Page 50 of Lord of Obsession

"Think carefully about what you're doing." Uncle Salvatore's voice carries quiet menace. "The protection our name provides?—"

"Was always a chain." The words sound stronger than I feel. "Every favor, every connection, every door smoothly opened, they're all strings you use to pull us back in line."

My mother stands, her chair scraping against marble. "Rafael, please?—"

"I know what I'm giving up." I meet my uncle's gaze, refusing to flinch. "The apartment, the tuition, the carefully maintained fiction of normalcy. Take it all."

Lightning fractures the sky beyond arched windows. The guards tense, awaiting orders that haven't come. Not yet. We all know that worse things than financial ruin await those who truly betray family loyalty.y

"You think your legal expertise will protect you?" Salvatore's laugh holds an arctic chill. "That your precious academic world will shield you from consequences?"

"No." I step back from the table, from everything it represents. "But I'd rather face those consequences than spend another second pretending this empire of yours is anything but poison."

The slap of my shoes against the marble floor echoes through the suddenly silent halls. Behind me, my mother calls my name. Not a command, but something closer to grief. I don't turn. Can't turn. The weight of generations of violence and power presses against my back, trying to pull me under.

Rain pounds against leaded glass as I reach the foyer. The front doors loom massive and dark, imported oak reinforced with steel cores. They represent every barrier between me and freedom, every obstacle my family created while calling it protection.

"You won't survive out there alone." Uncle Salvatore's voice carries from the dining room. "Not with what you know. Not with what you are."

My hand finds the door handle, cool metal grounding me in this moment of severance. "I'm not what you made me."

But even as I speak the words, Dario's voice echoes in my head: "Blood always tells." The truth of it burns in my chest as I step into the storm. Rain soaks through my suit, expensive wool becoming dead weight on my shoulders.

My car sits in the circular drive, water streaming off its polished curves. The keys feel wrong in my hand, one last gift from the family I'm rejecting. I leave them on the driver's seat and start walking.

Lightning turns the estate's grounds brilliant white. The gardens my mother tends stretch manicured and perfect, their carefullymaintained order a mirror for the control this family exerts over everything it touches. Thunder follows, nature's percussion marking my exile.

The iron gates part silently, the sensors recognizing me one final time. Beyond them, Montcove's lights glitter against low clouds. Somewhere in that maze of power and privilege, Dario waits, another wolf circling while I strip away my protections.

But he, at least, never pretended to be anything but what he is.

Rain traces cold fingers down my neck as I walk away from everything I've known. Each step carries me further from the certainty of family power and from the comfortable weight of the Valenti name. Behind me, the mansion's lights blur into a golden smear.

My phone buzzes, text messages flooding in as my mother and uncle spread word of my defection. Accounts will be frozen, doors will close, carefully maintained connections will dissolve like sugar in rain. By morning, I'll be cut off from every support system I've relied on.

But as I reach the main road, my steps feel lighter despite the storm. Sometimes the onlyway forward is to burn everything behind you.

Let them think they've stripped me of power. Let them believe I'm defenseless without their protection. They forgot the most important lesson they taught me: a cornered wolf is the most dangerous kind.

I turn my collar up against the rain and keep walking. Somewhere ahead, past the illusions of legitimacy and the comfortable lies of family loyalty, a different kind of truth waits.

Time to find out exactly what I am without their chains.

SIXTEEN

DARIO

The warehouse floor vibrates beneath my feet, tremors from the approaching storm matching the thunder of my boots against steel stairs. Marco's message still burns in my mind: Ferrara soldiers spotted trailing Rafael, moving like they've got more than surveillance in mind.

I take the steps three at a time, adrenaline surging through my veins. My security team's command center occupies the top floor, a maze of servers and surveillance equipment that keeps eyes on every corner of our territory. The space hums with urgent activity as I burst through the stairwell door.

Banks of monitors paint my face in digitalglow, each screen tracking a different piece of the emerging threat. Joey's fingers fly across keyboards, pulling up camera feeds from around Rafael's usual haunts. The tech catches my reflection in one of his screens and flinches.

"Report." The command sends my people scrambling.

Marco materializes from the shadows, tablet in hand. "Three teams converging. Professional gear, combat stance. Not the usual Ferrara street muscle." He swipes through photos, each one stoking the rage building in my chest. "They've been tracking his patterns for at least a week. Coffee shop, gym, library?—"

"My territory." The words come out as a growl. "They dare hunt on my fucking ground?"

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