MAFIA’s OBSESSION

Chapter Thirteen

“Tell me I’m not the only one thinking about running.” Kimberly said in a terrible attempt to plan an escape.

“I’m absolutely thinking about running,” Olivia said. “I’m just also thinking about not dying.”

I snorted despite myself. “Good priorities.”

Kimberly glanced over her shoulder. “Lower your voice. They’re literally everywhere.”

“As if whispering will save us,” Olivia muttered. “If I make it out of here alive, I’m never complaining about my apartment or my neighbors again.”

We were walking along a stone path that curved away from the main building, the morning air cool against my skin. The estate stretched endlessly around us, too big to feel accidental.

“So,” Olivia said, eyeing the guards posted near the trees, “if we sprinted right now”

“We wouldn’t make it past the second building,” Kimberly cut in.

“Third, if we zigzag,” Olivia argued.

“I am not zigzagging for my life,” I said. “I trip on flat surfaces.”

That earned a small laugh from Kimberly. It felt good. Dangerous, but good.

We stopped near the lake, its surface smooth and deceptively calm.

Olivia stared at it thoughtfully. “We could swim.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Across a lake we don’t know the depth of, surrounded by armed men?”

“Details,” she said. “Very rude details.”

Kimberly folded her arms. “They’d shoot us before we hit the water.”

Olivia sighed. “You’re both killing the fantasy.”

I sank down onto the grass, hugging my knees. “We’re not getting out by force.”

“Then how?” Kimberly asked quietly.

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know. And that terrified me more than anything else.

After what felt like hours of endless rants about an escape plan. The young maid whom I’ve come to know as Anna called us in for lunch.

At the table, Olivia was halfway through a rant about captivity décor when Lucas, Marcus’s cousin, as he introduced himself, appeared looking far too relaxed for a man who worked for a crime syndicate.

“Good afternoon ladies,” he said. “You’ll be happy to hear your belongings have been retrieved.”

Kimberly’s head snapped up. “All of them?”

“Yes,” Lucas said. “From Bennett Mansion.”

“Oh my God,” Olivia breathed. “My skincare.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “When?”

“Already on the way.”

Kimberly smiled for the first time since we arrived. “Thank you.”

Lucas dipped his head slightly. “You’re welcome.”

I hesitated, then asked, “Where’s Marcus?”

Lucas’ eyes flicked to me quick, assessing. “Away.”

“Away where?” Olivia asked.

“Business.”

“So he’s not… around?” I pressed.

Lucas’ mouth twitched. “He won’t be babysitting you.”

Kimberly glanced between us. “That’s supposed to make us feel better?”

“It should,” Lucas said evenly.

Olivia leaned closer to me. “Do you think he’s mad we’re enjoying ourselves?”

I shot her a look. “We are not enjoying ourselves.”

She shrugged. “I enjoyed the lake. Very romantic. Ten out of ten hostage scenery.”

I smiled despite myself.

But deep down, a quiet thought settled in my chest, unwelcome and sharp.

Marcus Donovan being gone shouldn’t have mattered.

And yet, it did

MARCUS POV

The road blurred beneath the tires.

Naples fell away behind us, replaced by narrow stretches of countryside and the low hum of the engine cutting through the silence. The rhythm of speed and the weight settling in my chest.

They’d hit one of our moving shipments. I’d known the Morettis wouldn’t stay quiet after the gallery. Men like Matteo Moretti never did. Pride demanded blood.

The car slowed as we reached the site.

Burnt rubber. Oil. Metal twisted like it had tried and failed to survive.

I stepped out before the engine fully died.

The smell hit first. Gunpowder, scorched asphalt, blood. My men were already there, moving with the efficiency of those trained not to panic. Two trucks sat crooked on the roadside, bullet-riddled, doors blown open. Crates lay shattered across the ground, their contents strewn like discarded bones.

Too clean.

They hadn’t come to steal. They’d come to wound.

“Boss,” one of my men said, approaching carefully. “They were waiting for us.”

I nodded once, eyes scanning the scene. The angle of the trucks. The direction of the bullet holes. The timing.

“Where’s Nico?” I asked.

The pause was brief. But it was there.

“He was hit in the crossfire. Shoulder and abdomen. We stabilized him and rushed him to San Paolo. He was conscious.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose. He’s alive.

Good. Because if my cousin died on a roadside meant for intimidation, Naples would burn.

I crouched near one of the trucks, fingers brushing over the edge of a shattered crate. Artifacts cracked beyond repair. Losses that could be replaced.

Men couldn’t.

“They wanted me here,” I said quietly.

No one contradicted me.

Matteo Moretti had always been theatrical. This wasn’t business. This was grief wearing a gun.

I straightened. “Lock the area down. Pull traffic cams from every direction. I want faces. Vehicles. Anything that moved through here in the last six hours.”

“Yes, boss.”

As I turned back toward the car, my phone buzzed.

Dante.

“Talk.”

“They confirmed it,” he said. “One of the men killed at the gallery. Alessandro Ricci.”

My jaw tightened.

Ricci.

Matteo’s shadow. His right hand. His childhood friend.

“If Ricci’s dead then this is just a warning,” I said.

“Matteo’s hurt,” Dante agreed. “And he’s not thinking straight.”

Neither was I.

“Get everyone to the villa,” I said. “Capos included. This isn’t just a response anymore.”

“A war meeting?”

I looked once more at the wreckage. At the blood staining the road.

“No,” I said coldly. “This is personal.”

I ended the call and got back into the car.

The girls at the villa thought they were guests. Thought the danger had already passed.

They were wrong.

The Morettis had drawn a line.

And I intended to erase them for it.