Obsessed: Marked by the Mafia King

CHAPTER 3: Marked

The car ride was silent.

I sat in the back seat while Damon sat across from me, looking at his phone with his fingers moving quickly across the screen as he typed and typed. He did not look at me or speak to me, acting like I was not even there.

I stared out the window at the blurring city lights as we left my neighbourhood and entered somewhere rich, somewhere with tall gates, tall trees, expensive houses, and nowhere I belonged.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

He did not look up. "My house."

"I am not staying with you."

He finally looked up with cold, hard, unforgiving eyes. "You do not have a choice. The people who killed Marco are looking for you because they know your name, your address, and they will tear your apartment apart looking for the key. They will hurt you to get to me."

"I told you, I do not have a key and I do not know what that means. I do not know anything about my father's life."

He studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face for a lie. He did not find one, so he put his phone away.

"Your father was a financial architect for a syndicate, a big one. He handled the money, the secrets, and everything that could bring the organization down. Five years ago, he stole an archive with evidence, records, and names, and then he took it and disappeared."

"The syndicate," I whispered. "That is what you are. You are the mafia."

He did not deny it or flinch. He just stared at me with those cold, empty eyes.

"Your father disappeared with that archive," Damon continued, "and he ruined my reputation. He made me look like the traitor, and I was tortured, beaten, and left for dead all because your father chose to run instead of fight and save himself while leaving me to burn."

I felt a strange ache in my chest. "He left me too. He left my mother and abandoned us. He is not a hero or a good man. He is a coward."

"I am not saying he is a hero," Damon said flatly. "I am saying he is smart. He knew how to disappear, and he left you a trail."

"I do not know what it is."

He leaned forward until his face was close to mine, and I could see the small scar on his eyebrow, the dark stubble on his jaw, and the exhaustion in his eyes. "Then we will figure it out together."

We pulled through a massive iron gate and stopped in front of a house that looked more like a fortress with white walls, black windows, security cameras everywhere, and guards with guns patrolling the grounds.

Damon opened my door and extended his hand to help me out.

I looked at his hand, then at him. "I am not your prisoner."

He raised an eyebrow. "You are a guest."

"Then let me call my best friend. She will be worried and she will call the police."

"She already did," he said. "I have a man posing as a detective who called her and told her you were safe, having a mental breakdown, and needing rest. She believes him."

My mouth dropped open. "You are controlling my life."

"I am protecting you."

"By lying to my friends? By kidnapping me? By holding me against my will?"

"By keeping you alive." He stepped closer. "Marco's body was found an hour ago with his throat cut. They wanted it to look like I did it, so they are framing me, and they will use you to get to me. If you walk out that gate right now, you will be dead before sunrise."

I understood then that I was not a hostage but bait. Someone wanted to hurt Damon, and they were using my father's secrets to do it. I was just a tool, a piece in a game I did not even know I was playing.

I stepped out of the car and walked past him into the house. The inside was huge with black leather sofas, white marble floors, a fireplace the size of my whole apartment, crystal chandeliers, and art on the walls that probably cost more than my entire education.

A woman was waiting inside. She was tall, blonde, and beautiful with perfect makeup and a very expensive red dress. Her heels were sharp and her smile was sharp—everything about her was sharp.

"Damon," she said, her voice sweet but with venom underneath, like honey hiding poison.

"You brought her here."

Damon did not look at her. "Elena. Go home."

Elena's smile froze. "I came to check on you. I heard about Marco and I was worried."

"You heard? Or you knew?"

Elena laughed softly, a fake sound. "Why would I know? I am just an advisor who wants what is best for the organization."

I looked at her and felt something was wrong about her. She felt like a snake waiting to strike, watching me with hungry eyes. She turned to me, walked over, and looked me up and down with judging eyes. She did not like what she saw, but she smiled anyway—a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Amara Hart," she said. "You look so much like your father with that same stubborn chin, defiant eyes, and stupid courage."

She reached out to touch my face, but Damon grabbed her wrist before she could.

"I said. Go. Home."

Elena pulled her hand back and smiled again, but this time it was tight and angry. "Of course.

Call me when you stop playing hero."

She walked out the front door, her heels clicking on the marble floor, and the door slammed behind her.

When she was gone, Damon turned to me with a hard face. "Do not trust Elena. She is the acting head of the syndicate and she wants your father's archive more than anyone. She will smile at you, offer you tea, and tell you she wants to help, but then she will put a bullet in your head. Do you understand?"

I swallowed hard with a dry throat. "Yes."

Damon pointed to a door on the left. "That is your room. Sleep. Tomorrow, we start looking for the key and we find your father."

"And if I refuse?"

He looked at me for a long moment, then said something that made my blood run cold. "Then

I will make you watch while I tear this city apart looking for him, and I will not care who gets hurt in the process. I will burn this city to the ground and make sure you see every single flame."

He walked away and disappeared into the darkness of the mansion.

I stood alone in the massive, silent hallway with walls that were too white and air that was too cold. I wrapped my arms around myself and walked into the beautiful room with a huge bed, silk sheets, a giant window overlooking a dark garden, and a closet full of clothes that were not mine. Someone had prepared for me.

I locked the door, checked the closet, checked under the bed, and checked the window. I was alone.

I sat on the bed and looked at my still-shaking hands. My father left me a key to something dangerous that could destroy a mafia and get me killed. I did not know what it was, but I knew one thing: Damon Vale was obsessed with finding it, and he was not going to let me go until he did.