Page 83 of Obsession & Oath

Because I’m not sure that Brooklyn is home anymore.

Chapter23

Dante

The flight from Italy to New York had been silent. Carmen didn’t speak, and I couldn’t bring myself to say anything that would make a difference.

She sat by the window, staring blankly out at the clouds, her hands curled into fists in her lap. I spent the entire flight pretending I wasn’t stealing glances at her, pretending I didn’t want to reach out.

Pretending I didn’t feel like I was being carved open, inch by inch, the closer we got to Brooklyn.

Now, as we step into the Prince’s Guild Casino, the weight of what I’ve done slams into me like a freight train.

Carmen doesn’t fight when the men move in to take her.

They don’t need to grab her—she follows with a quiet sort of resignation that makes something in my chest twist violently. There’s no fire in her eyes, no sharp remark on her lips. Just acceptance.

The contrast between now and how she fought, tooth and nail, for every inch of freedom when we were last here…

That’s what kills me the most.

But these men don’t acknowledge her as anything more than a body to be moved. They don’t know what she’s been through, what we’ve been through. They don’t care.

I remind myself that neither should I.

Mia’s life is on the line. This is the deal. This is what has to happen.

But watching Carmen disappear down the hall, her back stiff, her head high despite everything—I feel it. The ache of her absence. A wound torn open inside me that I have no idea how to close.

I force myself to move.

Leon is waiting. Rocco, too.

I shove everything down—the anger, the regret, the unbearable urge to turn around and go after her. I keep walking past the flashing lights, the familiar faces, the place I once thought of as home.

But nothing feels like home anymore.

The back rooms haven’t changed much since I was last here, but there’s still evidence of my five months of absence littered across the space.

Maps cover the far wall, battle plans pinned alongside them, red ink marking territory lost, alliances severed. The air is thick with tension, the scent of stale coffee and cigarettes lingering beneath the sharper tang of gun oil.

Rocco stands near the center, arms crossed, his usual easy smirk nowhere to be found. When he visited the Iron Castle months ago, there was still a glimmer of light in his eyes. Now, he just looks tired. He looks more tired than I’ve ever seen him look.

Teo Vitale is at the head of the table, his fingers tapping absently against the surface as he stares at the screen before him. He’s as dark and unreadable as ever, his mind likely three steps ahead of whatever conversation is about to take place.

And then there’s Leon.

The don of the Prince’s Guild sits at the far end of the room, leaning back in his chair, exhaustion carved into the lines of his face.

He’s always been formidable and brutal in the face of war, the only one capable of pulling us through this mess.

But months without Mia have taken their toll. There’s an edge to him now, something fraying at the seams. His dark blonde hair has outgrown its style. The deep, black rings beneath his eyes are evident on his usually tan skin.

His sharp gaze lifts as I enter, and for the first time since I landed, I see something other than exhaustion. Relief.

“Dante,” Leon says, his voice steady despite everything. “Good. We need to move quickly.”

I nod and take a seat, eyes scanning the table. I recognize most of the men here, but the gaps are obvious. There are fewer familiar faces than before. The war has been bleeding us dry.

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