Always.
Sitting in my car, however, peering out at the city my family has controlled for over fifty years, I know it’s easier said than done.
Hours later, the deal is done. A billion dollars in yearly revenue will keep the Caruso name gilded for another generation. I should feel triumphant, but the truth is, I’m restless. My satisfaction tonight is hollow since it’s drowned out by a frustration that refuses to loosen its grip on my senses.
By midnight, I’m behind the wheel again. City lights bleed into a starless sky as I prowl Carlisle’s empty streets. I should go home so I can sleep and reset for tomorrow’s battles. Instead, I steer my car toward San Giorgio’s again, forever a sucker for punishment.
It’s madness. My obsession with Valentina is borderline possessive, but I’m unable to stop. Not until I see her… or better yet, bury the person keeping her hidden.
The streets are quieter now. Shadows pool in every corner, so I slow down to scan the faces of the patients and late-night visitors outside the ER.
A couple smokes near the entrance, and a nurse hurries to her car as though the injured man limping toward the hospital’s emergency entrance might miraculously recover and chase her for her knockoff purse, but there’s no sign of Valentina.
As if I’ve not already reached the limit of insanity, I park across the street with my engine idling and watch the city liveliness slowly taper into a vacuum of nothingness.
Eventually, I kill the motor and lean back to stare up at the glass structure that pierces dark, stormy clouds.
What the fuck am I doing? This isn’t me. I don’t wait or yearn. I take what I want when I want it. That’s the code I live by. So why am I acting like a man who’s never had his dick sucked?
I’m saved from an internal interrogation when my phone buzzes. It’s probably Nico checking in, so I ignore it. I’m not in the mood to talk business. All I want is answers.
All I want is her.
Angered by thoughts that will get me lynched, I whack the steering wheel firm enough to fear the airbags will disengage before I fire up the ignition and speed out of the hospital’s parking lot like my life depends on it.
I need to getherout of my fucking head, and I know the perfect place to achieve that.
Several miles later, the lights of Carlisle brighten as the entertainment district stretches ahead. Tourists and locals spill from bars and music halls, chasing the thrill sometimes only a seedy nightclub can offer.
Laughter tangled with bass lines carries through the air in asilent promise that anything is possible before sunrise, yet I move through the disorder with a completely different purpose.
I study every face, seeking that one in a million.
This wasn’t the plan when I left San Giorgio’s.I was meant to go home, get shitfaced with my brothers, and pretend the world doesn’t exist.
A burning tide of anger crashes into me. My lifestyle has no patience for weakness. My father raised me on that truth, and I’ve enforced it myself more times than I care to admit. In our world, the second you let your guard slip, someone is behind you with a knife and a smile.
And yet here I am, losing focus over a woman I barely spoke five words to.
I’d stop the insanity if I could, but obsession is an incurable addiction. There’s no quick-fix solution—exceptanother hit.
The irritation prickling my skin eases as I visualize the reward of my hard work. Valentina’s body will be the perfect canvas to rectify the injustices I’ve faced. I’ll take my time with her, savoring every luscious curve while reminding her how she can’t outrun her consequences any easier than she can outrun me.
Halfway down the neon-lit tide, my phone rings again. Not wanting to have my ass chewed out for being a lovesick chump, I jab the call button before telling Nico that business will have to wait until the morning.
“I’m fucking wrecked.”
“Glad someone’s finally admitting it,” replies a voice I immediately recognize. It doesn’t belong to Nico.
Although grateful Dante has finally reached out, something is off with his tone. “Camille…”
“Is tucked up in bed.” His tone is nothing like it usually is when speaking about his daughter. It’s urgent and brimming with angst. “You need to come home.Now.Dad’s taken a bad turn.”
His last sentence smacks into me, landing like a punch to thegut, and I forget everything not associated with the founder of my very existence. The deals. The frustration. Valentina. None of them matter right now.
“I’m on my way.”
I slam my foot down on the gas pedal, and the SUV’s engine roars as I tear through Carlisle faster than I ever have before.
