The Don's Deadliest Obsession

We’ve made a complete sweep of the building.

Every room, every hallway, every exit. My men have checked the surrounding grounds twice, and we still haven’t found anything useful. No accomplices. No suspicious vehicles. Nothing that tells me how the bastard got in or whether he came alone.

Fucking useless.

I should have kept him alive.

The thought has been eating at me since I watched the life drain from his eyes. I was so consumed by the sight of that gun pointed at Nerissa that I didn’t think beyond putting him down.

Now the only person who might have answers is lying dead on the floor.....well in a body bag now, my men will dispose of him properly.

I drag a hand down my face and turn toward the private rooms.

Nerissa.

I need to see her.

She must be shaken up. Hell, she watched a man point a gun at her, saw me slit his throat, and got covered in his blood. I can still picture the look on her face when I turned toward her.

She hadn’t moved.

I’ve seen people beg for their lives. I’ve watched men piss themselves before their deaths. I’ve looked into the eyes of people who knew they were about to die, and none of it has ever bothered me.

But seeing Nerissa like that?

I fucking hated it. I need to keep her safe. Whatever this is, whoever is behind it, they made one mistake tonight.

They touched what is mine.

And I will tear this city apart before I let them get another chance.

I check the first room. Empty, the second is empty too.

By the time I reach the third door, my patience is wearing thin. I push it open, already prepared to demand an explanation from whoever is supposed to be watching the hallway.

Instead, a gun is pointed straight at my face.

I stop.

Isabella stands in the dimly lit room, her arm extended, her expression murderous.

I slowly raise both hands.

”It’s me, sis.”

She stares at me for another second before lowering the gun. Her shoulders sag, and she lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously close to a curse.

”Holy shit, Lysander. I damn well near shot you.”

”Clearly.”

”Don’t start with me.”

”Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She gives me a look that promises she will shoot me the next time I make a smart remark, then turns away.

That’s when I see Nerissa.

She’s squatting on the floor in the far corner of the room, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. She’s rocking back and forth, barely moving, her gaze fixed on a blank spot somewhere in front of her.

For a moment, I simply stare.

This isn’t the woman who shot me in the shoulder without blinking. It isn’t the woman who looked me in the eye after killing Sebastian or the woman who planted a severed penis beneath her roses and told me about it as casually as if she’d been talking about the weather.

This woman looks like she’s somewhere else entirely.....someone I haven’t met before. I guess the incident traumatized her more than I thought it did.

”She’s been doing that for a while now,” Isabella says quietly, following my gaze.

I look at her.

”Has she said anything?”

”Not much.”

”Fuck.”

I rub the back of my my neck, struggling to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with this feeling twisting inside my chest.

”Thanks for looking after her.”

Isabella turns to me, one eyebrow raised.

”Of course. She’s my friend.”

”Yeah, righr.”

”Asshole.”

I almost smile but when I glance at Nerissa again, and whatever amusement I might have felt disappears.

”Come on. Jeremiah will take you home.”

Isabella frowns. ”I can take care of myself. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

”I know you can, Bella.”

”Then wh.....”

”But please, h humor me this once?” I interrupt, keeping my voice lower than usual. ”I need to know you’re safe. Triple safe, if that’s even possible. Please. I’ve got enough to deal with already.”

Her expression changes.For all her stubbornness, Isabella knows me well enough to recognize when I’m close to losing my mind. She glances at Nerissa, then back at me.

”Fine.”

”Thank you.”

”Don’t thank me yet. I’m still angry with you.”

”Get in line.”

She rolls her eyes and walks toward the door, stopping beside me.

”Be safe, Lysander.”

I nod.

She hesitates, looking at Nerissa one last time.

”And take care of her.”

Something tightens in my chest.

”I will.”

Isabella leaves, and the door clicks shut behind her.

The silence that follows is unbearable.

I stand there for a few seconds, watching Nerissa rock back and forth as though she’s trying to soothe something inside herself that I can’t see.

I’ve never been particularly good at comforting people. I know how to make threats, how to negotiate, how to hurt someone badly enough that they never forget my name.

But this?

I don’t know where to fucking begin.

Still, I move toward her slowly, so I don’t startle her, I lower myself into a squat in front of her. We’re almost at eye level now.

”Nerissa.”

Nothing.

”Little riot.”

Her fingers tighten around her knees. It’s a small movement, barely noticeable, but I see it.

I lean forward slightly.

”Look at me, sweetheart.”

She slowly lifts her head and something inside me twists so painfully that I almost forget how to breathe.

There are tears gathered along her eyelashes. Her eyes are red, her face pale beneath the remnants of the blood I watched spray across her skin.

She isn’t crying exactly. The tears haven’t fallen yet. But they’re there, clinging to her lashes, and she looks so damn lost that I feel an unfamiliar ache spreading through my chest.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I press my palm againsr my sternum, rubbing at the spot as though I can physically push the feeling away.

It doesn’t work.

For a moment, I wonder if I’ve been shot without noticing. Maybe there’s a bullet lodged somewhere in my chest, because this can’t possibly be a normal reaction to seeing someone cry.

Especially not Nerissa.

We’ve spent weeks arguing. She’s insulted me more times than I can count, threatened me, shot me, and made it her personal mission to get under my skin.

I’ve wanted to strangle her on more than one occasion.

So why does seeing tears in her eyes feel like someone has reached inside my chest and squeezed my heart?

I hate it, I hate that I can’t explain it and I hate even more that I can’t make it stop.

When the feeling finally eases enough for me to move, I rise to my feet and slip one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back.

Before she can react or refuse, i bend and scoop her into my arms a.

She lets out a small, startled breath as I lift her bridal style.

I expect her to rage, to throw a tantrum, tell mw to get my hands off of her, then tell me to go fuck my self....That’s what the Nerissa I know would usually do or say.

Instead she goes completely still for a second then she shudders. Her hands catch the front of my shirt, and she buries her face in the crook of my neck.

I freeze.

Not necessarily because I don’t want her there but because I do.

God help me, I do.

Which I find really strange. What th hell is wrong with me.

Her breath trembles against my skin. I feel the slight shake of her body, the way her fingers curl into my shirt as though she’s holding on to something solid in a world that has suddenly become uncertain.

I tighten my arms around her.

”It’s okay, baby” I murmur, even though I know damn well it isn’t. ”I’ve got you.”

For once, Nerissa doesn’t argue.

She doesn’t call me an arrogant bastard or tell me to put her down. She doesn’t remind me that she can take care of herself.

She simply presses closer, hiding her face against my neck.

And I hold her.

I hold her as if my arms are the only thing standing between her and whatever the hell came for her tonight.

I don’t know who sent that bastard, I don’t know who he works for or if he’s alone. I don’t if he’s my enemy or an enemy of mt wife’s family, maybe he’s an enemy of both families.

And I don’t know why the thought of someone hurting her makes me want to burn the entire fucking world down.

But I’ll find out.

I’ll find every person involved, drag the truth out of them, and make sure they never get close enough to touch her again.

Because whatever this is, whatever the hell is going on... it has to go through me first. And I’ll be damned if I let anything get to her.