Divine Obsession (GodHood #2)

Chapter 32

Present

“What’s the matter this time?” Zach spoke low enough only for me to hear.

Matteo and Tony were busy discussing design improvements a couple feet in front of us, by the stages, while we hung back by the bar.

“I don’t like this shithole.”

The low bass of the music thrummed faintly in the club.

“So, the most exclusive strip-joint in the city, is now a shithole?”

“I don’t give a fuck who says what. A shithole’s a shithole.”

Even in the middle of the afternoon, the place reeked of perfume, alcohol, and desperation.

The entire atmosphere – the dim lighting, the flicker of neon, the suffocating air of the aftermath of too many bodies packed into one place – wasn’t my preferred place to talk money.

I was here on behalf of the Sus, to provide new, improved models of security.

But business was business, and DeMone’s Inferno was the kind of place where certain transactions could happen quietly, without prying eyes.

“Of course, none of it has anything to do with who owns it.”

I scoffed, running my tongue over my teeth. Smartass. “Course not.”

Zach shook his head, pushing off the bar, moving to talk to his brother and Tony. As soon as Matteo saw him turn his back, he put Zach in a headlock, his other hand ruffling his hair.

Out of instinct – or suppressed anger – Zach charged and landed a hard punch to his brother’s ribs.

Tony’s head fell back in a roar of laughter. “Fucking idiots.”

Matteo chuckled with a groan, letting go and stepping back. “What the fuck, Rafey?” He asked serious, though his eyes glinted with mischief, matching the smirk on his face. “You hit your elders now?”

I released a breath of amusement. It was easy to forget Matteo was ten years older than his brother.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Zach pointed a finger, using his other hand to fix his messy hair.

Matteo nodded. “Right. I forgot. You’re the boss now, Rafey.”

Zach groaned in frustration, running a hand down his face.

I chuckled. The last time I heard anyone call him Rafe or Rafey – or anything related to his middle name, Rafael – we were in middle school.

I drained the last of my scotch, willing the meeting to move faster.

Salvatore Moretti’s name had come up more than once in the conversation, which only added to my irritation.

Two weeks since the argument with Natalia, and I’d convinced myself that I didn’t care.

The sound of a soft, familiar laughter caught my attention.

Jaw ticking with tension, my gaze flicked to the other end of the club’s main floor.

I felt my brows furrow with a deep frown.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

My molars grinded together.

Especially not looking like that.

In a tiny, short, pink dress that clung to her like a second skin, a fur coat draped over her shoulders, and knee-high heel boots that made her legs look impossibly long. She cat-walked through the club like she owned the place, stopping briefly to greet a few of the dancers, exchanging smiles and quick hugs like they were old friends.

The sight threw me. Miss Perfect, the supposed Mafia princess, was here laughing with strippers in a club she had no business being in.

She turned then, her fur coat catching the light.

Our eyes met across the room, just for a second, and something tightened in my chest.

Natalia didn’t flinch – didn’t even acknowledge me, really – just looked right through me, like I wasn’t even there.

And then she walked away, her heels clicking against the floor as she headed off. I watched her step inside the elevator at the end of the hallway, her hand darting out to press the button.

She turned to face front, her gaze catching mine.

I was already halfway down the corridor, walking slow and deliberate.

Stepping inside, I ignored her questioning look and instead faced the front too, standing by her side. The tension was already thick with unspoken words.

A moment later, the doors closed.

The elevator's hum filled the silence. Natalia stood beside me, her fur coat draped loosely over her shoulders, her chin high, and her expression carefully blank. Her perfume – something light and sweet, with a hint of vanilla – wrapped around me, suffocating and intoxicating all at once.

I let the tension stretch, watching her in the dim reflection of the elevator's metal walls. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. She was staring straight ahead, her expression cool, detached. But her hands weren’t as steady as she wanted them to be. Her grip on her coat tightened just slightly, the only betrayal of the storm that I knew had to be brewing beneath her calm exterior.

When the elevator hit the perfect point between floors, I moved.

In one seamless motion, I reached under my jacket, pulled out my Glock and aimed it at the surveillance camera in the corner. The muffled pop of the shot was barely noticeable, but the camera sparked and died. At the same time, my hand shot out, slamming the emergency stop button. The elevator shuddered to a halt, and the overhead lights switched to an eerie red.

Natalia turned to me, startled, her lips parting, but I didn’t give her time to speak. My arm was already braced against the wall beside her head, my body pressing her into the cold metal.

“Wanna tell me what the fuck you’re doing here, amai ?”

She gasped, watching me with wide eyes. She was nervous. I could see it in the way her body leaned back just a little too far against the elevator wall. The way her breathing quickened slightly.

“You’ve lost your mind,” She muttered, shaking her head.

I smirked, a slow, deliberate curve of my lips. “Have I?”

None of it made any sense. Why would she be here? She was Salvatore Moretti’s daughter. Was this some kind of rebellion? Secret life maybe?

My jaw clenched at the thought, the image of Natalia under these lights, moving to someone else’s music, taking orders from men who’d look at her like she was theirs to touch, theirs to want. The idea settled like poison in my veins.

