The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

“Yes, ac

tually, there is. To shoot Ace. Since I’m not currently armed, I’ll let you do the honors.”

He rolled his eyes and headed to his desk. “Appease my wife, son. It is her birthday.”

I turned to Nico, triumph sparkling in my eyes like a sibling who had just won a battle. But that was a slightly awkward comparison, considering we’d had sex.

Nico shook his head, and then walked to the door and opened it. “You have a second to say what you need to. And you’re not fucking shooting me.”

“We’ll see,” I muttered, passing him as I walked out the door.

My bare feet touched the cool concrete in the hall just as the first pop cut through the air. A draft hit my face, a ring sounding in my ears. John slumped to the floor with a solid thunk.

I stared at the splatter of red that slid down the wall in front of me.

My breath escaped me in one rush as someone slammed me to the wall, covering me with their body.

Pop.

Pop.

“Fuck,” Nico growled, smacking the wall beside my head. He whirled around, pressing his back to my front. The sound of three close gunshots cut through the air. They rang in my ears and vibrated in my bones.

Something wet and warm soaked through my dress. I touched the spot and brought my fingers up to my face. Red coated my hand like paint.

So much blood.

“Ace,” I breathed. “Oh, my god, Ace.” My hand shook.

Someone grabbed my wrist and shoved me into my husband’s office.

“Do not leave this room under any circumstance,” Antonio said. The darkness in his soul had leaked into his eyes, filling them with black. He slammed the door, and I fell back a step, finding balance.

“Oh my god, Gianna!” Sydney hurried over to me. “Where are you hurt?” She ran her hands over my arms and midsection while I stared blankly at the door. When she didn’t find a scratch, she breathed, “Whose blood?”

“Ace’s.”

“Oh, my god.”

A pop sounded from outside the door, one after the other, and then it went quiet. So quiet my heartbeat pulsed in my ears.

She eyed the door.

“No, Sydney,” I warned.

Turmoil flickered through her gaze. “I can help.”

“No.” Urgency filled my voice. “You heard Antonio.”

Tears filled her eyes, one escaping her bottom lashes. “I have a bad feeling, Gianna . . .”

“You love him.”

“Yes,” she cried. “I don’t want to live without him.”

She took a step toward the door, but I grabbed her wrist. I wouldn’t let her sacrifice herself for love. I couldn’t. Love wasn’t worth it. Love hurt. I tightened my grip when she tried to knock my hand away. But then the lights went out, and darkness descended on us, with reaching, searching, cold fingertips.

A strangled sound of protest escaped my lips, and I was eight years old again. Don’t you ever shut up, girl? Disgrace. Worthless. Unlovable. Whore.