The Maddest Obsession (Made Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

  I laughed in disbelief. “With Christian?”

  She nodded.

  Oh, my god, she was serious. My amusement dropped with my stomach. “Why on Earth would you want to do that?”

  “Please. Have you seen him?”

  “Of course, but weren’t we just talking about what an asshole he is?”

  “What do they say . . . the bigger the asshole, the better he is in bed?”

  “I don’t think they say that, though.”

  A sly look flickered in her eyes. “If this is upsetting you—”

  “It’s one-hundred percent not upsetting me, but I thought you were seeing Eddie?”

  She waved a hand. “He’s stepping out on me, just like my husband. It’s time to move on.”

  I chewed my cheek. “If Ricardo finds out you’re seeing other men—”

  “Save it. I know, and I’m always careful. So . . . be honest, would it bother you? Because I don’t have to—”

  “I told you, I don’t want anything to do with him, and I meant it.”

  Gosh, it was hot. The sun seemed to burn hotter and heavier in the last few seconds. I pulled my hair off my neck.

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I must have had too many margaritas because they were beginning to feel like a lump of lead in my stomach.

  My cell phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. I was so distracted I didn’t think to check the caller ID before getting to my feet and answering it near the pool.

  “Hello?” I dipped my toes in the cool water.

  “Gianna.”

  The hair on the back of my neck rose, and my breath turned to ice.

  Disgrace to this family.

  Worthless daughter.

  Unlovable girl.

  Nothing but a whore.

  The rattle of a slammed door. And then darkness. A darkness so alive sometimes it touched me. Spoke to me. Hurt me. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t worry, your papà knows I’m here.”

  You can’t scream with a hand over your mouth.

  That’s where fiery-haired goddesses are made all over the world.

  A piece of cotton floated through the air, twisting in the breeze, before landing in the pool.

  “Did you hear anything I just said?” my papà snapped.

  Hatred filled me with a searing burn. I took a deep breath to steady my voice. “I’m sorry, I’m pretty busy right now. What did you want?”

  “Your cousin Silvia’s wedding is next month. You’ll be there if I have to come get you myself, do you understand?”

  Panic twisted in my chest. “I’ll have to check with my husband to see if we can make it.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Gianna. Richard already has one foot in the grave. You are coming to the wedding. I’ll have Gina send you the details.” He hung up.

  It’d been eight years since I’d seen my father. Since he’d bothered to reach out to me. And while a family reunion should always be hopeful, I could, with a sense of dread, only wonder what he wanted from me now. I had a bad feeling it was about my husband’s declining health and my soon-to-be independence.

  I took a deep breath, fearing I was going to be sick right here in Valentina’s pool.

  “I swear, if the neighbors don’t do something about those damn cottonwood seeds, I’m going to cut the tree down myself,” Val grumbled, and got to her feet. “I’m going to take a quick break. Do you need another drink?”

  A break was her way of saying she was due another line.

  I turned around. “I’ll join you.”

  Interest crossed her face. “I thought it gave you a migraine.”

  That excuse had just been an uncomplicated way of turning it down without having to explain my therapist discouraged drugs.

  I wanted to get better—to put my panic attacks behind me, instead of only masking them with a high. But as that phone call filled my mind and pushed me to the edge of a breakdown, all I wanted was to not fear the past in the dark, if only for a moment.

  “I guess it’s as they say,” I whispered, “the bee has a sting and honey, too.”

  We all searched for strength in life.

  Unfortunately, mine just happened to lie at the end of a line of powder.

  At the end of the day, I would rather puke in one of my favorite Prada boots than watch Valentina “try her hand” with Allister. Like he needed any more attention—he had an embarrassing number of women throwing themselves at him already. What annoyed me even more, though, was that he’d always been charming and respectful to each one of them, while he regarded me as if I was a liberal helping of chopped liver.

  This all seemed to brew in my head like a pot of burnt coffee the entire evening I spent with Valentina. So, naturally, when Christian Allister showed up to the get-together at Ace’s penthouse, looking like an asshole and every woman’s wet dream, I’d shut the door in his face. I told you, blow made me brave. But, sadly, not stronger; Christian had easily kept the door open. And that was when he’d noticed I might be as baked as Celia Abelli’s bruschetta.

  It wasn’t like I was proud of the relapse—especially because I’d been worrying about how I would break this to Dr. Rosamund on Monday—but I certainly didn’t care for Allister’s opinion on the matter. I guessed I should’ve known he’d give it anyway. He grabbed my chin, looked into my eyes, and then shoved my face away in disgust.

  And now, here I was, stewing in the anger and spite he easily brought out in me.

  I adjusted one of my pigtail buns in the bathroom mirror, reciting every Italian curse word I knew in my mind. Took a deep breath.

  He was out there, being as polite as ever. Where he pulled that charm from, I’d never know. Valentina hadn’t wasted any time, drifting to his side and laughing at everything he said. For God’s sake, the man wasn’t even funny.

  “Gianna,” Valentina called out. “Come here! Christian was just telling me the most amusing story.”

  I frowned, not pausing in my trek to the minibar. “Who?”

