Page 5 of Depths of Obsession
I nod, keeping my expression neutral.
He staggers to his feet, swaying slightly, and shuffles toward the office door before disappearing inside. A moment later, I hear the familiar sound of drawers sliding open, the creak of leather, and a soft, rhythmic tapping. I take a deep breath, and the faint, acrid scent of cocaine hits me. I suspected it when I caught the whiff on De Carlo’s blood earlier, but now I know for sure—he’s using. Probably thinks he needs it to steel his nerves. It’s reckless and stupid, but that’s his problem, not mine. If he wants to be high when he faces Gazzago, so be it.
I turn away and drift down the dim hallway into the gallery. The walls are cluttered with modern art—random splashes of paint on canvas, chaotic and soulless. I miss the old days, the real art. Monet, Renoir—they created beauty that had depth, a soul. They also knew how to handle their liquor. We had wild afternoons together, laughing, drinking, living. This modern garbage lacks heart. It’s empty. A wave of melancholy tightens in my chest, and I fight the urge to dwell on the past clawing at the edges of my thoughts. It’s over. Done. As much as I miss it, it can’t be repeated. I think briefly of Vittoria. I don’t want the past to be repeated.
A rustling of papers pulls me back, and I glance up toward the loft. Pippa’s up there, still in the office, cursing under her breath as she packs up her things. She’s pissed, no doubt. That idiot in the back got her tangled in this mess. But she shouldn’t be surprised. Humans are assholes—always have been.
Her scent hits me. Lavender. It reminds me of France and my youth. Warm sunshine and good wine. Intoxicating. She is completely disheveled and vulnerable and it’s one of the deadliest combinations I’ve ever seen. My desire for her grows at a rapid and physical rate. If she doesn’t leave soon, I’m risk doing something I probably will regret. The fortune teller’s face flashes before my eyes.Stay away from her. She will bring about a great fall for you.Merda.
De Carlo moves in the back room, but I don’t bother to check on him. I don’t care. If he tries to run, I’ll catch him before he makes it five steps. I glance at my watch. Thirty agonizing minutes have dragged by. "Pippa," I call up, "time to go."
"I don’t want to have to come back!" she yells down, her frustration spilling out.
"You don’t want to be here when Gazzago arrives even more. Time to go," I growl. She needs to be gone. I can’t concentrate properly with her up there like that. The smell of blood and lavender are too much. It’s arousing all my senses along with parts of my anatomy, and I’m finding it difficult to keep myself under control.
She curses again, and sniffs. Is she crying?Please, no tears.I don’t do well with tears. Not since…I cut off that line of thinking. I know the sight of Pippa crying will be my undoing. “Now, Pippa.” I put urgency in my voice. I need her gone so I can focus. She’s too much of a distraction; a siren song to my soul. I give myself a mental shake and curse my brother for sending me here to look after her.
I thought it would be easier than this.
I was so wrong.
She gathers her stuff, and stomps down the stairs. "Why I thought this would be different, I have no fucking idea. I thought it’d be a fresh start, a new career—something good. Something not part ofla famiglia. But no; another fucking clusterfuck,” she snarls, venom lacing her words but I can see the frustration in the tracks of tears on her cheeks.
Fucking asshole. I will kill him for making her cry.
The gallery door creaks open, and I know it’s too late. There he is—the man himself. Tommy ‘Two-Guns’ Gazzago. He strides in, flanked by three bodyguards, one of them carrying what looks like a rolled-up rug. My stomach twists, killing all other thoughts.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. This could go south in a big hurry and with Pippa here it means I can’t just kill them all and have a feast.
Gazzago is short, round, and too perfect looking, almost like he’s made of plastic. His hair’s dyed jet-black, his face shaven smooth. But if he let the gray show and grew a beard, he’d look likeBabbo Natale. All he’d need is a sleigh and reindeer. Except this Santa’s a ruthless killer, hiding behind cherubic cheeks and twinkling eyes.
I step forward and give a curt nod. “Gazzago.”
“Valdici,” he replies, his tone sharp, all business. His gaze flickers to Pippa, and his eyes narrow on the blood on her shirt. His expression is alarming when he lifts his gaze to her face. “You’re Danillo’s girl, aren’t you? I heard you worked here. How’s your father enjoying his retirement? Now that Aldo married Mia off to his brother”—he gestures toward me—“he’s no longer head of the family, your father’s not top capo anymore. Tough break. And his brother betraying the family…” He makes a hand gesture that means she’s cursed.
Pippa glares silently. Gazzago isn’t expecting a response.
“Where’s my cousin? Why are you covered with his blood?” His voice is edged with impatience as he glares at Pippa.
“In the back,” I answer, matching his tone.
His gaze flicks back to me. “And the heart?”
I blink, caught off guard. “Heart?”
Gazzago’s nostrils flare, his voice drops to a menacing whisper. “Il cuora della regina.”
I stare at him, completely baffled. “The Queen’s Heart? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He glares at me, his once-twinkling eyes now hard. “The fucking Queen’s Heart,” he yells in his deep Italian accent. “That’s what my cousin was here for. Where. Is. The. Heart?”
I glance at Pippa, who frowns as she shakes her head slightly. I shrug and gesture toward the back room. “Let’s ask De Carlo.”
Gazzago nods. “Fine.”
“Pippa, head home,” I say, trying to keep her out of this.
But Gazzago shakes his head firmly and shoots out a hand to grab her arm. “I think this must be my cousin’s blood on her clothing; she is not leaving. No one leaves until I get the Heart.”
