Page 19 of His Ruthless Obsession

I sink into one of the leather chairs, my fingers tracing the smooth armrests. The city lights twinkle beyond the glass, peaceful and oblivious to whatever dangerous game is playing out in the shadows tonight.

My phone buzzes against the leather armrest, making me jump. The screen lights up with an unknown number. The message sends ice through my veins:

Pretty little club manager. Is he worth dying for?

Another buzz.

Tick tock. Choose wisely

A photo appears. It's me leaving work three days ago, heading to my car. The timestamp shows 2:53 AM.

"Shit." I stand up, pacing the length of Nerio's office. My hands shake as I dial his number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

"Miss Holliday?" Tony's voice comes through the door. "Everything okay in there?"

"Fine," I call back, but my voice cracks.

The phone buzzes again. This time it's a video. My finger hovers over the play button before I press it. The footage shows me at my favorite coffee shop this morning, laughing with the barista. Then it cuts to me watering the plants on my rooftop garden yesterday evening.

They've been watching. For days.

The phone slips from my trembling fingers, clattering onto the desk. I brace myself against the cool wood, trying to steady my breathing. The city lights blur through the windows as tears sting my eyes.

And then I watch as the messages suddenly delete themselves, leaving no trace. I grab my phone, trying to screenshot, to save something, anything - but they're gone. Only the memory remains, burning into my mind like a brand.

The chill crawling up my spine spreads through my entire body. I wrap my arms around myself, but I can't stop shaking. They're watching. Right now. Somewhere out there in the glittering cityscape, eyes are on this building. On me.

I've become a target. All because I let myself get tangled up with a capo who sets my world on fire with a single touch.

9

NERIO

The warehouse air reeks of gunpowder and blood. I press my back against a shipping container, pistol ready as footsteps echo through the darkness. The Mantiones walked right into our trap — predictable scum. They never could resist taking the bait when we dangled a shipment in front of them.

"Boss, they're coming around the east side." Marco's voice crackles through my earpiece.

"Hold position." I scan the shadows between containers, my finger resting on the trigger. "Nobody moves until I give the signal." The metal walls amplify every sound - dripping water, shuffling feet, ragged breathing.

A flash of movement catches my eye. Three figures dart between the metal boxes, their shoes scraping concrete. Amateur hour. These new Mantione recruits move like drunk bulls in a china shop.

"You're in Bueti territory," I call out, my voice bouncing off steel walls. "Last chance to walk away." Not that I expect them to take the offer, but it's always fun to watch them squirm.

Gunfire erupts, bullets pinging off the container beside my head. I drop and roll, coming up behind a wooden crate. Two ofmy men return fire from elevated positions, the muzzle flashes illuminating their grim faces.

"Fuck you, Bueti!" A voice I recognize - Sal Mantione, always running his mouth. The idiot couldn't keep quiet if his life depended on it. Which, tonight, it does.

I signal Marco and he tosses a flash bang. The explosion lights up the warehouse like daylight. Bodies scramble in confusion, cursing and stumbling over each other.

I emerge from cover, taking down two hostiles with precise shots. Blood sprays across cardboard boxes, painting abstract patterns in crimson. To my left, Ray grapples with a Mantione soldier, knives flashing in the dim light. The blade opens Ray's arm but he drives his knee into the guy's stomach, following with an elbow to the temple. The crack of bone is satisfying.

"Behind you!" Marco shouts, his voice sharp with urgency.

I spin as Sal charges, rage twisting his features into something feral. His punch grazes my jaw - sloppy technique. I grab his wrist, using his momentum to slam him face-first into the container. His nose crunches like broken glass. Before he can recover, I drive my knee into his kidney and press my gun to his head, grinding the metal against his temple.

"Tell your boss to stay out of our territory." I dig the barrel harder against his skull, feeling him flinch. "Next time we won't be so gentle."

"You're dead, Nerio." Blood bubbles from his broken nose, spittle flying as he snarls. "You hear me? Dead!"

---