Page 111 of Obsession & Oath

Dante shifts, adjusting his hold on me, and then—I’m moving.

He’s carrying me.

I don’t resist. I don’t look back.

* * *

I don’t remember much from those first few days after the mansion.

There are flashes—strong arms carrying me through the smoke and gunfire, the roar of flames devouring everything I had ever known, the sound of a car door slamming, the hum of an engine as we drove into the night.

Then darkness.

Sleep came in fits and starts. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father’s body, saw the blood. Saw the look in his eyes right before I pulled the trigger.

I wake gasping for breath, my hands trembling. I am pulled into a warm embrace, and a steady heartbeat anchors my breathing again. Careful hands card through my hair.

Sometimes I can almost imagine a different bed, a different home. One an ocean away.

In reality, we’re staying in a safe house. I spend most of my time resting, curled up in bed or nestled in an armchair by the window, watching the rain drizzle against the glass.

Dante is there as much as he can be, a gentle, calming presence. Warm and lovely. Kind and anchoring. Soft with me despite the brutality I now know he’s capable of.

But the Prince’s Guild often holds their meetings here, voices low and serious. I catch fragments of conversation when the doors are left ajar.

And, of course, Ilisten—because listening is what I’ve always done best.

“The mansion’s gone. Burned it to the ground.”

“The war’s over.”

“The remaining Cartel forces want Carmen back. She’s the only heir to the Rubio name.”

I stiffen at that. The idea ofgoing back—of stepping into the ruins of my father’s world—makes bile rise in my throat.

No.

I won’t do it.

Dante finds me later that night, curled up in bed, staring at the ceiling. He sits beside me, and oh, it feels likehome.

“The Guild is starting peace negotiations soon,” he says. “You don’t have to be a part of it if you don’t want to.”

I turn my head to look at him.

His dark eyes are steady, full of a quiet certainty that settles something deep inside me.

“I don’t know.”

A slow exhale leaves him, and he reaches out, his hand settling over mine.

“Then you don’t need to do anything yet,” he promises.

A lump forms in my throat. I squeeze his hand.

For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can finallybreathe.

And as I rest a hand against my stomach, feeling the soft flutter of life within me, I know?—

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