Dangerous Obsession

THE MANSION

The mansion appears through the trees like something from a gothic novel.Three stories of stone and iron. Towering walls. Security cameras on every corner. Men in dark suits patrolling the grounds with barely concealed weapons. A fortress, just like Marco said."Welcome to Casa Salvatore," Marco mutters, pulling through massive iron gates that close automatically behind us. "Boss's pride and joy. Built it himself after he took over the family business.""How old was he?" I ask, still staring at the imposing structure."Twenty-two. Youngest Don in New York history." Marco parks in a circular driveway. "Caused quite the stir. Half the families wanted him dead. The other half wanted to marry their daughters to him."

"Which half won?"

"Neither. Boss doesn't play well with others." He opens my door. "Come on. Isabella's probably going crazy waiting to meet you."

"Who's Isabella?"

"Boss's sister. She's…well, you'll see."The front door opens before we reach it. A woman stands in the entrance, and I'm immediately struck by how different she is from what I expected. Mid-twenties. Long dark hair in a messy bun. Paint-stained jeans and an oversized sweater. Warm brown eyes that light up when she sees me."Oh thank God." She rushes forward, pulling me into a hug before I can protest. "You're safe. You're actually safe. Dante's been losing his mind worrying." She pulls back, studying my face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Several, actually," I manage."Isabella, give her space," Marco says gently. "It's been a long night.""Right. Sorry. I'm a hugger. Bad habit." But she doesn't look sorry. Just genuinely concerned. "Come inside. You must be freezing. And probably confused. And definitely traumatized. God, where do I even start…"

"Start with getting her somewhere safe," a new voice interrupts.An older man descends the grand staircase. Sixty-something. Silver hair. Kind eyes that remind me of someone, though I can't place who."Anya," he says warmly. "I'm Father Dominic. I've been expecting you."I freeze. "You're a priest?"

"Semi-retired. I mostly counsel the family now." He approaches slowly, hands visible. Non-threatening. "Your father, Pietro, is a colleague of mine. When Dante asked me to help you three years ago, Pietro was the one who suggested the memory therapy."Everything connects. The priest who found me. The therapy I don't remember. The new identity."Where is he?" I demand. "Where's Father Pietro?"Father Dominic's expression darkens. "We're working on that. Dante has his best men."

"Dante isn't here!" My voice cracks. "He's back at that apartment fighting off an army while I ran away like a coward!"

"You followed orders," Marco corrects. "There's a difference."

"I don't take orders from him!"

"Maybe you should start." Isabella's voice is quiet but firm. "Because my brother just saved your life. Again. And he'll keep saving it until either Kozlov is dead or Dante is."The bluntness shocks me into silence."I'm sorry," Isabella continues, softer now. "I know this is overwhelming. But you need to understand something about Dante. When he commits to protecting someone, he doesn't do it halfway. He'll burn the world down before he lets anything happen to you."

"Why?" I whisper. "Why me?"She exchanges a look with Father Dominic. Some silent communication passes between them."Because you remind him of himself," Father Dominic says finally. "A child caught in a war they didn't start. Hurt by people who should have protected them. And he knows what it's like to carry that kind of trauma."

"What happened to him?"

"That's his story to tell," Isabella says. "But I will say this, our father was a monster. Dante killed him when he was seventeen to protect me. That's the kind of man my brother is, ruthless when he needs to be. But never without reason."I sink onto a nearby settee, legs suddenly unable to hold me. "This is too much. All of it. I can't,"

"You can." Isabella sits beside me, taking my hand. "You're stronger than you think. You survived three years with the Volkovs. You survived three more years believing a lie. You'll survive this too."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you're here. Still fighting. Still breathing." She squeezes my hand. "That takes strength most people don't have."Before I can respond, the front door crashes open. Dante strides in, covered in soot and blood. His shirt is torn. There's a cut above his eyebrow. His knuckles are raw and bleeding.But he's alive."Anya." He spots me immediately, relief flooding his features. "Thank God."He crosses the foyer in long strides, then stops just short of touching me. Like he's suddenly aware of the blood covering him. The violence he carries."Are you hurt?" His eyes scan me frantically. "Did they touch you? Marco, did anyone…"

"She's fine, boss," Marco assures him. "Got her out clean."

"Good." Dante's hands clench at his sides. "I need to…I should clean up. Change. But I needed to see…" He stops, jaw working. "I needed to see you were safe."The raw honesty in his voice undoes something in my chest."You're bleeding," I say quietly."It's nothing. Superficial."

"You have a piece of glass in your shoulder."He glances down, noticing for the first time the shard of window embedded just below his collarbone. "Huh. So I do."

"Jesus Christ, Dante." Isabella stands, professional now. "Come on. Medical room. Now."

