Page 77 of The Don's Forbidden Obsession

“I’ll kill her if you don’t agree, and I’ll also kill her if she speaks out of turn,” I said. I looked at her through narrowed slits before ending the call.

I wasn’t going to let her ruin this.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” I hissed through gritted teeth. “Do you think I’m joking?”

She looked at me, her expression steeled and unrelenting.

“In the world I come from, the mob operates with a set of rules,” I explain. “In my world, the don chooses everything. In my world, people are murdered for disagreeing.”

Her gaze softened for a second, a mixture of hurt and understanding in her eyes. It tore at my soul — but only for a moment. That was all I would allow.

“Marriage isn’t supposed to work that way,” she said, her voice filled with raw emotion. “Love should be built on trust and respect, and there should be the freedom to make your choices. You can't force me into a marriage, and neither can he.”

Her words pierced me, a painful awakening to the truth I had neglected. She didn’t live by the same rules I did, so she wasn’t bound by the same loyalty.

She didn’t seem like she would relent. So, maybe I would have to sweeten the deal.

“Marry me, or I’ll kill your father.”

Her eyes widened.

I knew it.

I had won.

A part of me felt guilty all the same. That part was small. And it was weak. Weak enough to be pushed to the side and buried deeply as I spoke to her.

“You’re a bastard,” she whispered, pulling her knees to her chest as she sat on the bed. I stood there, my heart heavy with guilt and regret. That part was starting to edge its way to the surface.

But I knew I couldn’t let it.

I had to remain in control.

The air between us crackled with tension as her eyes blazed with a mix of anger and confusion.

I, too, was confused.

About everything.

Especially about our last physical encounter.

How had that happened? And why?

"Why?" I finally managed to choke out, my voice filled with desperation to understand. “Why did you... why didwe... after everything I've done to you?”

Annabelle's eyes narrowed, her face contorted with a mixture of conflicting emotions. “I don’t know,” she trailed off, defeated. “I should hate you,” she whispered. She paused, her voice trembling as she continued, her words now infused with a vulnerability I hadn’t seen with her yet. "But I don’t. I can't. And I don’t know why."

Her admission hit me like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind from me and tearing down any walls I had up.

How much more complicated was I making this?

"I don't understand," I whispered, my voice filled with equal parts disbelief and longing. "How can you not want to shoot me? How can you stand there and say you don’t hate me?”

Annabelle took a step closer, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t know.”

Her confusion about the situation seeped into my soul, poking and prodding at the layers of guilt and shame that weighed down on me.

Did she feel something?

---