Page 73 of His Ruthless Obsession

"Right." I cross my arms. "Because mysterious whispered conversations are totally normal."

"Jazz." His tone carries a warning edge. "Drop it."

"Fine."

But something feels off about the exchange. Marco usually at least acknowledges me with a nod, and Nerio's deflection seems forced. I've learned to read the subtle shifts in his demeanor over these past months — the way his jaw tightens, how his fingers drum against the bar top now.

I don't want to know what he's doing all the time, I've decided. So he tries to come home at a reasonable hour, and I don't ask what's happened. But each time I see him, I'm filled with relief.

I wonder where he's going tonight.

"Come here." He pulls me back against his chest, lips brushing my ear. "Let's focus on more interesting things."

But even as he tries to distract me, I can't shake the feeling that whatever Marco whispered has set something in motion. Something Nerio doesn't want me to know about.

"We should head home." Nerio's hand slides down my arm. "The staff can handle things here."

I glance at the packed dance floor below. "It's not exactly slow tonight."

"Oliver's got it covered." He brushes a curl from my face. "Unless you don't trust your head bartender?"

"Playing dirty." I shake my head but grab my purse from behind the bar. "Let me just tell Oliver-"

"Already done." His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd toward the private exit.

The night air hits my skin as we emerge into the parking lot. Nerio's BMW gleams under the fluorescent lights, and he opens the passenger door for me before sliding into the driver's seat. The engine purrs to life, and he shifts into first gear with practiced ease.

City lights blur past as we wind through the streets. I've grown to love these late-night drives, watching Chicago's skyline reflect off the windshield while Nerio's hand rests on my thigh.

It's not too long before we are home, and the private elevator whisks us up to the penthouse. Instead of heading inside, Nerio leads me straight to the terrace, barely letting me kick my heels off first. The glass doors slide open with a soft hiss.

"Look at this view." He wraps his arms around my waist from behind.

The city sprawls before us, a tapestry of twinkling lights and shadowed towers. My plants rustle in the breeze, their leaves dancing against the railing. The irrigation system hums quietly, misting the herbs I've started growing in the built-in planters.

"I never get tired of it." I lean back against his chest. "Though I think my basil's getting too much water."

"Only you would notice the herbs instead of that sunset." He chuckles, pointing to where pink and orange streak across the sky between skyscrapers.

"The herbs are important." He tips his head down to kiss my neck. "They make your cooking taste better."

"Is that so?" His fingers trace patterns on my hip. "I thought my cooking was already perfect."

"Fishing for compliments now?"

"Maybe." I feel him take a step away, and I already miss his warmth. "Is it working?"

I turn to face him, but my breath catches. Nerio is down on one knee, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face. His usual mask of control has slipped, revealing something raw and vulnerable in those storm-gray eyes.

"Nerio…"

"Yes, little dove?"

I press my hands to my mouth as I take him in. "What are you doing?"

"Jazz." His voice is rough with emotion. "There's so much I've wanted to tell you for so long. I've been obsessed with you since the first second I saw you. I knew you were different. And I had to have you."

My heart hammers against my ribs as he pulls out a black velvet box. "Nerio..."

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