Insidious Obsession

1. Ara

The moment Dario Armani’s gaze roams up my legs to finally meet my stare, I know I’m about to ruin his fucking night. Everything his family has put me through gnaws at me, and the need for revenge is a raging flame within me.

But I keep the impression to myself as I offer him a suggestive smile across the room as I sit at the bar. The two blondes beside him are more than pissed by my eye-fucking across the room. The other two girls are so fucked up on god knows what drugs they haven’t even noticed his hand leaving their skirts as he stands and crosses the room toward me.

As I sit at the edge of the bar, I take another sip from my cocktail expectantly. I knew he couldn’t resist. It’s the only exclusive club Dario manages and frequents. The rest are left under his brother Luca’s control. The reason why I chose Dario’s club—of the two brothers, he’s much easier to handle.

Tonight, I am wearing a little black dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Despite how dark the private club is, it doesn’t detract from the ominous space the mafia prince takes up once someone claims his attention. Or should I say, it doesn’t detract from a nice piece of ass and tits—the only thing Dario really cares about.

His gaze pauses on my chest before dark blue eyes with dilated pupils find mine. As always expected of the younger brother, he’s on god knows what drugs as well.

“I haven’t seen you in my club before,” he says.

Of course the fucker feels no need for an introduction. One of his bodyguards positions himself closely, always at his heels after someone already tried to take his life a few months ago. It’s not entirely surprising. The Armani brothers make plenty of enemies, but only a few dare to bite back.

“Perhaps I was looking for a little trouble,” I say, before placing the cosmopolitan to my lips.

His smile grows wide, predatory even. “Would you like to join us this evening?”

I push back part of the blonde wig I’m wearing. Dario certainly has a type. I know this because I’ve been observing his movements and surveilling everything about him for six months. “I don’t know if your other dates would appreciate that.”

He grabs my hand, pulling me off the stool. “The more the merrier,” he says in a venomous tone.

It takes everything in me to force down the bile that creeps up my throat, threatening to burn its way out. Even if I hadn’t made my intentions clear, Dario is not a man who lets a woman evade him—he always gets what he desires. But let’s face it, almost no one says no to this man, which only makes this all too damn easy.

It only takes a few hours of alcohol, drugs, and whorish behavior to entice Dario and his flock to return to his mansion to party like he always does. The man’s a show pony who likes to display his family’s wealth like some kind of exhibit, even if most of the men and women who joined us won’t remember much of it.

But after months of planning, this is the only way I’ll make it into the mansion, and hopefully, it will be without having to touch this douchebag prick of a dick. But I’ve done much dirtier things to get where I am today. It’d be another thing to lock away if need be.

The mansion is exactly how I’d envisioned. As part of my morning routine, I would run past to hopefully get a glimpse of the household’s activities. Because of the height of the walls, I’ve only ever been able to chance a glance at who leaves and at what time.

Dario’s habits mostly involve returning to the mansion at ungodly hours of the morning. However, during my scrutiny, I also observed the staff in case it ever serves me in the future. Purchasing photographs and intel, which were surprisingly easily accessible, even against the Armani name.

But inside the mansion is an entirely different story and something I needed to discover for myself.

Dario is the only member who lives in the mansion permanently. His older brother, Luca, is near nonexistent at the New York property even when he does visit from Italy.

I lazily analyze every door, staircase, and feature as we’re directed into one of the wings. There are fewer bodyguards at this time, and strangely enough, the one who mostly babysits Dario is nowhere to be seen. It’s peculiar Ivan isn’t with him.

Bodyguards open the door to a large bedroom with multiple layers of lush cushions, ornaments, and paintings that appear like an artist’s dream, as well as a bed that takes up half the length of the wall. The lights are dim, and a sophisticated playlist is playing in the background. The group is guided into the room, and a bottle of champagne is popped—which is probably not something anyone needs. I decline the glass offered by one of the girls, who casually shrugs and takes it for herself. Within seconds, most women begin removing their clothes with no instruction. It’s like watching a B-grade porno play out in front of me.

I did not get this far to only get this far, I remind myself.

