Obsessed With My Beautiful Enemy

The lockdown

CHAPTER 11.

SALVATORE POV

The prisoner escaped. Three words. That was all it took for the entire fortress to feel poisoned.

I slid the magazine into the gun with a sharp click while Lena stood near the windows watching me carefully. Rain hammered against the glass behind her, silver lightning flashing across the dark ocean below the cliffs.

She looked afraid. But not of the gun, Of me. That should've satisfied something inside me. Instead, it irritated me.

"Stay in your room tonight," I ordered.

Her chin lifted immediately. "You don't get to command me every second."

My jaw tightened. Even now. Even with danger crawling through my house like a disease, she still challenged me.

Most people folded under pressure. Lena pushed harder.

"You think this is a game?" I asked quietly.

"No," she shot back. "I think you enjoy acting like everyone belongs to you."

Something dark moved low in my chest. Possession. Violent and immediate.

I stepped closer slowly. "You're still breathing because I decided you would."

Her expression flickered for half a second. Anger. Fear. Something else.

"Maybe that's the problem," she whispered.

God. The way she looked at me was becoming dangerous. Not because she feared me. Because she was starting to see me. And that was worse.

The office suddenly felt too small again. Too hot.

I dragged my attention away from her and pressed the comms button on the desk.

"Lock down the island."

Charlie answered instantly. "Already happening."

"No boats leave. Nobody moves without clearance."

"You think the spy had help?"

"I know he had help."

My eyes drifted back toward Lena automatically. She noticed. Of course she noticed.

"I'm not a traitor," she said coldly.

"I didn't say you were."

"You looked at me like you did."

"Everyone is suspicious tonight."

"That's convenient."

I ignored the accusation and grabbed my coat from the chair. The moment I moved toward the door, Lena crossed her arms.

"You're leaving?"

"I have work to do."

"So I'm supposed to just sit upstairs and wait while armed men search the fortress?"

"Yes."

Her laugh was sharp and humorless. "You really are insane."

I opened the office door halfway before answering. "And you're still here."

That shut her up for exactly two seconds.

"I'm here because you kidn*pped me."

"You could've stopped trying to escape."

Her eyes flashed instantly. "I'd rather die."

Lie. I saw it immediately. Not because she wanted to stay. Because part of her no longer wanted to leave me.

The realization hit like a slow knife sliding beneath my ribs. Dangerous. Addictive.

I left before I said something reckless.

The hall outside exploded with movement.

Soldiers rushed through the fortress while alarms echoed faintly through the lower levels. Rain-soaked guards dragged crates of weapons toward the security rooms.

The island was awake now. Violently awake.

Charlie met me halfway down the corridor. "We found blood near the east docks," he muttered. "Not much."

"Dogs?"

"Already tracking."

I nodded once. "What about the cameras?"

"Disabled for seven minutes."

That was professional work. It was too clean. That bothered me.

Because Dante didn't make mistakes unless he wanted people distracted from something worse.

Diego appeared from the stairwell adjusting black gloves over his hands. "You look homicidal," he observed.

"I am."

"Good. Keeps morale high."

I ignored him and kept walking. Diego fell into step beside me anyway.

"You think this is about the m******e?"

"Yes."

"Or Lena?"

My pace slowed slightly. Only slightly. Diego noticed anyway because nothing escaped him.

"That reaction answers enough," he murmured.

"She's connected somehow."

"Connected," he repeated dryly. "Right."

I stopped near the security room doors and looked at him directly. "Say what you actually mean."

He leaned casually against the wall. "I think you're losing perspective."

"I think you enjoy hearing yourself talk."

"I think," he continued calmly, "you're watching her too much."

Silence.

I moved closer slowly until Diego straightened from the wall.

"She matters because Dante wants her," I said evenly.

Diego held my stare. "That's not the only reason."

Something dangerous flickered through me instantly. Because he was right. And I hated that he was right.

Before I could answer, Charlie appeared again holding a small plastic evidence bag.

"We found this inside the prisoner's room."

Inside the bag sat a silver cross.

My blood turned cold instantly. No. Impossible.

I snatched the bag from his hand harder than necessary.

The cross looked old. Burned slightly around the edges.

My heartbeat slowed into something ugly. Something deadly.

Diego's expression shifted immediately. "Sal…"

I barely heard him.

Because I knew that cross. I remembered the smoke. Screaming. My mother shoving me behind her while gunfire tore through the mansion walls.

I remembered blood covering marble floors. Fire crawling across curtains.

And that cross hanging around my younger brother Marcus's neck the night he died.

Except Marcus's body was never recovered from the fire.

I stared at the necklace harder. No. No f*****g way.

"Where did you find this?" I asked quietly.

Charlie hesitated. That alone told me enough.

"Charlie."

"In Lena's hallway."

Everything inside me went still. The rain outside sounded distant suddenly. Muted.

Diego swore softly under his breath. "You think she planted it?" Charlie asked carefully.

I didn't answer immediately. Because my mind was already turning violent possibilities into facts.

Lena had been in my office tonight. Near the notes. Close to the prisoner.

But no. No, something about that felt wrong.

Lena wasn't careful enough for games like this. She reacted emotionally. Impulsively.

Dante played long psychological wars.

And yet

My chest tightened painfully.

What if she'd been lying from the beginning? What if every look, every argument, every moment between us had been manipulation?

The thought made rage crawl beneath my skin fast enough to burn.

