Page 3 of The Hitman's Forbidden Obsession

She’s mine.

She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m coming for her.

Not to kill her.

To claim her.

Chapter Two

Dante

The black SUV feels like a tomb, but I don’t move. I’m parked across the street from the library, my eyes glued to the glass front of the building like a moth to a flame. Early afternoon sunlight filters through the windows, lighting up the quiet sanctuary inside.

There she is. Avery. My angel.

She moves with an effortless grace, stacking books, helping patrons, laughing softly with coworkers like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Like there isn’t someone out there plotting her death. And even though I can’t hear it, I already know that laugh sounds like a prayer.

Her pale pink dress hugs curves that should be for my eyes only. Petite but lush. Innocent but ripe. I see the way the fabric clings just enough, the way she nibbles her lower lip whenever she’s concentrating. Every motion she makes is like a hymn written in flesh and bone.

She’s not just beautiful. She’s pure. Soft. Too damn soft to survive in a world like mine.

I’m the devil sitting across the street, watching an angel whose light could burn me to ash. But that light... God, it makes me want to corrupt her. To pull her into my darkness and make her moan my name until her sweet voice is hoarse.

I shouldn’t be here. Not just because of what I am, but because I’m supposed to be the one who ends lives, not saves them. Yet here I am, watching her, driven by some sick kind of obsession.

She’s my angel, and no one is going to hurt her on my watch.

I’ll shadow every step she takes, shield her from every threat. Because she belongs to me.

And I’ll protect what’s mine, no matter the cost.

A yellow school bus pulls up across the street, its brakes hissing like a beast exhaling steam. A moment later, a wave of tiny bodies pour into the library. The kids, who are maybe in first or second grade, are being herded by two harried looking teachers.

As I watch, Avery steps out from behind the front desk with that soft, radiant smile already blooming across her face. She kneels to greet the kids, crouching low so her summer dress fans out around her like petals. She speaks to them on their level, her face animated, arms moving as she gestures, expressive and warm.

She’s glowing.

And it hits me all over again, like a punch to the chest. No. Deeper than that. Like a shift in the earth beneath me. A rewiring of instinct. Of purpose.

She was made for this.

Not just the books. Not just the library. But the way her eyes shine when one of the kids hugs her. The way she tilts her head to listen, giving a little boy her full attention while he babbles about... whatever it is that kids babble about.

That softness in her, it’s real. Not a mask. Not a performance. It’s who she is.

And it’s everything I never knew I needed.

I grip the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. She was made to be mine, and the idea that someone wants to hurt her seems like the worst crime on earth. I want her bound to me in every possible way. I want to bury myself inside her, claim every sweet, fertile inch of her until she’s full of me.

I want to see her glow like this every damn day, with our child in her arms and my ring on her finger.

I’d give her anything she asks for. A thousand books. A house in the clouds. Her name written in the stars.

But most of all, I want her round with my baby. With all the babies I plan to have with her. A whole future together built on love and happiness.

Because she deserves it. The peace. The joy. The kind of safety you don’t have to earn.

And I’m going to make sure she gets it, even if I have to burn the world to the ground to keep it that way.

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