The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

He sli

pped his hands in his pockets, a smile pulling on his lips. Lorenzo was the cutest of the Russos, if you were ever going to use that word to describe any of them. Blood splatter and the look of the Cosa Nostra usually revoked any sense of cute from their description. But, somehow, Lorenzo still retained it. He might be the cutest, but I’d heard he was the kinkiest, too.

“You have a party upstairs,” he said. “Why don’t you go join it?”

“I have to murder Ace first, then I will.”

“Ace is busy.”

“I’ll wait until he’s free.”

I needed a second to collect my thoughts anyway. Not until I’d snuffed out that pretty fire in your eyes. A cold shiver erupted at the base of my spine. What did that mean, exactly?

Distracted, I tried to step around Lorenzo, but he blocked my path again.

“Go upstairs, Gianna.”

Tara’s mischievous look came to mind. With a singsong lilt in my voice, I asked, “What’s in my husband’s office that I’m not supposed to see?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, Lo, I know you can’t help it, but has anyone told you, you’re transparent?” I rolled my eyes and pushed past him.

John stood beside the office door, one hand clasping the other wrist in front of him. He wasn’t Italian, and therefore could never be sworn in as a Made Man, but he’d been a trusted man of my husband’s since I’d met him and would probably always be.

“New hairdo?” I asked, glancing at his bald head. It was an ongoing joke between us.

A small smile came to his lips. “Borrowed some of Lorenzo’s hair gel.”

I could feel Lo’s eyeroll behind me.

“Ah, well, I like it.” I winked.

I grabbed the doorknob, but John’s voice stopped me before I could open it.

“Gianna.”

I looked at him to see a somber expression staring back. At this point, I knew what lay beyond the door, but I was so tired of running from it for the last year. My thoughts reflected in my eyes, and he tipped his chin in understanding.

I opened the door and strolled inside.

She sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, a textbook open on her lap. When she looked up and saw me, she dropped her pen and stared.

“Hello, Sydney.”

She swallowed. “Gianna.”

“Don’t mind me,” I said, sitting on the couch beside her and grabbing the TV remote. “I’m waiting for Ace. I just need to kill him, and then I’ll be on my way.”

She nodded like she completely understood.

I flicked through the channels, settling on my favorite soap opera, and pulled my legs up beside me.

Sydney’s discomfort wafted from her like a heavy perfume. She shifted in her blue scrubs, and I realized she must have come straight from the hospital. She worked as a phlebotomist to put herself through nursing school. I was surprised she still insisted on working—I knew Antonio wouldn’t hesitate to pay her way.

“Gianna . . .” She hesitated, thick emotion laced through her voice. “I don’t know what to say to tell you how sorry I am for everything.”

Betrayal twisted my heart in a brutal grip.