Page 79 of Lord of Obsession

Five Years Later

The espresso machine hisses to life under my touch, its familiar rhythm marking the start of another precisely ordered day. Dawn light filters through bulletproof glass, painting our kitchen in gold and amber. Five years in this place, and I still appreciate the perfect sight lines and the unobstructed views of both the approaching driveway and the cliffside path below. Strategic positioning disguised as architectural preference. Some habits never change.

Dario emerges from our bedroom, his hair still damp from the shower, tablet already inhand as he scans overnight security reports. He moves with that predatory grace that first caught my attention years ago, though now his proximity sends warmth through my chest rather than triggering defensive positioning.

"Torres confirmed the Stockholm agreement is finalized," he says, accepting the espresso I slide across our marble island. His fingers brush mine intentionally, a small point of contact that carries more meaning than outsiders could understand. "The foundation's humanitarian corridor opens next week."

I nod, satisfaction blooming as another piece of our carefully constructed influence network locks into place. "And the security contract for the UN delegation?"

"Signed yesterday." His smile carries sharp edges but genuine warmth beneath. "The Castellani Group now provides protection for three separate diplomatic missions. All completely legitimate, all perfectly positioned for our purposes."

The Castellani Group, our creation, built from nothing but willpower and the strategic application of secrets extracted from both our families. Now it’s a legitimate security and intelligence firm with operationsacross four continents. Power built on information rather than violence, though we maintain capacity for both when circumstances demand.

I turn to the windows, taking in the sprawling grounds that surround our villa. Gardens that rival my mother's spread in carefully planned splendor, though these contain subtle security features alongside the beauty. Motion sensors disguised as lighting elements. Pressure plates hidden beneath imported gravel. Every approach is monitored by systems that remain undetectable to even the most sophisticated surveillance.

"The board meeting is at ten," I remind him, though we both know he never forgets a scheduled obligation. The words are more ritual than necessity, part of the morning cadence we've established in our years together.

Dario sets down his tablet, moving behind me with deliberate stealth that still raises goosebumps despite years of familiarity. His arms encircle my waist, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where my neck meets shoulder. "That gives us two hours."

Heat floods my body at his touch, desire still immediate and overwhelming despite the years. I lean back into his embrace, feeling thesolid strength of him against my spine. "The security briefing with Jakarta is at nine."

"Ninety minutes, then." His teeth graze my earlobe, sending electricity down my spine. "More than enough time."

I turn in his arms, capturing his mouth with mine. The kiss carries none of the violence that marked our earliest encounters, though passion remains undiminished. Instead, there's a certainty to it—possession mixed with belonging, claiming balanced with surrender.

When we break apart, his eyes hold mine with that intensity that still strips away pretense. "Five years."

The words carry weight beyond their simplicity. Five years since we walked away from our family legacies. Since we chose each other over blood loyalty and generational obligation. Since we began building something neither of our fathers could imagine or control.

"Any regrets?" I find myself asking, though I already know the answer. It’s the same one every time, a small comfort between us.

His laugh vibrates against my chest, rich with genuine amusement. "Only that we didn't start sooner." His hands frame my face,the touch gentler than anyone who only knows his reputation would believe possible. "You?"

I shake my head, honesty flowing easily after years of practice. "None. Though I sometimes miss the academic world. The structure of legal arguments, the satisfaction of perfectly constructed precedent."

"Of course you do." He kisses me again, brief but claiming. "Because you're still the same perfectionist who color-coded his study notes and organized his life into compartments."

"And you're still the same predator who enjoys dismantling order." I nip at his lower lip in playful retaliation. "Some things never change."

His smile sharpens with satisfaction. "But other things did. For the better."

Outside, security teams conduct their morning perimeter check, moving with the precision we've personally trained into them. Inside, household staff maintain respectful distance, approaching only when signaled. The balance we've created—private intimacy within a structure of necessary protection—took years to perfect, but it now runs with mechanical precision.

Dario's phone chimes with an encrypted alert, dragging us back to the day's obligations. He checks it with practiced efficiency, expression shifting to analytical focus. "Marco’s team intercepted another probe attempt. Valenti digital fingerprints. Your father is nothing if not persistent."

I take the phone, examining the details with the eye for patterns Salvatore himself trained into me. "Different approach this time. He's getting creative in his old age."

The knowledge that my father—no longer just my uncle in my mind, though I'll never call him anything but Salvatore—continues hunting us after five years should probably unnerve me. Instead, it merely reinforces the correctness of our choice. His persistence proves the threat we represent to old power structures, to the systems of control our families maintained for generations.

"The foundation's global presence makes direct action impossible," I note, handing back the phone. "He's reduced to digital reconnaissance and remote probing. It's all he has left."

"For now." Dario's smile carries predatorysatisfaction. "Next month's security council vote will extend our diplomatic protections even further. After that, even electronic surveillance becomes problematic for them."

Pride fills my chest as I consider what we've built together. The Martinez Foundation for International Security—named for the legal case that first revealed structural weaknesses in family-based criminal enterprises—now stands as a globally respected institution. Our legitimate security firm provides protection for humanitarian missions while gathering intelligence that keeps both our families' operations at bay.

Power built not through violence or intimidation, but through the strategic application of knowledge. Influence exercised not through fear, but through carefully cultivated relationships and mutually beneficial arrangements.

"We should prepare for the Jakarta call," I reluctantly disentangle myself from Dario's embrace, though his heat lingers against my skin.

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