  She faltered, looking to Christian, who stood beside her and who seemed to show no confusion toward my slight. And then she pouted. “Christian, tell her to stop being rude.”

  His cold eyes were on me as he responded to her. “Of course. Who are you talking about?”

  Since he’d arrived, we’d been playing one of my favorite games: pretending the other didn’t exist. Though, in truth, I’d prefer if he wasn’t here at all. His presence created this edgy sensation beneath my skin, like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “What’s going on between you and Allister?” Luca asked, invading my space near the minibar.

  “Apathy,” I responded, sipping my Tequila Sunrise.

  “He touched your face.”

  “It’s called a lack of boundaries, Luca. Something most men in New York are familiar with.” I glanced pointedly at the two inches of space between us. The irony didn’t escape me that a lack of boundaries had always fit me where Christian was concerned better than it ever had him. What an annoying realization.

  “I don’t like it. You are not his to touch.”

  “Aw, it’s so sweet of you to protect my honor, Luca.”

  He grabbed my wrist before I could walk away. “I’m not protecting yours, I’m protecting Richard’s. He’s a capo and is due the respect of one.”

  “Bummer.” I pouted, wrenching my wrist back. “Thought I might be seeing a sliver of a soul in you.”

  Luca left without a parting word, like usual, and then I got caught up in conversation, moving around the room like a social butterfly with an anxiety problem.

  My gaze drifted to a sparkle on the floor-to-ceiling window. Christian stood near the pool with Ms. Perfect Elena Abelli, both of their eyes on the nighttime sky. Was he telling her what Andromeda’s name meant? A wave of something unpleasant passed through me. I stared at the line of his shoulders, at the smooth cut of hair at his neckline. It was so perfect a physical part of me wanted to
run my hand through it to mess it up. The mentally sound part of me wanted to shove him out the door.

  I realized then why he’d always been able to get under my skin.

  He made me feel like I was a little girl again—hungry for attention and affection.

  And I hated him for it.

  Ace leaned against the wall staring at the two perfect people on the terrace with an intensity not befitting a soon-to-be brother-in-law by any means. His and Elena’s relationship was a volatile situation not a blind man could miss, let alone Christian Allister, Seer of All Things He Shouldn’t. Was he interested in Elena Abelli, or was he being his strategic and cold self with an endgame? At this point, it didn’t matter, because it seemed Ace’s marriage agreement with Adriana was about to be blown out of the water.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  “That pot sure is smellin’ sweet,” Nico’s uncle Jimmy said as he walked past.

  I, as well as Jimmy, might have had quite a bit of money on the gamble that Ace wouldn’t go through with the marriage to Adriana, but I still wasn’t looking forward to the trouble it would cause.

  The next fifteen minutes happened, and that bet was practically in the bag. It seemed Ace had had enough of Elena and Christian’s chat, and so, naturally, he pushed her into the pool, leaving everyone staring and speechless.

  I gave Elena the change of clothes I’d brought with me because, honestly, I felt bad for her. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of Ace’s affections. He was softer in a way than his papà had ever been—I admired Ace’s late mamma Caterina for that—but he was still the same pushy, confident man who always got what he wanted. I worried he would bulldoze right over sweet Elena Abelli.

  The incident had killed the mood, and the party dispersed soon after.

  “Thank you for coming. Sorry about the—” My smile faltered. “Um, situation.”

  Salvatore Abelli gave me a disapproving look before he and the rest of his family left. Well, at least there hadn’t been bloodshed. That seemed to be a recurring theme at these parties with the Abellis.

  Nico headed to the door.

  “Goodbye, Ace!” I called. “So glad we could finally have a peaceful, uneventful night with the Abellis, aren’t you?”

  The expression he gave me said he wasn’t impressed with my joke.

  After saying my farewells to the last of the guests, I shut the door, leaned against it, and took in the mess of glasses and dishes left behind.

  “Dio mio,” I muttered, and then cursed myself. That was going to be ten Hail Mary’s at my next confession.

  I sighed, but before I could let it all out, my body tensed. I thought Christian had left earlier, escaping the party as soon as the drama he’d created commenced. Although, as I drifted toward the low timbre of his voice, I knew I’d been mistaken. My heart rate dipped and dived like it’d had one too many Tequila Sunrises.

  His gaze was averted as he leaned against the glass railing on the terrace, talking on the phone. Each word was rough, quiet, and not understandable, as though he was speaking a foreign language.

  When he looked up and noticed my presence, a flicker passed through his eyes, and he suddenly spoke clear and concise English.

  A man of many secrets.

  He ended the call, and we stared at each other in silence. Our expressions were apathetic, yet electricity played in the air, hindering the ease to breathe.

  “I guess I should say, nice party,” he drawled.

  “I guess. But it just doesn’t have the same effect, considering you ruined it and all.”

  “Ah, so Ace loses his cool and I take the blame?”

  I shook my head. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

  “Maybe.”

  “My question is, why? I thought you and Ace got coffee, shared secrets, and went shopping together?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Fair play.”

  This was about payback? “For what? Wait, don’t tell me—he stole one of your women.”

  The slightest muscle tightened in his jaw, and I faltered.