“Don’t be shy,” one of the women says while twirling a lock of hair around her finger and smiling. Her pupils are dilated, and I know she won’t remember much of tonight. I almost feel sorry for her, but not enough to take the opportunity to use her.

With Dario’s attention on us, I offer a tipsy smile, acting as drunk as the rest, even though I have only sipped a drink. The drugs, however, I won’t partake in. I am on a job, after all.

The beautiful blonde rests her hand on my hip, and I graze the back of my knuckles against her soft cheek.

A woman drops to her knees in front of Dario. He makes no show of taking off his clothes as he lazily sits like a king, watching the show play out with pure confidence that someone else will do all the work for him.

As the blonde leans toward me, I gently grab her throat. Her mouth falls open as she lets out a little squeal of surprise, then a small, giddy chuckle. I offer a flirtatious smile and bring my mouth to hers, barely brushing over her lips before I make a show to convulse. I drop my hand to my stomach and the other to cover my mouth.

“What the fuck?” She steps away with wide eyes.

I convulse again, trying to make a show of keeping my stomach contents in. “I need a bathr—” The words drop before one of the women squeals and points to the door.

The last thing I see is Dario’s disgusted expression before I hurry toward the door. It bursts open, and one of the guards intends to stop me until they see my pale expression and steps to the side. He simply points.

I rush down the hallway, memorizing every door and inch of the mansion. Quickly, I find the bathroom and close the door behind me, then slam my back against it with my heart racing. I expect to hear footsteps following me, but there is nothing. Good. My heartbeat eases into a rhythmic beat as I check around the marble powder room. It’s obnoxiously oversized, but so are most of the houses and grand events I’ve attended since moving to New York. Hell, the one I grew up in was of the same standard as this one, with the opulence and grandeur of people who think they are superior in every way.

Casually, I walk over to the mirror, ruffling my hair to look every bit the part of a sick, rattled woman. No one will bother giving me any attention because I am simply a little girl who can’t handle her liquor. I find it almost comical. In instances like this, it’s a blessing to be a woman because no one ever sees me as a threat—especially the type of powerful men I grew up around.

I check the mirror and notice how the blonde wig contrasts heavily against my tan complexion. It makes sense, considering my natural hair color is as black as night. I’ve also worn contacts to cover my green eyes with flecks of blue.

My gold bracelet is nothing too expensive but offers evidence I am the perfect example of Dario’s type.

He likes to buy people.

He likes his whores.

If they already have money, they don’t need him unless it’s for their reputation alone.

I wait a few more minutes, then kick off the counter. Time to focus on what I actually came here for.

Meticulously, I open the door and look to either side, half expecting a bodyguard to be waiting. To my delight, there isn’t anyone around. So I walk in the opposite direction of the orgy, staggering slightly and looking lost. Noticing one camera already, I pause before two wooden ornate doors and place my finger on my lip for dramatic effect. If anyone’s watching, I’ll look like a lost little lamb.

When I open them, I’m delighted by the massive wooden pillars and a room that expands into an impressive personal library and office. It’s dimly lit but enough to make out what it contains. So far, it’s the only room with no cameras. For privacy, I guess. A false sense of security and one I must not allow myself to get caught up in. I carry on, pretending to be tipsy but inquisitive. What’s certain is what I’m after is clearly not in this room.

A shadow falls across the entrance, and I hear the click before I have time to fully turn.

Shit!

A gun is pointed in my direction.

My breath naturally falters. I’ve done a few jobs, but I’ve never been held at gunpoint during any of them.

Before I begin my lost lamb theatrics, I recognize who is holding the gun in my direction. He wasn’t meant to be here.

The dimly lit room fiercely highlights the cruel cut jaw and cheekbones. Piercing blue eyes strike me like lightning. I’ve seen them so many times in articles, media, social circles, and in the thousands of photographs I have taken of this very man. My only saving grace is he has no idea who I am.

“Last I checked, my brother’s orgies don’t extend to my office.” The lethal edge to his voice cuts through the room like a blade. Goose bumps erupt over my skin.

Play your role.

Had this been during the day, our exchange would have been very different. We would have been obliged by the masks and roles we both have to wear to be accepted in society. But this was his home and entry to his lucrative business. There are no rules that confine him here.

