Forbidden Obsession (Book 1)

Chapter 6- Dante.

The villa smells of coffee and is quiet when I make my way down the stairs. My head feels like I’ve been hit by a truck, even though I haven’t touched a drop since the drink last night. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, perhaps it’s the rage still crawling under my skin like static.

I drag a hand through my hair as I cross the foyer. The house is calm, the kind of still that makes you listen harder. Halfway down the hall, I hear a laugh. Not the polite one she gives the world, but her real laugh, that open, bright, unguarded one.

For a second, my chest seizes. Maybe she’s in there with him, maybe she’s stupid enough to allow that boy into our kitchen. My pulse spikes hard enough to rattle my bones. I round the corner fast, ready to break something and stop. Relief hits like a gut punch when I see Nico, sitting at the counter with a croissant in hand, and her standing by the espresso machine, with her back to me. The shirt she’s wearing is too big, clearly not hers. The hem skims the tops of her thighs, legs bare, hair messy and tied up in an even messier bun.

When she turns around with a mug in each hand, smiling at something Nico says, I see the marks. His f*****g marks. Red handprints ghosted along her upper thighs, fading but still visible in the morning light. A few more near her collarbone, dark like wine bruises, her lips are a little puffy. Her laugh is easy, her skin glows. She looks…fucked. My jaw locks as I step inside. “Morning,” I say.

Nico looks up. “Yo. You’re up early.”

“Didn’t sleep much.”

Nina turns to me.“Hey. Coffee’s still hot. Want me to pour you some?”

I shake my head and move past her, straight to the barista machine.

I can feel her behind me, feel that f*****g shirt. The way it hangs off one shoulder, the way it smells like him, the way she’s wearing it like it’s hers now. Like she wore it after his hands were all over her and thought nothing of being seen in it. My hand wraps too tightly around the portafilter. I shove it into place with more force than necessary, hit the button. I don’t speak, just make my coffee, turn, lean against the counter, and take a sip.

Nico keeps talking about a basketball game. Nina nods, smiling, laughing in that soft, relaxed way I haven’t seen in weeks, like whatever happened last night cleared something in her chest, and I hate that I’m not the one who gave it to her.

Why do I hate it? You hate her, I remind myself; she betrayed you. But even I know that’s not true. But it should be.

I take another sip as my eyes catch on the bruise just under her jaw. He left it there, and she let him.

Woke up at six to sneak him out. No way does Seraphina Monticello voluntarily wake up that early, unless it’s for class, sass, or a secret goodbye. She doesn’t even look tired; she looks...satisfied. The kind of satisfaction that sinks into your bones, the kind you wear like perfume the next morning, and it clings to her now, wrapped around her like invisible silk, daring me to react.

I light a cigarette. The first drag is too deep and burns. Good, I need the burn.

“Thought you were quitting,” Nico mutters.

“Thought you were staying out of grown men’s business,” I shoot back.

He grins, and Nina snorts, amused. “He’s grumpy today,” she says, eyes flicking to me. “Did someone sleep on the wrong side of power and control?”

I don’t answer, just look at her a second too long. The silence stretches. She doesn’t flinch, and I hate that, too.

I turn my eyes to the window and blow smoke toward the glass. In my head, I keep seeing that shirt coming off, those legs wrapping around someone else, that laugh, but softer, that moan, but mine. I want to forget it. I want to tear it out of my skull with my bare hands, but I know the truth now, and the truth has her name, her scent, and his f*****g fingerprints all over her.

Nico leaves the kitchen a few minutes after she did, claiming he has to grab something from his room, but he doesn’t fool me. Not with that s**t-eating grin on his face when she leaned in close, whispered something in his ear, and winked before heading upstairs. Whatever she said had him chuckling into his damn coffee. Probably something about me.

My fourth cigarette’s half gone, fingers tapping against the mug beside me. I stare at the swirling smoke like it has answers I can’t bring myself to ask. I hate mornings, especially when the air still smells like her, when her laugh still echoes through the kitchen, when I have to pretend everything isn’t f*****g sideways inside me.

Footsteps pull me out of it. Silvio walks in first, already barking at someone over Bluetooth, scrolling through messages like the phone owes him blood. Massimo follows, yawning, shirtless, hair sticking up like he fought his pillow all night. Angelo comes last, tossing a protein bar across the counter to Nico, who just returned like he hasn’t been laughing with the devil upstairs.

“You all look like hell,” Angelo says, peeling the foil from his own bar.

“You look like a used condom,” Massimo mutters.

“Jesus Christ,” I breathe, sipping what’s left of my now cold coffee.

Silvio disconnects the call. “Shipment from last night was clean. Emir sent word. He’s impressed. Wants to meet again before the month’s end.”

“Then he can get on a plane,” Massimo grunts.“I’m not flying to Dubai again unless I get to sleep in a bed this time.”

Nico smirks. “Wasn’t it a palace last time?”

“With guards watching me piss.”

“Sounds like an upgrade from Angelo watching you piss.”

Angelo throws a napkin at him. I don’t laugh, I’m staring at the hallway.

I hear the soft sound of sneakers on tile, then her voice. “Good morning, boys.”

She walks in like she hasn’t just f****d my sanity into a thousand pieces. Hair pulled into a tight ponytail, black off-shoulder top hugging her waist, skinny jeans torn in all the right places, white sneakers that make her walk bounce just enough to turn motion into provocation. Her makeup’s subtle but perfect. All the bruises are gone, her neck is clean, but I know they’re there. I saw them.

My gaze drops to her throat, no trace. Of course, she covered them. And suddenly I see her again—the unholy, tainted version of her, all laughter and sin, the same one who cost me my father. She kisses Massimo on the cheek, then Angelo, then Silvio, who barely registers it. “You boys planning to be back before midnight?” she asks lightly, grabbing her keys from the hook by the door.

“Probably not,” Silvio says, distracted. “We have meetings. Might stretch late. Why?”

She gives him a sugary smile.“Just wondering. I like to know when I have the house to myself.”

Nico chokes on his orange juice.

Massimo squints. “What do you need the house for?”

She’s already out the door, ponytail swinging. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Byeeee.” The door clicks shut behind her.

Nico wheezes. “I love her.”

“She’s going to give me a heart attack,” Silvio mutters.

Angelo frowns.“Why is she so chipper at seven in the morning?”

I just stand there, staring at the door like it still holds her shape. That f*****g grin is like she knows. She knows exactly what she’s doing, knows I haven’t slept, knows I saw the marks, the shirt. She knows I’m standing in the kitchen, still tasting smoke and shame, while she skips off to class like the world is hers. And maybe it is, because no matter how powerful I am, no matter how many ports I own, no matter how many lives I’ve ended in silence, I can’t stop her from walking away.

But under all that wanting, something old and bitter wakes up, because she covered it up. She hid it, just like she hid back then, back when my father was bleeding out, and she was pretending not to know a thing. That same carelessness in her eyes this morning, the same quiet guilt she thinks she hides so well. Now the fury feels clean again, hot and familiar, the kind I know how to live with. Because maybe I was right all along, maybe she was never innocent. Maybe she’s still that girl who smiled while my world burned and made me want her anyway.