Page 62 of Depths of Obsession
"Pippa," I reply, trying to keep my voice calm, determined, "I will not let you marry that beast. I promised I'd protect you, and I intend to keep that promise."
"But—" she starts, her lips parting as if she's searching for the right words.
"No buts." I reach for her hand, but she pulls away, and it stings more than I'd like to admit. "There is a guy waiting upstairs to marry us, and once we sign the papers, it’s done."
I step out of the car, heading toward the freight elevator. But as I reach the elevator door, I notice Pippa hasn't moved. I return to the car to find her still sitting in the passenger seat, her hands trembling slightly on her lap, her eyes wide and filled with uncertainty. I cocking an eyebrow at her.
She slowly opens the door, climbing out, her expression a mixture of fear and disbelief. Is marrying me really such a terrible thing? It stings to see the hesitation, to see her fear. I thought we had something real. Maybe I was wrong. But no matter what, I refuse to let her fall into Gazzago’s hands. I will marry her—even if I have to let her go after, even if she doesn’t love me back. But she will be mine, and no other man will touch her. If they do, they’ll die. It’s as simple as that.
"Luca," she begins, her voice soft, pleading, but I wave her off.
"There’s nothing more to discuss, Pippa. We need to get upstairs, now. Renzo will be here with Gazzago within the hour. I put him off until six, but it’s already almost five. We need to have this finished before they arrive."
I turn, moving toward the elevator, gratified to hear her footsteps finally following behind me. Once inside the lift, the hum of the mechanicals fills the silence between us, the metal creaking as we ascend. I cast a quick glance at her—she looks pale, her eyes downcast, her hands twisting together in her lap.
We step into the loft, and I lead her to inside where Rocco waits. He’s dressed in a sharp navy suit, his face solemn.
"Is everything organized?" I ask.
Rocco nods, his eyes flicking to Pippa, then back to me. "Sei sicuro di questo?" he asks, his tone gentle but questioning. Are you sure about this? Pippa spares me a glance, but trudges away from us.
"Yes, I’m sure," I reply firmly, ignoring the unease bubbling in my chest.
He shrugs, giving me a look that tells me he has his doubts, but will follow my lead. "Everything is set but… uh…”
“What?” I say.
“More overdoses. This time New York. It happened last weekend but I didn’t get word until now. They didn’t die until Tuesday. It took a while for the cops to track it back to the club. They’ve reached out to Interpol and are putting the pieces together. I just got word about it.”
“Fuck.” I heave a resigned breath. “We’ll deal with it later. I have to get ready.” I turn toward the hallway, heading to my room. This is not how I thought this day would go. Suddenly, a shout echoes through the loft.
"Oh my God!" Pippa’s voice. Surprise laces every word, and I’m sprinting down the hall before I even know it.
I burst into the room, my eyes scanning for danger. "What is it? What’s wrong?"
Pippa stands frozen in the middle of the room, her eyes wide, her mouth open in disbelief. Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I can’t tell if she’s scared or angry. "You did all this?" she whispers, her eyes flicking around the room.
I glance around, my eyes following hers. The room is… well, overdone, now that I think about it. There are rose petals scattered across the bed, arranged in a heart shape. The dress I chose for her—a sleek, fitted gown with intricate beading on the bodice—is on a hanger over the door, shimmering in the soft light. The neckline mirrors the one she wore to the club, the one that caught my eye and wouldn't let go. Matching shoes and a veil rest nearby.
"Well, I had people do it, yes," I say, scratching the back of my head. "I thought you might feel better about all this if you had a proper wedding dress. And, you know, help with your hair."
Marie, the stylist from one of the top salons in town, stands in the corner, a polite smile on her face.
Pippa blinks, her eyes glistening with emotion. She looks overwhelmed.
I step closer, my heart pounding in my chest. "Is it… not what you wanted? I’m sorry. With the timing, I?—"
She shakes her head quickly, her eyes filling with the sheen of tears. "It’s perfect," she whispers, her voice breaking.
Relief floods me, and I retrieve two small velvet boxes from the dresser. "These are for you," I say, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "You need to get ready. You have half an hour, little one. No more." She stares at me, her eyes wide, and she nods as I turn and leave the room.
Am I dreaming and just don’t recognize it? Pippa Dominici no longer seems real. Like someone has commandeered my existence. The roses, the bed, the gorgeous dress that looks like it will fit to perfection.
Marie takes charge the moment Luca leaves, bustling around the room as if she’s done this a thousand times before. "Perhaps a quick shower?" she offers, her eyes assessing me.
"I just had one," I reply, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. My hair is still damp and tangled.
"Good. Then let’s get to work, shall we?" She guides me to a leather chair in the center of the room, and starts brushing my hair, humming softly as she works. Her fingers are efficient as she wraps sections of my hair in heated rollers, her humming oddly soothing. I stare at the dress—my dress—and it takes my breath away. It's beautiful, stunning, and exactly what I would have chosen for myself. The shoes, the veil—it’s all so perfect. It’s too perfect.