She didn’t belong here. Not in this world.

Not for anyone but me.

“ Yes .” Natalia gritted her teeth. “You’re fucking insane. Fucking demented if you think you can–”

Her words cut off with a hiss as I pushed my leg between her thighs, pressing it into her core. She lifted her hips – maybe to pull away, maybe out of old habits… But ultimately ended up rubbing herself on my ten-thousand-dollar black suit trousers. A violent, suppressed shudder rolled through her, letting me know she was feeling my weight pressing right against her clit.

“Go ahead,” I growled, the vibrations in my voice sending goosebumps over her skin, the same way I was sure my heavy warmth was making her panties wet. “Piss me off. We both know how well that goes.”

Her nostrils flared, and she straightened her spine, shifting her weight like she wasn’t about to let me get the upper hand. But I didn’t move, keeping my arm and leg where they were, my other hand loose at my side, holding the Glock.

The air between us was thick, heavy, and I could see the faint tremble in her body.

I let my gaze trail down her, slow and deliberate.

That goddamn pink dress. The knee-high boots. The coat that barely stayed on her shoulders.

“You sure got the look for this place, don’t you?”

Her plump lips pouted, her eyes flashing with something dangerous. “You like it?”

The mocking in her voice was clear.

“This your scene now, hm?” I murmured, my voice low and deep; taunting her back.

I pressed my leg harder. Her composure cracked for a second – a faint hitch in her breathing, a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze – but she recovered quickly, lifting her chin and meeting my eyes with a glare sharp enough to cut.

“Don’t mistake my patience for weakness, Trevor,” She said coldly, her voice steady despite the tension radiating off her. “You don’t intimidate me.”

My smirk deepened, but I didn’t move. I stayed close, letting the weight of my presence press against her. Leaning in slightly, my voice dropped to a low, dark murmur. “No? Then why are you trembling?”

She scoffed, the sound sharp and full of defiance, and attempted to push me off. “Fuck you–”

I pressed her harder against the wall, my hand wrapping around her throat with possession. “ What. Are. You. Doing. Here .”

“I’m here to see Gìo.”

In that fucking outfit?

She tried pushing me off again. I didn’t let her.

“What for?” I pushed.

“None of your business–”

“ What. For. ” When she didn’t respond my hold on her throat tightened. “If I have to ask one more fucking time , Natalia… I swear to God, I’m going to pull your dress up and fuck you raw. Right. Fucking. Here .”

Her throat bobbed under my rough palm with a hard swallow.

I leaned in closer, gritting my teeth. “Until my cum is spilling down your thighs when you stumble outside and everyone knows you’ve finally been fucked properly.”

I caught the small tick in her jaw.

I felt it when her pussy clenched around nothing, against my leg.

Nothing had changed between us. The same tension we had in college. The same arguments. The same attraction. It couldn’t be healthy.

Her eyes were slightly glossy as they met mine. “You’re bluffing.”

My hand with the gun, I pushed her dress up with my muzzle–

Her voice stopped me.

“Do you really want to know?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an answer in itself.

An insinuation.

A warning.

I scoffed, looking away as I pushed off her, nodding slightly. “ A’ight .”

So that’s how it was.

Like I gave a shit.

Sliding my Glock back into my waistband, I hit the release on the emergency stop. The elevator jerked back to life and the red lights faded back to the cold fluorescents.

I stared into the metal doors.

It took Natalia a moment longer to regroup. She straightened her coat and smoothed her dress. Her glare was fire and ice all at once, but she didn’t say another word.

Soon as the elevator doors slid open, stepped out without hesitation, leaving me with nothing but the faint trace of her sweet scent hanging in the air.

I followed behind; my jaw tight, my eyes scanning every detail. A sleek, dimly lit underground space that was equal parts luxury and danger. Polished floors reflected the faint glow of hidden lights, and the faint thrum of bass leaked from behind closed doors. It was the kind of place where secrets were currency, and power dripped from the walls.

Ahead, Natalia pushed through a polished door without knocking, and Gìovanni DeMone’s stupid fucking smirk came into my view,

“Well, this is a surprise,” He said from behind his office desk, his gaze staying on me as I entered behind Natalia.

Gìovanni’s office was the epitome of his style – sleek, dark-brown furniture; a wall-sized bookshelf filled with books, records, and signed American footballs; a stocked bar that looked more like it belonged in a penthouse than underground.

“Kick him out,” Natalia said, her tone flat, but the venom was there. She didn’t even glance my way as she shrugged off her coat and threw it over an armchair. “I’m not playing, Gìo. I don’t fuck with him.”

“ Ouch .” Gìovanni placed a hand over his chest in mock pain, his grin widening as he looked at me. “What’d you do this time, Su?” When I didn’t answer, he chuckled, shaking his head and turning to search through a desk drawer.

Natalia took a seat in front of his desk, crossing her legs with a casual confidence that made my stomach tighten. She wasn’t the same girl I used to know. There was something sharper about her now, something dangerous. She didn’t just carry her father’s name anymore; she wore the Mafia loyalty like armor.

