Page 1 of Veil of Obsession
PROLOGUE
Lucio
Iknow this meeting will go to hell the moment that Romiro’s brother, Nicolo Esposito, speaks.
“I want Helen,” Nicolo says.
My brother, Eli, shakes his head. “No. Helen stays. She overstepped, took what wasn’t hers, and thought there’d be no consequences.”
Nicolo’s jaw tics, but when he speaks, his words come out measured, calm with an undercurrent of a threat. “You act like you’re the only one who wants her to suffer, Folonari. Be careful assuming you’re the only one with a vendetta.”
Romiro clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Helen has trespassed on Camorra territory. You may have assisted us in capturing her, but we still need to make sure that she is made an example of to those who dare to fuck with us.”
“You think I don’t know that, Rom? She’s the woman who traded you for a few lines of coke—like you were nothing.”
Romiro bristles at his brother’s words before his face hardens. “I don’t give a damn what she did. She’s ours now, andwe’re not handing her over just so you can play executioner. She took what belongs to us: our women, our own. you made your choice when you decided to stay away from the Camorra, but that doesn’t change a fucking thing for me.”
“You really think I’d let her off that easily? After all she did. Death would be a mercy—one she won’t get. Folonari is too reckless for this. That bitch knows exactly where to strike, and she’ll use those women against you because she knows they’re your weakness.”
Eli’s hand slams on the meeting table, the sound sharp in the silence. His voice drops to something lethal. “Careful, Nicolo. You’re in my territory, and just because Romiro is your brother doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate any disrespect toward the women in my family.”
Nicolo leans back, unfazed. “You think the Outfit forgot about Moretti’s girl? That stunt put a target on all your backs. And let’s not forget, when you tried to put their Capo in the ground, you didn’t finish the fucking job.”
Emiliano goes still. The kind of still that precedes bloodshed. My stomach knots. If Moretti is still breathing, that means trouble isn’t just coming. It’s already here.
My brother’s expression tightens, and I sit up in my seat. “What do you mean by trying? That fucker is rotting in his grave.”
Nicolo gives me a humorless smile and says, “You think that Moretti will die so easily? He’s like a cockroach that can’t be fucking stomped out.”
Silence. Then Emiliano exhales sharply.
“We thought we killed him,” he admits. “Turns out that he’s paralyzed from the waist down.”
I go rigid. “So you fucking knew, and you didn’t think to tell us?” My gaze snaps to Romiro. “Did you know as well?”
His expression tells me everything I need to know. So fucking typical of my older brother, keeping me out of everything even when I’m meant to be involved.
Ignoring the sting of betrayal tightening in my chest, I shove my chair back, the metal scraping against the marble floors. My fists clench at my sides, jaw locked to keep from saying something I can’t take back. The room feels too small. Too sharp. Like everyone here knew something I didn’t—and liked it that way.
“I’m heading out. You fuckers don’t care what I think, so there’s no need for me to be here.” I look at my younger brother, Matteo, and ask, “You coming along?”
I already know the answer before he utters it.
“Sit down, Lucio. This meeting is important.” His face is frozen in that blank sort of expression.
Of course he’d say that. He’s not the one who’s constantly being left out of everything.
“I’m good. I’m heading out.” I turn, but Emiliano’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Mariano, block the door, and don’t let him out unless I allow it.”
Mariano, an enforcer of the Camorra, steps into my path at my brother’s order. Grinding my teeth, I turn to Emiliano, he raises a brow as if challenging me to say something. Right now, he’s not acting as my older brother, but as my Capo.
“Fuck you,” I mutter under my breath as I sit back down.
“Repeat that louder, Lucio. If you want to insult someone, you’d better have the balls to do it properly,” he taunts.
I look up and find him smirking at me in that daunting, mocking way of his that makes you feel less than worthy of his presence.
