Page 26 of Veil of Obsession
Even in my own home.
I can’t believethat as punishment for coming in last in last night’s poker game, I’m forced to escort Mara to the mall. The place is busy, high-end designer storefronts lined up like a shrine to excess. Mara, of course, is in her element, her hands full of bags, her guards carrying even more.
I walk beside her, scowling as another bag is shoved into my arms. “This is getting ridiculous.”
Mara barely spares me a glance. “Quit whining. You lost. Own it.”
I shift the bags in my grip. “I didn’t lose. I was distracted.”
“Sure,” she hums. “By the way, the color looks great on you. Very chic.”
I glance down. One of the bags is a nauseating shade of pink.
I glare at her. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I grumble under my breath, but she just keeps walking, stopping in front of another boutique. The guards hesitate, their arms full. I sigh and take another bag from Mara, muttering a curse.
“See? You’re a natural.” Mara shoots me a smile. Smug little shit.
“Don’t push me, brat.”
She laughs, turning toward the store. I gesture toward the guards.
“Take the bags to the car. We’ll be here a while.”
They nod, walking off and leaving me standing at the boutique entrance, watching Mara sift through designer dresses. But that unease lingers, curling around my ribs like a vise.
The hairs on my neck rise. Someone is watching me. And this time, I know it’s not my imagination.
10
Lucio
Iadjust my cufflinks before killing the engine and stepping out of my car. The evening air is thick with the last golden hues of sunset, and the townhouse of the Hoffmans looms before me—ornate, the kind of place that screams, “Look at me. I’m rich and powerful.”
My shoes tap against the pavement as I approach, the wrought-iron fence casting long, curling shadows in the dimming light.
The steps are pristine, freshly painted, the kind that demand careful footing, not the careless scuff of a man unbothered by appearances. Being the impatient asshole I’ve always been, I take two steps at a time before stopping in front of the door. The number55gleams just above the lion head-shaped knocker.
I quickly knock on the door, three steady and loud taps. Footsteps scurry from the other side of the door before it swings open and I’m met by a man in a tailcoat, bowtie, and gloves. He gives me a nod before gesturing for me to come in, and I have to smother my smirk with my palm. As I step into the warm glowof the hall, I’m met with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and an oil painting of some dead ancestor staring me down like he already knows what I am.
Dana’s father is first to greet me. Ernie Hoffman: CEO, politician, and puppet master. The kind of man who only cares for prestige, money, and power. It’s the only reason he’s allowed me to take his daughter to the charity ball that the Maronis are holding for some sort of environmental organization. He gives me a tight-lipped smile, his bald head gleaming under the light of the chandeliers.
“Lucio.” His voice reminds me of nails on a chalkboard. “Welcome.”
“Mr. Hoffman.” I take his outstretched hand, squeezing it tightly. He winces, and I have to hide my smile. “Appreciate you allowing me to take your daughter out.”
He chuckles. “How could I refuse the younger brother of a dear friend and business partner?”
And there it is. That tone. I know that tone. I’ve memorized it. The greedy fucker wants me to talk to Emiliano about doing business with him. Hell will freeze over before that happens. Ernie Hoffman is known to kill businesses, not start them. The only reason this fucker is still rich is because of his younger brothers and their generational wealth.
Dana is right on cue, appearing at the top of the grand staircase. Her hand glides over the rail.
“This is a surprise.” She offers me a practiced smile. “I thought you were going to send a car.”
She’s in a long off-the-shoulder emerald dress, fitted as if she was sewn into it. A perfect fucking doll. Beautiful, poised, but empty behind the eyes.
