The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

The Abelli’s face reddened. “I’d get more than that. I’ll tell you how her ass feels, Rus—”

Without a look in the Abelli’s direction, Allister pulled a pistol from his jacket.

Pop.

The gunshot reverberated off the walls and rang in my ears. Everything but my heart went still. I stared, watched the Abelli slump from his chair to the floor.

It was so quiet I could hear each drop of water falling from my dress to the concrete floor. Drip . . . drip . . . drip.

A chill passed through me as Christian put the pistol away without a flicker of emotion.

Tony Abelli wiped blood splatter from his face. Luca shook his head. Ace looked at his watch.

“What the fuck, Allister?” growled Salvatore.

The fed’s response was as dry as his eyes were cold. “He was annoying me.”

Strained silence reigned for a moment, and then Jimmy’s booming laughter filled the room, parting the tension like the Red Sea.

My God, this was madness.

I stepped back when everyone’s gazes suddenly came to me. “Um . . . I’m just gonna . . . yeah.” I took the stairs two at a time and disappeared out the door.

I practically ran through the club, my racing heart pushing me outside and back into the rain. It fell on my overheated skin like a cool caress.

The sky was dark and the streets were quiet. Not seeing a single cab, I crossed my arms and headed down the sidewalk to the next block over.

The club door slammed shut behind me. I halted where I stood, feeling his presence before he’d even said a word.

His cold and brutal slaying still played in my mind, sending a shiver of alarm down my spine. Christian Allister didn’t think twice about taking someone’s life. I suddenly feared the day he’d decide mine was too great of an inconvenience.

I turned around, thinking that here, on the street, was the best place to face him rather than anywhere else.

The rain blurred the broad span of his shoulders, the blue hue of his suit, the handsome lines of his face, but the anger in his eyes shone through like a flash of lightning in the distance.

The longer he stared at me, the further the tension stretched, wrapping around my lungs and tightening. His gaze descended over my dress. The look burned, from my breasts, to the wet material sticking to my midsection, to my smooth, bare thighs. It was as real as a rough hand sliding down my body; as tangible as the cool drops of rain on my skin.

He broke the silence. “I’ll take you home.”

It could have been a generous offer, but the displeased edge in his voice, as if he’d rather be doing anything else, ruined it.

Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to refuse—

“I’m not asking you, Gianna.”

I bit my tongue. If I argued with him, I had no doubt he’d carry me kicking and screaming to his car. And I didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore.

We walked side-by-side into the parking garage. My skin lit like a beacon to each move he made. My pulse played in tune with his steps. My breath faltered with every minuscule touch of his arm against mine. The tension that lay between us grew tauter with every second that passed. Pulling and pulling, until it threatened to snap.

“What are you wearing?” He said it calmly and slowly, but the anger was laced too finely to be masked.

“Dolce and Gabbana.”

“The jacket?”

I sawed my bottom lip.

“Let me guess, it’s from the Vincent Monroe Collection.”