spanking her, a scene I still can’t get out of my head.

After Fede left my office, I spent the rest of my day getting myself on Sam’s defense team, just like John had asked. Damien’s not going to like that, I’m sure. But I have a plan to make him believe this helps him too.

Playing them from both sides. Just like I want.

After staring at all the paperwork today and catching up on my cases, my headache has only grown worse. I rub my temples as I slowly enter the kitchen, not quite sure what to expect from my wife. Since I took a beating from John’s men, she’s beennothing but caring toward me, a complete 180 from how she was before.

“Is it good?” I hear my wife ask. She sounds unsure, worried. Not at all like my confident little spitfire.

“Yes, Miss Madi, it’s good.” That voice belongs to Bea, my housekeeper. I check my watch; it’s late, she should be gone by now.

“But like Nonna-level good?”

“Yes, Miss Madi,” Bea repeats.

I enter cautiously to not disturb them. Madi is at the counter, staring at my housekeeper, who’s holding a spoon as if she just taste tested something. It looks like a hostage situation from the way Madi is staring at her and Bea looks uneasy, like if she doesn’t answer correctly, she’s not sure what will happen. Bea’s always been the most timid of my staff. Normally, she avoids me, scurrying like a scared mouse out of any room I enter.

“Are you cooking for me, wife?”

Both sets of eyes dart to meet mine.

Bea looks at me like she might get in trouble, but Madi doesn’t seem nervous at all. Instead, she takes a step back from the housekeeper. “Thank you, Bea. You can go.”

“Yes, Miss Madi,” she says before scurrying away.

“Are you torturing my staff?” I ask once Bea is fully gone.

“No.” Madi turns her back on me, going back to the sauce and stirring it slowly with a large wooden spoon, just like my nonna would use.

I move toward her, closing the gap between us until I’m right behind her. The smell of her sauce is wafting into my nose and it’s perfect. It smells like home and my childhood, the good parts of it anyway, rolled into one neat little scent. I’m almost as obsessed with it as I am with the woman in front of me. “Are you making my favorite dish just to throw it in the trash again?”

My dark-haired vixen turns at that comment. At first, I think she’s going to say something wicked, flash her fangs at me. But instead, her expression looks apologetic.

“No,” she says, the word soft, so unlike the sharpness she’s shown me. “I thought I would make it this time, ya know, an apology or something.”

“An apology,” I repeat, not sure if I’m shocked or amazed. Madi’s so sweet right now, so unlike the angry girl that first entered this house. Mad at the world. Mad at me. My being kidnapped by her cousins changed something between us. She was so gentle and vulnerable with me that night, tending to my wounds and opening up to me about her family. “Thank you, princess.”

A smile lifts on her lips, a little pink gathering on her cheeks. “It’s probably not even good,” she says, her head drooping.

“Hey.” I use a finger to lift her chin, forcing her to look at me again. “Don’t talk like that. I’m sure it’s perfect.” Her smile returns, and I watch her dish the pasta and sauce onto two plates, handing one to me to carry out to the dining room.

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