Page 51 of Lord of Obsession

Another tech—Isabella, ex-NSA with a gift for signals intelligence—calls out from her station. "Cell traffic spike near his apartment. Burner phones, encrypted channels. Whatever they're planning, it's happening soon."

I lean over her shoulder, studying the data streams flowing across her screens. Coordinates, timestamps, and fragments of code thatpaint a picture of coordinated movement. They're not just watching anymore. They're positioning for something bigger.

"Get me eyes on Rafael. Now."

Screens flicker as Joey accesses traffic cams, building security feeds, and ATM cameras—the digital web that blankets this city. But the image that freezes my blood comes from a convenience store's grainy surveillance: three men in tactical combat gear sliding out of an unmarked van, their weapons partially concealed under civilian clothes. The timestamp shows seven minutes ago.

"That's two blocks from his study group's usual coffee spot." Marco's voice carries quiet urgency. "Tuesday nights, they meet until?—"

"Ten thirty." I check my watch: 10:17 PM. The study group will be breaking up soon, and Rafael will be heading to his car in the poorly lit parking structure where I've watched him a hundred times before. It’s the perfect ambush point.

Lightning strobes through the warehouse's high windows as I start issuing orders. "I want three teams mobile in the next two minutes. Full tactical loadout, communications dark except for the emergency channel."I draw my Beretta, checking the magazine more from habit than necessity. "Marco, you're with me. The rest of you coordinate from here. If they've got eyes and ears on our frequencies?—"

"Sir." Isabella's voice cuts through the mounting tension. "Thermal imaging just picked up a group entering the parking structure. Six heat signatures moving in formation."

Ice slides through my veins despite the fury burning in my chest. They're early. Which means either their intelligence is better than we thought or?—

"Rafael left the study group ahead of schedule." Joey pulls up another feed showing a familiar figure in an expensive coat moving with that precise grace that first caught my attention all those months ago. Completely unaware of the deadly trap about to spring.

"Move. Now."

My team flows into action with practiced efficiency, but I barely register their response. All I can see is Rafael walking into an ambush, his carefully maintained world about to shatter in ways even I didn't plan. The Ferraras won't be gentle. They'll hurt him just tosend a message. They’ll break him to prove they can reach anyone under my protection.

The thought sends something molten and vicious coursing through my chest. Rafael is mine to unmake, mine to break down and rebuild. No one else gets to touch him. No one else gets to test the limits of his control.

I hit the stairs at a dead run, Marco half a step behind me. Rain pounds against the warehouse's metal roof, nature's percussion building toward violence. Perfect ambiance for what's coming next.

Time to remind everyone why the Greco name carries weight in this city's underworld. Time to show these fucking amateurs what happens when you touch what's mine.

And if I have to paint that parking structure in Ferrara blood to make my point?

So be it.

The Maserati's engine screams as I take the corner onto Madison, tires fighting for traction on rain-slicked asphalt. Traffic lights blur past, each intersection a calculated risk as I weave between slower vehicles. The police scanner crackles with routine chatter; they haven't caught wind of what's coming. Yet.

"Two minutes out." Marco's voice carriesthrough my earpiece as his vehicle maintains position three cars back. "Joey's got eyes on the structure's security feeds. Six hostiles confirmed, moving to boxing positions."

My hands tighten on the steering wheel as another light turns red ahead. No time for caution. The Maserati roars through the intersection, sending a taxi skidding sideways to avoid a collision. In my mind, I see Rafael walking into their trap, unaware of the violence about to shatter his carefully maintained world.

The parking structure finally looms ahead, a concrete monument to poor lighting and even worse security. Marco peels off to circle the perimeter while I slip through a service entrance, rainwater dripping from my jacket. The space echoes with the sound of distant engines and storm runoff flooding poorly maintained drains.

My earpiece crackles. "Target's on level three, north side." Joey's voice carries controlled urgency. "Heat signatures are converging from both stairwells."

I take the stairs two at a time, moving on silent feet despite the rage burning in my chest. Years of training transform mymovements into catlike grace, each step precisely placed to avoid detection. The Ferrara soldiers won't expect resistance. They think they're hunting easy prey, a pampered heir playing at normalcy.

Their mistake.

Voices drift down from the level above: rough whispers in guttural Sicilian giving directions, coordinating the trap. I ease my Beretta from its holster, the weight familiar and welcome against my palm. Through gaps in the concrete, I catch glimpses of tactical gear and suppressed weapons.

A car door slams somewhere above. Rafael's voice carries clearly. "I know you're there."

Pride surges through me despite the situation. Even now, even stripped of family protection, his training shows through. He sensed the ambush before they could spring it. But pride turns to ice as multiple shadows detach from nearby pillars, surrounding him with practiced efficiency.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Valenti." The speaker stays hidden, but I recognize that voice: Nicolas Ferrara, Angelo's eldest son. The one who's been pushing formore aggressive expansion into our territory. "Your uncle's protection is gone. It’s time to choose a new allegiance."

I reach the third level just as Rafael answers, his tone carrying that slight accent he gets when control starts slipping. "I choose neither."

The first shot catches Nicolas's lieutenant high in the chest, the sound suppressed but still sharp in the enclosed space. Rafael moves like lightning, using the falling body as cover while he drops another soldier with brutal efficiency. But he's outnumbered, and they've planned for resistance.

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