“Your drama is not my problem.” Gìovanni leaned over his desk and handed Natalia a sleek folder. “Here’s the set list for next month.”

She took it without a word, flipping through the pages.

“You teach dance?” I asked Natalia, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

“ Pole ,” Gìovanni corrected, a stupid smirk on his fucking face. “She’s real good at it, too.”

He’d… Seen her dance?

On. A. Fucking. Pole?

My eyes met his with such morbid violence, I was actually considering how bad it would be for me to murder a Cosa Nostra Boss.

“Though… I hear she doesn’t take well to uninvited guests.”

My hand twitched towards the gun in my waistband.

“ She can speak for herself.” Natalia closed the folder with a snap and stood, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she headed for the door. “We’re going to use one of your offices.”

Gìovanni leaned back in his chair. “You know how to make yourself at home.”

It took everything in me to walk away. To not shoot the future Boss of all Bosses of the Italian-American Mafia in the head over a woman.

“Oh, and Trevor?” Gìovanni’s voice stopped me just as I reached the handle. I glanced over my shoulder, meeting his amused gaze. He nodded towards the elevator. “I’ll send you the bill.”

The meeting room smelled of leather and dirty cash, the kind of mob luxury that spoke of Gìo’s expensive taste. I moved to the large desk and dropped the folder he’d given me, the sound echoing in the quiet.

Trevor followed, closing the door behind him with a deliberate, slow click . The tension from the elevator hadn’t gone away, and I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and unrelenting. Burning a hole into the side of my face.

“We not gonna talk about what almost happened in the elevator?” His deep voice broke the silence, smooth and edged with something dangerous.

I didn’t look at him, keeping my focus on the papers I was pulling out of the folder. “What is there to talk about?”

“You almost asking me to turn you around and fuck your brains out from behind.”

I scoffed. “That’s not–”

“I’ve fucked you too many times to not know that look in your eyes.”

I finally glanced up, meeting his gaze with a practiced indifference. “I was feeling nostalgic. Nothing more.”

Anyone could slip up one time.

I just couldn’t let it happen again.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, the dangerous edge in his expression took a darker, scarier turn. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by that arrogant tilt of his chin. “Right. Nostalgia .”

Several moments passed as I logged into one of Gìo’s computers, and I was beginning to feel the tension wear off.

“Remember that time I fucked you against the lockers?”

My hands froze on the keyboard of my laptop.

“You had on that tiny, cheerleading outfit. Right before the big game. Massaged my cum into your skin. Made you stay like that the whole night.”

I faltered, feeling like I’d just gotten hit by a train of Bad Relationships Past .

“Then after I won the game, I took my real trophy of the night, and fucked your tits in my blacked-out Ferrari.”

“ Trevor .”

“Skipped the game’s after-party and fucked some more at my place off campus–”

“ Stop .”

He frowned, faking concern. “What’s wrong? I thought we were reminiscing.”

Trevor sat across from me, leaning back in his chair as he watched me. The expression on his face that let everyone know not to fuck with him.

I wouldn’t win this round. No matter what I did now, I couldn’t change the past. We had fucked. Raw. So many times … There was no point pretending otherwise.

I spread out some files in front of me, their contents a tangle of financial reports, shipping manifests, and law enforcement memos that put both of us in horrible positions. The words blurred slightly as I skimmed them again. I blinked, forcing myself to concentrate on anything but the steady heartbeat between my thighs.

“This doesn’t add up,” I said, doing my best to switch topics. “The timing’s too perfect. Two shipments intercepted within days, both routes compromised. Arms for you, smuggled goods for me. And the intel fed to the authorities was identical in format.”

“Someone wanted us to notice,” Trevor said, his voice low and calm, slightly helping me relax. At least he was done being a dick.

“Exactly,” I said, focusing on the papers. “But why? If the goal was to cripple us, they didn’t finish the job. Both shipments were important, but not critical.”

Trevor leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “To send a message. They weren’t trying to destroy. They were testing how far they could go without triggering an all-out war.”

“Or they were setting us up to destroy each other,” I countered, sliding one of the documents toward him. “The information about your arms deal came from someone inside my network. Or at least that’s what they want you to believe.”

His eyes flicked down, his jaw tightening. “And this.” He tapped the report in front of him. “Your smuggling routes were leaked through a back channel we’ve never used.”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “So we agree. Someone’s playing us.”

Trevor cocked his head, studying me like he was trying to figure out if I actually believed my own words. “Doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“I could say the same.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The weight of the situation hung heavy between us, but it wasn’t just the business that made my chest tight.

It was him.

His presence. His voice. The way his eyes held mine a little too hard.

I forced myself to look away, pretending to focus on the files again. “We need to figure out who benefits from this. Someone with enough reach to hit both of us at the same time.”

“And if we find a common thread?”

“Then we neutralize it together,” I said, meeting his gaze.

His ebony eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw his lip twitch.

He could say whatever he wanted about me acting different. I knew he liked it when I said exactly what I wanted and how I wanted it.

“You got it.” He nodded, the words carrying more weight than they should have.

Our truce was fragile, like glass that could shatter at any moment.

For now, it was enough.