The Don's Deadliest Obsession

I grip my fork so tightly my knuckles turn white.

Then I imagine letting go of it nt because I’m calming down but because in my head, I’m grabbing the idiot sitting across from me by his perfectly styled blond hair, and slamming his face into the polished oak table, and enjoying the satisfying crack of his nose breaking.

Not once or twice.....Oky maybe three times if I’m feeling generous.

The image is so vivid I almost smile. Instead, I take a slow sip of water.

”You’re quiet,” Sebastian says.

I look up and Fuck. Me.

Rhere it is again, he’s doing the stupid thing he does with his mouth.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he bites the bottom one like he’s trying to look seductive.

Whoever told this man it was attractive deserves prison.

He doesn’t look mysterious or seductive at all, he looks like a dehydrated earthworm searching for moisture.

I drag my eyes away before I lose my appetite.

Too late.

He’s already chewing.....very Loudly too.

Each bite echoes through the expensive restaurant, and I’m convinced the elderly couple two tables away have stopped their conversation just to listen to this human garbage disposal inhale a steak.

How can one person make eating sound violent?

I force another smile.....because Papa asked me to.

No. Scratch that.

Papa ordered me to.

”As a Luciano, you’ll go out with him.”

That had been the end of the conversation.

No room for arguments or excuses.

Being the Don’s second daughter means freedom comes with conditions.

Actually...Freedom doesn’t come at all, it’s nt a part of the package. People see designer dresses, luxury cars, private security, and think my life is glamorous.

They don’t see the meetings, the expectations, the restrictions especially as a lady, rhe smiles you fake because your surname weighs more than your own opinions.

I wasn’t born Nerissa, I was born a Luciano.

Apparently, there’s a difference and that difference is the only thing that matters.

Sebastian clears his throat dramatically before pointing his fork at me.

”You’ve hardly touched your food.”

Because watching you eat is enough to make anyone lose their appetite.

Out loud, I say, ”I’m just not very hungry.”

He laughs.

”Women these days are always dieting.”

Oh the fucking fucker.

He signals for a refil and a secon later a waitress approaches our table carrying another bottle of wine. She can’t be older than twenty-three.

Her smile is polite and practiced.

And as she bends slightly to pour Sebastian another glass, hs hand lands squarely on her ass.

A loud smack goes through the restaurant and the girl’s entire body stiffens. She jerks away so fast that red wine splashes onto the white tablecloth.

”I’m... I’m so sorry, sir.”

She’s apologizing.

To him.

Sebastian chuckles like she’s just performed the funniest joke in the world.

”You’ve got a nice ass. Relax.”

My stomach twists and I have to refrain from reaching forward amd smacking the shit out of the bastard. Papa wouldn’t like that, he believes women should be soft, docile and slapping a man doesn’t count as docile.

The waitress lowers her eyes, mutters another apology, and rushes away before tears can betray her.

Around us...No one says a word, not even the manager standing near the entrance pretending he didn’t see a damn thing.

Money and influence has a funny way of buying silence.

I stare at Sebastian, searchin his face for even an ounce of shame.

Nothing. Just that smug grin.

”So...” he says, cutting another piece of steak. ”When we’re married, you’ll have to learn how to cook this.”

I blink.

”I’m sorry?”

”My mother says a wife who can’t cook embarrasses her husband.”

I almost choke on absolutely nothing.

Married? He’s talking like the decision has already been made. Like I’m some acquisition waiting for paperwork.

He keeps going.

”I’ll expect breakfast every morning.”

Another bite and Loud chewing.

”And don’t worry about working.”

Chew.

”I don’t like my women having careers.”

Chew.

”My wife belongs at home, In my bed and in the kitchen.”

”Raising children.”

Something inside me snaps quietly and i set my fork down with deliberate care. It’s either that or stab him in the eye with it.

”Noble of you to plan my entire future.”

He mistakes my tone for admiration.

”I know.”

”You’ll grow into it.”

Grow into it? Like it’s a pair of shoes?

I lean back in my chair and fold my arms.

”Sebastian.”

”Yeah?”

”I have a question.”

He smiles, clearly expecting something sweet.

”What makes you think I’d marry you?”

For the first time all evening, his smile falters.

”What?”

”I said...” I tilt my head, keeping my voice calm enough to hide the fire raging inside me. ”What exactly makes you think I’d agree to become your wife?”

His confidence returns almost instantly.

He dabs the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

”Our fathers have already discussed it.”

There it is.

Not we.

Our fathers.

Like we’re negotiating a shipment instead of a marriage.

”My father is your father’s underboss,” he continues. ”The alliance benefits both families.”

Benefits.

Such a neat little word. As if it isn’t another way of saying your opinion doesn’t matter.

I glance toward the restaurant windows.

Outside, rain slides down the glass in shimmering streaks and for one reckless second, I consider walking out.

Let Papa be angry, let Sebastian throw a tantrum, let the whole damn city gossip about the Don’s disobedient daughter.

The thought is intoxicating.

Then my phone vibrates.

Papa.

A single message.

Behave. We’ll discuss everything when you get home.

I stare at the screen for a long moment. Then I slip the phone back into my purse.

Across the table, Sebastian raises his wineglass.

”To our future.”

I look him dead in the eyes.

And i pity him because if he truly believes I’m going to marry him....He’s about to have the biggest surprise of his life.