Page 25 of Dangerous Obsession

Matty—must be another brother… I sigh and sit down in the car as Matty backs away shaking his head. He looks at me with disappointment and disgust, as if I’m a disease that has plagued his brother and all he wanted was to have me gone so he could have his brother back.

Leo climbs into the car and slams it into gear with the gun still in his hand. The way he peels out scares me. I grip the handle and whimper, then buckle myself in as inertia lets up and I have a moment to breathe. If what Matty said was true, then I may be in danger.

So why do I feel safer with Leo than back there? Or before he returned to my life for that matter….

15

LEO

Every day for one week now I’ve done this. I pace the floor all night while she sleeps, nap while she’s showering. I live off of energy drinks and coffee, and she has never been safer. It was easier to watch her like this when I had the help of my soldiers, but with my father all but cutting me off, I have no support. Dominic doesn’t answer or return my calls. Sven continues to try to convince me to bring her back every time we speak, and Matty and Rome have been ordered not to speak to me.

I glance at her, seated in the recliner flipping through the stations on the television. She looks relaxed here. This safehouse is farther out from the city, north of Newark, but still close enough to be in the hot zone if the Italians find us. Dad had it set up to protect us as teens after Mom died. Only Dom and Sven remained at home with him. Matty, Rome and I were sent here with a nanny and a dozen or more gunmen until Dad was sure things were cleared up at home. I always took offense at that, Sven being younger than me, that he thought Sven was stronger somehow.

Willow looks up at me and tosses the remote onto the glass-top coffee table. “I’m bored.” Her attitude has bothered me for days, and now she’s really frustrating me.

“Yeah, well, go read a book.” I gesture with a thumb over my shoulder into the den. She complains every day about something, but at least this safe house has more than one room and clean water. The fridge is stocked, thanks to the grocery delivery service, and she has no need to be afraid or upset.

“Look, when can I get back to my real life? I want to paint and sculpt. It’s how I relieve stress.” Willow squirms, stretching her legs out before turning in the chair and curling them back to her chest.

I push the curtain aside with my finger and look out. I do this too, every day watching to make sure we’re not made. Then I turn to face her. “You’re not going back Willow. Reba Sanders doesn’t exist; she never did. Your art, your gallery, your career—it’s over. If you want to paint or sculpt, I can have some things delivered here, but until the heat dies down and we can get you a real new identity, you’re staying here.”

She scowls at me and clenches her jaw, her lips pursing into an angry pout. I don’t care if she likes it or not. It’s just what has to happen now to keep her safe. I move away from the window toward the kitchen. It’s time for me to check out back. Normally I make my rounds like this once an hour and she ignores me, but this time she follows me. Her feet slap against the floor angrily.

“I don’t want to feel like a prisoner. Matty told me that you were dangerous, just obsessed with me. That you don’t really care about me, because you can’t. Are you a sociopath?” Her accusation stings. Why would Matty tell her that?

I tuck my chin, trying to ignore the inciteful words, but I can’t pretend she didn’t just accuse me of something so disgusting. I turn to face her and take a few calming breaths. We haven’t had an argument all week since I got her away from Sven, and this is only happening because she wants to stretch her legs a little. I’m getting cabin fever now too.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do mean it. He said you were a mental case. Do you even feel emotion? Do you even care what happens to me?” She walks around the kitchen table, leaning on the old metal-framed chairs. The floral, white vinyl has seen better days, but it brings back good memories, so my brothers and I have never updated this place. “Maybe you are a sociopath.”

“Willow, I’m going to ask you not to talk to me like that.”

“Why? Because anger is the only emotion you can actually feel?” She chooses her words carefully, circling around the table as I follow her.

“I feel…”

“What do you feel? Rage? Sadness? Loss of control? Making me your slave and keeping me here makes you feel better?” Her eyes look me up and down. She’s reading me. I move around the table slowly, tracing her footsteps and she continues forward.

“Does it make you feel like less of a person because I haven’t told you I love you? Is that what this is about? You need those words in order to be able to trust me?” I’m calm, but at any minute I know my monster will emerge and tear her limb from limb, at least metaphorically. I could never hurt her.

“Does it enrage you that I want to leave here and you?” Her eyes narrow. Now she’s just trying to push my buttons. And it’s working. “That my life is something that you’ll never be? That I’d rather go back to being an artist than be the sex partner of a Bratva member?”

“You don’t mean that,” I tell her, but she chuckles.

“Don’t I? Your father gave me five million dollars to walk away. I almost said no. I only accepted it when you told me it was over. That’s when my heart needed you to choose me. Not now. Not when you get to come out in a blaze of glory shooting up the Italians in an attempt to prove you’re something you’re not.”

I can’t take it anymore. She’s infuriating. She just does this to make me upset, and it works every time. I rush around the table and grab her arms, then push her against the wall and pin her there. “You have no idea what I am or am not. You’ve known me a few weeks, and the man you knew years ago, he’s gone.” I breath down the front of her top, glancing at the soft curve of her breasts. Then I look her in the eye as I lick my lips.

“So you turned me away because…?”

“My father made me.” Her body pressed against mine arouses me. I feel my cock beginning to swell as she continues her verbal assault. I have no idea why it gets me going when she’s angry with me, but I don't want it to stop.

“You were a grown man—”

“With a gun to my head. Do you think I wanted to be ostracized from my family and watch them murder you?” My words seem to smack her in the face.

“So where is your loyalty now?” she spits, squirming in my grasp.

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