"I'm fine."

"You have glass in your shoulder!"

"I've had worse."

"That's not the point!" She grabs his arm, careful to avoid the injury. "You're not immortal, despite what you seem to think. Now move before I call Marco to carry you."Dante allows himself to be led toward a hallway, but his eyes never leave me. "Anya, I'll be back in twenty minutes. Don't go anywhere. Please."It's the "please" that gets me. This powerful, dangerous man asking, not ordering."I'll be here," I hear myself say.He nods once, then disappears down the hallway with Isabella scolding him in rapid Italian. Father Dominic settles into a chair across from me. "You care about him."

"I don't even know him."

"Don't you?" His smile is knowing. "Five weeks of Thursday nights. Six months of working together. Three years of him watching over you from a distance. You know him better than most people ever will."

"He lied to me."

"He protected you. There's a difference."

"Is there?" I meet his eyes. "He created a false identity for me. False memories. He manipulated my entire life."

"He gave you a chance to heal from trauma that would have destroyed you." Father Dominic leans forward. "I was there, Anya. I saw you when Dante first brought you to me. You couldn't speak. Couldn't eat. Couldn't function. You'd given up on living."

"I don't remember that."

"That's the point. You don't remember because we helped you forget. We helped you build a life where that kind of pain didn't exist." His expression softens. "Was it perfect? No. But it kept you alive. And it gave you three years of relative peace."

"Peace built on lies."

"Peace nonetheless."I want to argue. Want to hold onto my anger. But I'm so tired. Bone-deep exhausted from running, from fighting, from carrying the weight of a revenge I'm no longer sure is justified."I need to see the proof," I say finally. "All of it. Everything about the Volkovs, about Kozlov, about who I really am."

"Dante has files. Records. Everything documented." Father Dominic stands. "But not tonight. Tonight, you need rest. Food. A moment to breathe before the next storm hits."

"The next storm?"

"Kozlov won't stop. Not now that he knows you're here, that Dante has you." He walks to the door, then pauses. "Get some rest, child. Tomorrow, we plan. But tonight, you're safe. For the first time in three years, you're truly safe."He leaves me alone in the massive foyer.Safe. The word feels foreign. Dangerous to believe in.But as I look around at the fortress Dante built, at the family he's gathered, at the lengths he's gone to protect me, maybe, just maybe, it's true.Footsteps on the stairs draw my attention. Dante descends, freshly showered and bandaged. Clean clothes. Hair still damp. He looks younger without the blood and soot. More vulnerable."Hi," he says simply."Hi."We stare at each other across the foyer. So much unsaid between us."I have a room prepared for you," he says finally. "Top floor. Corner suite. Best view in the house. You'll have complete privacy. The door locks from the inside. I won't come in unless you invite me."

"Okay."

"Isabella put some clothes in the closet. Should fit. If not, we'll get you whatever you need tomorrow."

"Okay."

"And if you want to leave, if this is too much, I'll have Marco take you anywhere you want to go. No questions asked. No consequences."I study his face, searching for the lie. For the manipulation. But all I see is sincerity."What if I want to leave and go to Kozlov?" I ask. "To save Father Pietro?"His expression hardens. "Then I'd stop you. Physically, if necessary. Because that's a death sentence, and I won't let you die."

"Even if that's what I choose?"

"Even then." He doesn't apologize for it. Doesn't soften the truth. "I told you, Anya. I'm not a good man. But I'm your man. And I protect what's mine."

"I'm not yours."

"Not yet." His lips curve into the ghost of a smile. "But you will be. Eventually. When you're ready to admit that what we have is real."The confidence should annoy me. Instead, it sends heat curling through my belly."You're very sure of yourself," I say."I'm sure of us." He climbs a few steps, then looks back. "Come on. Let me show you to your room. You need rest."I follow him up the grand staircase, through hallways lined with expensive art, to a door at the end of the corridor. He opens it, revealing a suite that's bigger than my entire apartment."It's too much," I say."It's yours." He steps back, giving me space. "There's food in the mini-fridge if you get hungry. The bathroom is through that door. Anything else you need, just press the button by the bed. Someone will come."

"Someone?"

"Not me, unless you ask for me specifically." His eyes hold mine. "Get some rest, Anya. Tomorrow, we figure out how to save Father Pietro and end this war with Kozlov. But tonight, just rest."He turns to leave."Dante?"He stops and looks back."Thank you," I say quietly. "For saving me tonight. For…for everything, I guess."Something soft crosses his face. "Always, Bella. I'll always save you."Then he's gone, the door closing softly behind him. And I'm alone in a mansion that belongs to the man who might be my savior or my destroyer. Or possibly both.