Page 74 of Lord of Obsession

Rafael stirs, the sheet sliding lower to reveal bruises I left on his collarbone last night. "You're thinking too loudly," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. His eyes open, immediately alert despite the hour. Another trait we share. the inability to wake gradually when years of training have taught your body that slow consciousness gets you killed.

"Torres sent confirmation." I pass him the tablet, watching how his expression shifts to analytical precision as he scans the report. "Your uncle's lost his foothold in the eastern district. The information you provided about his arrangements with Judge Harmon proved particularly effective."

Something like satisfaction crosses his features. "Salvatore never understood that ruling through fear creates more vulnerabilities than strengths." He sets the tablet aside, stretching with calculated grace. "How's the identity package coming along?"

I pour coffee from the carafe kept warm on the bedside table, another small ritual we've established in our months here. "Finaldocumentation arrives today. Passport, banking credentials, digital history—everything needed to establish ourselves in legitimate circles."

"Rafael Valenti and Dario Greco disappear completely, replaced by..."

"David and Raymond Castellani." I hand him the mug, our fingers brushing in deliberate contact. "Business partners with interests in international shipping and property development."

His smile carries edges sharp enough to cut. "Cousins rather than lovers? How traditional."

"Only on paper." I settle beside him on the bed, inhaling the scent of expensive sheets and warm skin. "The world sees what we need them to see. The truth remains ours."

Rafael sips his coffee, eyes watching me over the rim. "The foundation in Barcelona still expects us next week?"

"Everything's arranged." I trace patterns across his chest, each touch proprietary and possessive. "The Martinez Foundation for International Security Studies. Perfectly legitimate, heavily funded, and positioned toinfluence policy decisions across multiple jurisdictions."

"And all built on information we extracted from both our families."

"Poetic justice." My fingers find the scar on his thigh, still pink with recent healing. "They created us, trained us, and thought they could control us. Now we're using those same skills to carve out territory they can't touch."

Rafael sets his mug aside, pulling me down until our bodies align perfectly. "The ultimate clean slate. Not just new identities, but a new kind of power altogether."

"Information as currency." I nip at his lower lip, enjoying how his breath catches. "More valuable than guns or territory or political connections."

His hands slide into my hair, grip tightening just shy of pain. "And more sustainable. They can't kill information once it's out there."

Beyond our windows, the Mediterranean glitters in morning light. Gulls wheel and cry, their voices carrying on salt-laden breezes. Inside, we continue building something neither of our families could understand: power without dominance, strength without brutality, partnership without hierarchy.

"Do you regret it?" I find myself asking, the question emerging from somewhere deeper than calculated strategy. "Leaving everything behind? The law career, the academic world, the chance at something approaching normal?"

Rafael's laugh holds no bitterness, just honest recognition. "Normal was never an option for either of us. Not really." His thumb traces my jaw, the touch gentler than anyone would expect from a Valenti heir. "I was living half a life, denying what I am, what we both are."

The simple truth of it settles something restless deep inside of me. I've spent my life being exactly what my father made me: a weapon, a terror, a tool for expanding Greco power. Never questioning, never wanting something outside the boundaries of family expectation. Until Rafael. Until I recognized something in him that matched the darkness in me, but channeled toward something approaching freedom.

"We're building something better," I tell him, the words a promise sealed with teeth against his throat. "Something that can't be taken away or corrupted."

His head falls back, giving me better access as I mark territory already claimed in countless ways. "Something permanent."

"Exactly." My hands slide beneath the sheet, mapping warm skin and taut muscle. "Something neither of our families could ever imagine."

Outside, sophisticated security systems maintain constant vigilance. Inside, we've created sanctuary—not just in this physical space, but in the partnership we've forged through blood and bullets and mutual recognition. My fingers find the knife scar on his ribs, a remnant from battles fought before we found each other. He carries my marks now, too, evidence of possession disguised as passion.

"The clean slate isn't about forgetting who we are," Rafael murmurs against my skin. "It's about finally embracing it without apology."

The morning stretches ahead,filled with logistics and planning and the careful architecture of our new existence. But for now, there is only this – his hands tracingownership across my skin, my mouth claiming territory already surrendered. The foundation we're building extends beyond property and identity, beyond the Martinez Foundation or offshore accounts.

It begins here, in the honest recognition of what we are together. Something neither of us found within family walls or blood loyalty. Something we've built with clear eyes and willing hands and the explicit choice to belong to each other.

The villa's security system chimes with a perimeter alert, interrupting our dinner on the western terrace. I'm up before the sound fades, weapon sliding from hidden holster to hand with practiced fluidity. Rafael moves with equal precision, no wasted motion as he secures the approaches while I check the monitoring system.

"Southern gate," I note, examining camera feeds that show a single vehicle approaching. "Looks like Torres' car, but protocol violations mean we treat it as hostile until confirmed."

Rafael positions himself with clear lines of sight to all potential entry points, that perfect tactical awareness betraying the soldierbeneath the scholarly exterior he once maintained. "Could be under duress."

"Or Enzo." The possibility hangs between us, both acknowledging what it would mean if Rafael's family’s advisor had finally betrayed our location. He's been our most valuable source inside Valenti operations, but loyalty under pressure is never guaranteed.

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