Divine Obsession (GodHood #2)

Chapter 24

Present

23 years old

Manhattan, New York City

My twenty-third birthday party wasn’t just a celebration – it was a statement. Every detail had been carefully executed, every guest selected. Billionaires, celebrities, influential families, even some whispered names from the underworld. All of them were coming.

The city skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of my father’s penthouse, the lights casting a golden glow over the grand luxurious space. Everywhere I turned, preparations for the event of the year were in full swing.

The theme was bold and chic, as always: pink and black, dark and elegant, with a masquerade twist. Guests would arrive shrouded in mystery, their faces hidden behind intricate masks, revealing only their secrets in the glint of their eyes. The masks could come off at midnight, but until then, everyone would play along.

The ballroom shimmered in anticipation. Chandeliers glittered above as black silk draped the walls, cascading shadows into the room. Pink roses with glittering edges displayed on the massive dining tables, while the custom black-and-pink dance floor gleamed was getting the last finishes.

I stood in the center of the room, my arms crossed as I surveyed the progress. Caterers hurried between the kitchen and the main hall, balancing trays of hors d'oeuvres that looked like works of art. Florists adjusted bouquets and garlands, while technicians fine-tuned the lighting.

“Miss Moretti?” A staff member interrupted my thoughts, holding up two identical menu cards. “Do you prefer the matte or the gloss?”

I pointed to the matte one without hesitation. “Gloss would be too much.”

“Yes, miss, of course.” He scurried off, leaving me alone with my thoughts again.

I turned toward the grand staircase, imagining it filled with guests in elaborate masks and couture gowns, with glasses of champagne glittering in their hands.

My dress was already waiting upstairs – a custom piece in shimmering blush pink; short and tight. My mask was a delicate light-pink lace, outlined with black crystals that would catch the light perfectly.

This wasn’t just a party; it was a declaration.

I had grown into my own power, my own influence, far from the naive girl I used to be. People looked at me now with respect and fear. I liked knowing that when I walked into the room tonight, every gaze would turn my way.

“Miss Moretti, the DJ has arrived.”

“Make sure he knows the setlist. Nothing out of line.”

“Of course.”

I watched the staff continue their work, every piece falling into place, every detail a reflection of my vision.

The night was going to be unforgettable.

“Hi!”

I smiled, recognizing the voice before I saw her. As I turned around, the moment my eyes found her, a weight lifted off my chest.

“Hi,” I replied softly, opening my hands to welcome her.

Maria.

She was fine. Alive and healthy.

She’d gotten back to New York two years ago.

There’d been a lot of crying and hugging after three years of no contact. But the moment I was holding her in my arms – safe, alive, healthy, happy – nothing else mattered.

The explanation for everything had broken my heart. It still did.

At sixteen, at eleven at night, on her way back home from the gym she worked at downtown, Maria was abducted and trafficked. But she killed her way out and saved the other women too. She’d always been a fighter. Standing up for herself. Surviving. Protecting those around her.

And when she was offered the opportunity of a lifetime – to join the CIA as an agent in training – she couldn’t say no.

So, they declared her deceased on all government records and gave her a new identity since she had no roots; no family – she hadn’t told them about me.

The only reason she’d managed to get away at nineteen was because she went rogue and ended up working for the Family instead – more specifically Cosa Nostra’s Francesca DeMone, hence how we got in contact again.

I wasn’t upset. I understood.

I always knew Maria was meant for more than a regular life.

And she was back. But she was different. There was something dark about her. She wouldn’t talk about the things she’d seen or done, but I could only imagine.

I wasn’t one to judge.

Over the years, I’d welcomed my own dark side.

“I missed you, Nat,” She mumbled, her voice muffled in my hair.

“Missed you more. I got your dress upstairs in my room.”

She scrunched her nose. “I don’t know… I don’t want the Cosa Nostra to see me as an actual woman. It’s better if they just see and think of me as their assassin.”

“You could slit someone’s throat with your Louboutins.”

“ We know. They don’t.”

“ Nuh-uh . They know what you’re capable of. It’s why you’re the Family’s top contractor.”

She sighed, but I caught her small smile. “If you say so…”

“There you two are,” Francesca’s voice caused both Maria and I to look over as she approached us, her platinum blonde hair catching the light. Dressed in a tight, red gown that hugged her curves, her mask – a glittering silver piece adorned with tiny black feathers – barely concealed her sharp, confident features.

Her black, doe eyes sparkled with amusement as staff hurried around the penthouse. “Meticulous as ever, I see.”

I shrugged, a playful smile tugging at my lips. “Can you blame me? I like it when things are perfect like me.”

Francesca let out a soft laugh before all three of us girls started complimenting outfits.

Over the past years, Francesca and I had grown closer than I’d ever expected. It wasn’t just that we moved in the same circles or that our families were deeply entrenched in the same world. It was that we understood each other in a way few people could.

She knew what it was like to carry a name that came with expectations and power. To live by a code that demanded absolute loyalty.

Francesca had taken the Omertà at only fifteen. The youngest woman in the Italian-American Mafia to date to take it.

I enter alive and will leave dead.

I too had sworn two years ago, my voice steady even as the gravity of those words settled over me.

Honor. Respect. Loyalty.

It was a moment I’d never forget.

For the first time, I’d felt like I truly belonged. Like I wasn’t just a Moretti by my father’s blood, but by choice. By loyalty .

I’d changed over the years. I wasn’t the shy, uncertain girl I used to be. I was confident now, sure of my place and my power. I wasn’t afraid to take what I wanted, to make decisions that others might shy away from.

The life had shaped me. Sharpened me. I wasn’t as soft anymore.

The world I lived in wasn’t for the faint of heart, but I thrived in it.

I was a force.