Luca is the perfect poster boy. Cool and elusive but charismatic and successful. Wealthy beyond belief, mostly because of his rumored association with the mafia. But I know better than to just assume after my research and proof. This man isn’t connected with the mafia. He is the mafia. He is the head, or Boss, or god, or whatever term best suits him since his father died over ten years ago.

Fuck me, what shit luck.

This ass wasn’t meant to be in New York.

He wasn’t meant to be here.

I let a tear slide down my cheek, my bottom lip wobbling, hating every bit of the part I need to play. I want to show no weakness against this man, and it’s inherently obvious right now I must because tonight, I have a role to play. “I’m sorry. I got lost.” My voice is raspy, like a small child’s. “I suddenly felt sick and couldn’t find my way back.” I hiccup for added effect and allow a natural sway about my body to give the illusion of having way too much to drink. “Then I saw this room, and it’s so pretty. I’m sorry.”

Luca’s dressed in a black suit, his tie half undone as if he’s only starting to wind down for the day—at four in the morning.

“If they don’t notice you’re gone, then I imagine they won’t care if you’re erased permanently.”

His words are a cruel cut through the air, the threat abundantly clear. His expression is cold and impassive, the same as every picture I’ve ever taken of Luca Armani.

My bottom lip still wobbles against all instinct to allow a man like this to see any kind of weakness. But Luca Armani only allows subservient people around him. Anyone who challenges his authority and hierarchy, rest assured they end up bankrupt, bought out, or six feet under. I know all of this, but meeting the monster in reality is an extremely different experience.

“Get on your knees.” He points the gun to the floor.

My heart skips under the already unnatural and heavy beat against my chest while I consider my choices.

Break face and run.

Or commit to the role.

“What?” I ask, using a soft, confused tone that doesn’t resonate with my natural voice.

“You came here for one of my brother’s orgies, did you not? You came here to satisfy an Armani’s needs, did you not?” he asks as he steps forward.

My gaze lands on his hands as they unfasten his belt. “So you have a choice. You either service an Armani, or I use this belt to suffocate the air out of your lungs. You are, after all, only a whore, right?”

It doesn’t go unnoticed, his brow raising, when my hands curl into fists, my nails biting into my palm. I refuse to believe I have bitten off more than I can chew by coming here. But fuck me if I don’t have regret right now in how this is playing out. Luca doesn’t even see me as a person. I am no better than a dog in his eyes.

“Do you have a few screws loose?” The man breaks my train of thought because I haven’t been able to remove my gaze from his the entire time. By the time he reaches me, foot to foot, he slowly raises the gun under my chin, tilting my head up so I can still see those calculating eyes. He swallows everything around him, his height and width an imposing contrast. Everything else ceases to exist when Luca Armani steps into a room.

Just drop to your knees, Ara. That’s all I have to do. And yet I can’t bring myself to do it.

His lip curls into a cruel smile.

Then I see it.

Death.

Delicious and delightful.

“I came as soon as you called,” a voice says from the hallway.

Another person I recognize through photos and research.

Ivan.

My body goes rigid as I watch the bodyguard enter the room.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Luca snaps.

A cold dread of fear pumps through my veins because now he’s pissed. If I thought he was a problem before then I was sadly mistaken.

“I’m sorry, I was first on the scene. I thought you were on a flight to Italy?”

That’s what I’d been counting on.

Luca’s gaze lands on mine again. The man swallows me whole as I watch the cool calculation ticking like a timebomb as to what he might do with me. He might actually kill me tonight.

My heart is pounding through my chest, the cold touch of the gun a living vice at my chin.

His lethal gaze only promises misfortune.

And I’d stumbled onto the receiving end of it.

“Throw this one out,” he says with a sneer.

Another tremble runs through me, and my legs feel like they’re about to give way. I can hardly breathe under his scrutiny and I’m beyond finding any relief until I’m actually outside.

Watching Luca from afar and dealing with him up close are two entirely different things.

Now, with firsthand experience, I truly understand why I should’ve kept out of his sight.

A miscalculation on my behalf.

An unexpected appearance on his.

Most certainly a reminder as to why I hate the Armani household so much.

Particularly now, Luca.