  “Oh, my god, he did.”

  He pushed off the railing and rolled his shoulders.

  Who was this woman he wanted so badly? Elena Abelli?

  A bad taste filled my mouth. Must be from that brownie I’d washed down with booze earlier.

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I would’ve put my money on you,” I told him.

  “Why?” His eyes trapped me where I stood.

  I licked my lips. “Well, number one, you’re too pretty for your own good. And number two, you hide your dark side well—Ace doesn’t even try to.”

  He nodded slowly, like that made sense.

  I lifted a shoulder. “If you want a couple pointers, however, you could probably work on being less of an asshole sometimes. Though I’m beginning to think that’s only for my benefit.”

  My messy life must annoy him immensely.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He slipped his hands in his pockets and took a step toward me. With eyes narrowed, his voice was rough and demanding. “Why did you shut the door on me earlier?”

  My pulse fluttered, and I took a step back. “Your face triggers me.”

  Another step. “Why the drugs?”

  Another one back. “Why the fifty questions?”

  “Answer me.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Make me.”

  A shadow crossed his face as he walked toward me slowly, but I still saw the spark of anger in his eyes. “Do you want to know what I learned over the years?”

  I shook my head.

  “Interrogation. It takes about twenty minutes to break someone—to make a grown man cry for his mother. I could have you screaming in two.”

  My blood ran hot and cold. “Where does one learn to do something like that?”

  “Hell.” He said it without pause and so matter-of-fact it sent a chill down my spine. “You’ll tell me why you fucked around with blow today, and you’ll tell me now.”

  He was the last person I would willingly share my past with. He already thought of me as a mess; I could only imagine how he’d regard me if he knew all my dirty little secrets.

  “You disappear for three years and then come back and demand things from me? You made your interest clear a long time ago, Allister. I’ll never answer to you—get used to it already.”

  Cold eyes pierced me with an arrow through the chest. “What part of ‘call me if you need anything’ did you not fucking understand?”

  My pulse beat unevenly. A part of me couldn’t believe we were actually going back to that night.

  “Please. When a woman doesn’t hear from a man in two weeks, she gets the picture crystal clear.” Another response ricocheted off the walls in my head: You weren’t there. You weren’t there for me, just like everybody else.

  Resentment wrapped around my throat.

  “Or maybe it was just easier for you to accept a new husband with enough money to keep your self-indulgence supported for the rest of your life.”

  I laughed and then choked on it in fury. “I despise you.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  He headed toward the door, and I turned to watch him go.

  “Tell me, Officer, were you this cold to your mother?”

  He stopped in his tracks.

  The temperature in the room took a dive, and goosebumps rose on my arms. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I wanted to hurt him; to make him feel something for once in his life. “I feel sorry for the woman—to birth such a heartless son as you.”

  He turned around. If expressions could kill, I’d be dead. “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

  I laughed coldly. “What are you going to do? Make me scream? Is that what you did to your mam—”

  The air escaped me in a rush as he grabbed me by the throat and pressed my back against the wall.

  “You know nothing of my past,” he growled.

  His words were different, rougher, than they should have been.
It took me a moment to understand the significance while I was trying to catch my breath. And when I did, I stared at him, panting.

  The bastard was Russian.

  I COULDN’T SAY I HADN’T known. Jesus, it was why I’d always tried to keep my distance from her. I’d known she would trip me up. Though, as much as I wished I could blame my fuck-up on the fact trouble followed Gianna wherever she went, I knew that had nothing to do with it. When she was close, all I could focus on was that she smelled like temptation. Like something I wanted to worship and degrade at the same time.

  She’d just had to prod that one spot—that one weakness of mine—to make me lose my grasp on control. She’d been right about my mother. I could only imagine the look on her pretty face if she knew I’d been the one to put the bitch out of her depraved fucking misery.

  I hadn’t given myself up in over ten years. Ten years down the drain because of one goddamn woman. I might as well have spouted Shakespeare to her from below her window.

  The next time she spoke back to me, I just needed to fill her mouth with something more productive. The image of her, on her knees, looking up at me with soft brown eyes, played in my mind. It sent a rush of heat to my groin. Made my blood rush in my ears.

  With a clench of my teeth, I pushed the fantasy away.

  Not yours.

  A mixture of fury, regret, and relief burned in my chest.

  I could change everything so fast. Make her a single woman. Make her want me. Make her mine. The plan began to weave itself in my mind, and when I felt a tremble in the hand still wrapped around her throat, I shut it down fast.

  Her pulse beat quickly, expressing her fear—but her eyes, they were filled with defiance. Triumph.

  “Iowa, huh?”

  Bitter amusement filled me. She was put on this earth to aggravate me, to humble me. I didn’t know a single damn man who wished to be humbled.

  I tightened my grip. “I’m only going to say this once, sweetheart—don’t fuck with me. I promise you, next time, I’m not going to be so nice.”

  I would have killed anyone else who’d provoked me like she had. But somehow, the idea of her lifeless body made my stomach tighten in denial. I often wished she was a problem I could just make disappear—though, oddly enough, her death had always been a hard no for me.