Obsession in the shadows

Chapter 4

PRESIDENT’S STUDY

The study was a monument to power.

Dark Italian marble stretched across the floor, cold and polished enough to reflect the massive chandelier hanging overhead—hand-cut crystal imported straight from Venice. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, stacked with ancient leather-bound books, gold-edged spines whispering of old money, old blood, and older sins.

A wide oak desk sat at the center, carved with intricate Roman patterns, heavy enough to intimidate anyone standing before it. Behind it hung a framed portrait of Vittorio De Luca shaking hands with world leaders—men who smiled publicly while fearing him privately.

Cameras blinked silently from every corner.

Nothing happened in this room without permission.

Connor walked in first.

Aaron followed.

They were immediately met by chaos.

Ariel stood near the desk, eyes red, face flushed, mascara streaked down her cheeks as she cried dramatically into her father’s space.

“How am I supposed to wear bikinis now?” she sobbed. “He has scarred my ass for life! For life!”

Vittorio De Luca sat behind the desk.

A man in his late fifties—yet time had been unusually kind to him. His face held the sharpness of a man in his forties. Deep black hair, barely touched by gray, was combed neatly back. His build was solid, powerful, dressed in a perfectly tailored white velvet suit that screamed wealth without begging for attention.

Beside him stood another man.

Younger.

Still.

Lorenzo.

His assistant.

Dark hair. Cold gaze. Calm posture. The kind of man who spoke little and remembered everything.

Vittorio lifted his eyes.

They landed on Aaron.

The air shifted.

For a fraction of a second, the world narrowed.

Target in sight.

But this wasn’t the perfect moment.

Not yet.

“Ariel, cara,” Vittorio said smoothly, his voice calm but commanding. “Excuse us.”

Ariel opened her mouth to protest—then stopped.

She shot Aaron a venomous glare, lips trembling with rage and humiliation. He didn’t return it. Didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

“You’re cooked,” she whispered as she brushed past him, storming out of the study.

The door shut behind her.

Silence followed.

Vittorio leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.

“Connor,” he said slowly, “I hear you witnessed the scene and chose not to react.”

“Signor Presidente,” Connor replied, bowing his head slightly. “My apologies.”

Vittorio’s gaze shifted back to Aaron.

Cold.

Measured.

Assessing.

“Aaron,” he said. “My daughter mentioned that is the name you made her scream.”

A pause.

“What gave you the nerve to lay a hand on her?”

Aaron met his gaze.

Unblinking.

“I do not tolerate disrespect,” he said evenly. “Regardless of gender or status. If I crossed a line, it was to establish one. I regret the necessity—not the action.”

The room went still.

Lorenzo’s eyes flicked briefly to Vittorio.

“Excuse us,” Vittorio said after a moment.

Aaron inclined his head respectfully before turning and exiting the study.

Connor remained.

“He seems fit,” Connor said carefully. “And the Miss is already intimidated by his presence. Besides—he is highly trained. Let’s give it time. See how it works.”

Vittorio scoffed softly.

“At least she won’t dress half-naked for a while,” he said dryly. “All thanks to him. He can stay.”

Connor allowed himself a brief smile before leaving.

Vittorio didn’t look away from the door.

“Have you researched him?” he asked.

“Yes, boss,” Lorenzo replied. “Full name—Aaron Marco Alessandro. Thirty-three years old. No family. No history. No past-life intel. Nothing whatsoever.”

Vittorio reached for his tobacco, lit it slowly, and inhaled.

Smoke curled into the air.

“Keep an eye on him,” he said.

He exhaled, a dark chuckle slipping past his lips.

“Aaron Marco Alessandro…”

At this point, he trusted no one.

And if this bastard tried anything funny—

He would make sure he paid.

Outside, Connor met Aaron a few steps away from the study.

The corridor was long and silent, lined with dark panels and guarded doors that hid secrets worth dying for. The hum of security systems blended with the distant echo of footsteps—power breathing quietly within the walls.

Connor stopped in front of him.

Up close, his expression was unreadable.

“You’re hired,” he said.

Aaron didn’t react.

“You’re not only here to protect her,” Connor continued, his voice firm, deliberate. “You’re to make sure she doesn’t make reckless decisions that could pose future threats—to herself, to the family, to the state.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Understood.”

Connor studied him for a second longer, like a man memorizing a weapon before pulling the trigger.

“Good luck,” he added, then turned and walked away, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Aaron remained where he was.

Still.

Silent.

This wasn’t a bodyguard job.

It was babysitting a spoiled, volatile liability wrapped in privilege and arrogance.

And he hated distractions.

He adjusted his cufflinks, eyes hardening as his mind recalculated timelines and exits.

The mission had just become messier.

Which meant it needed to end—

as soon as possible.