"Where is she?" I asked.

Charlie frowned slightly. "Upstairs, I assume."

I was already moving. Fast.

The fortress blurred around me while boots pounded against marble floors. Guards stepped aside instantly when they saw my face.

Nobody stopped me. Nobody was stupid enough.

By the time I reached the west wing, thunder shook the windows hard enough to rattle the walls.

Two guards stood outside Lena's room. Both looked nervous immediately. Good.

"Did anyone enter?"

"No, boss."

"Did she leave?"

"No."

I opened the door without knocking.

Lena spun around instantly from beside the fireplace.

And for one horrible second

Relief hit me. Relief. Just seeing her still here. Alive. Safe and Mine.

I hated it immediately.

"What happened now?" she demanded.

I shut the door behind me slowly. "You tell me."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "What?"

I crossed the room and threw the evidence bag onto the table between us.

The silver cross slid across the wood.

The second Lena saw it, her expression changed completely. Shock. Real shock. Interesting.

"Where did you get that?" she whispered.

I studied her carefully. Every breath. Every blink. Every movement.

"You recognize it."

"That belonged to Marcus."

My pulse slowed dangerously. "How do you know that?"

"Because he wore it constantly." Her eyes snapped toward mine. "Why do you have it?"

I moved closer slowly. "We found it outside your room."

Silence.

Then anger exploded across her face. "You think it's mine?"

"I think someone put it there."

"And your first instinct was blaming me?"

"My first instinct is trusting nobody."

Her laugh broke sharply. "There it is again. The mighty Salvatore Romano terrified everyone around him."

"You should be careful tonight."

"You should stop accusing me of things I didn't do."

The fire cracked softly beside us while lightning flashed through the windows.

Lena looked beautiful when angry. That realization irritated me more than it should have.

Dark hair falling messily around her shoulders. Eyes bright with fury. Breathing uneven. Alive.

My gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before I forced it away again. Weakness. Dangerous weakness.

"You're hiding something," I muttered.

"So are you."

"You knew Marcus."

"I met him once when I was younger."

Something about her voice shifted. Sadness.

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "You liked him."

"He was kind to me."

The answer hit unexpectedly hard. Because Marcus had been kind. Before the m******e. Before blood turned everything rotten.

Lena looked down at the cross again slowly. "He used to protect me from my brothers," she admitted quietly.

The room went silent.

I stared at her. "You expect me to believe that?"

"You don't believe anything unless it feeds your anger."

My jaw flexed once.

She stepped closer before I could respond. "You know what your problem is?" she asked softly. "You want everyone to be monsters because it justifies what you've become."

The words landed harder than bullets. Because part of me feared she was right.

I grabbed her wrist before she could step away again. Fast. Instinctive.

Her breath caught immediately. Heat flashed between us so suddenly it felt violent.

"You talk too much," I murmured.

"And you threaten too much."

I tightened my grip slightly. Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind her exactly who stood in front of her.

But Lena didn't pull away. That was the dangerous part.

She looked down at my hand around her wrist before lifting her eyes back to mine slowly.

And something shifted. Again.

The storm outside disappeared. The fortress disappeared. All I could see was her. Too close. Too soft. Too tempting.

Then her gaze moved. Lower. Toward my throat.

I frowned slightly before realizing the top buttons of my shirt had come undone during the chaos downstairs.

The scar stretched visibly across my collarbone. White against skin. Ugly. A permanent reminder of fire.

Lena stared at it silently.

I released her wrist immediately and stepped back. Big mistake.

Because the look on her face wasn't scary. It was painful.

"Who gave you that scar?" she asked quietly.

I should've lied. Should've shut the conversation down immediately.

Instead I heard myself answer. "My uncle pulled me through burning debris the night of the massacre."

Her expression softened before she could stop it. That softness almost destroyed my control.

"Salvatore…"

"Don't."

But she moved closer anyway. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching something wounded.

Every instinct inside me screamed to stop her. Nobody touched me. Nobody. Not without consequences.

But Lena reached toward my collar slowly before her fingers brushed the scar lightly.

The contact lasted maybe two seconds. Maybe less. Still

My entire body locked instantly. Christ.

The feeling hit harder than violence ever had. Her fingertips were warm. Gentle. Too gentle.

Something brutal cracked open inside my chest before I could stop it.

Lena realized what she'd done immediately and tried pulling her hand away.

I caught it. Hard.

Her breath stumbled. Mine did too.

We stared at each other in heavy silence. Her pulse fluttered wildly beneath my fingers.

"You shouldn't touch things that belong to dangerous men," I said quietly.

Her lips parted slightly. "Maybe I wanted to see if you were real."

That answer nearly ruined me.

I stepped closer without thinking. Close enough to feel her breathing now. Close enough to lose perspective completely.

The storm outside shook the windows violently. But inside this room

Everything felt still.

Lena swallowed slowly while my hand remained wrapped around hers.

"You look at me like you hate me," she whispered.

"I do."

"Not all the time."

The honesty in that almost pissed me off. Because she saw too much. Again.

My gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. One mistake. That was all it took.

The tension shifted instantly. Dangerously.

Lena noticed. God help me, she noticed.

"You're staring again," she breathed.

"And you're still here."

Neither of us moved. The space between us felt razor thin now. One wrong decision away from disaster.

Then

A gunshot exploded somewhere downstairs.

Lena flinched violently.

And a second later the alarms screamed to life.