Page 80 of The Obsession
Emily glances at me, then down at Peach. “Pool?” she says with a small laugh.
“Yes!” Peach squeals, punching the air and the cupcake in her hand goes flying, but this time I reach out and catch it before it hits the floor.
“Is that okay?” Emily mouths to me, and when I nod, she smiles before glancing back at the phone. “Sounds great. We’d love to come over.”
“Perfect! Bring your swimsuits. See you soon!” Lucia chirps.
A pleased grin curves Emily’s plump lips as she ends the call and hands the phone back to me. She’s slipping into my world far too easily, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
“Peach’s swimsuit is in the third drawer of her dresser,” I say, backing out of the kitchen. “There’s sunscreen under the sink in the bathroom. If you want to pack a bag, we can head out after I shower.”
Emily has that sweet fucking smile I remember from the day we met plastered across her face on the drive to Dante’s.
I love seeing her make friends, and her happiness is infectious. She was practically bouncing with excitement at the prospect of a girly get-together as we left the house and headed towards the car.
Lucia’s and Arabella’s husbands may be morally grey like me, but their wives are exactly the kind of friends Emily needs. They’re good people.
Dante greets us at the door, shaking my hand, kisses both of Emily’s cheeks, and lightly bops Lil’ Peach on the nose.
“Arabella and Lucia are out by the pool,” he tells Emily, pointing towards the rear of the house. “There’s a bathroom near the back glass sliding doors if you want to change before you go out there.”
Why does the thought of seeing Emily in a bikini or even a one-piece get my blood running hot? I’ve seen those fucking long, lean legs of hers in cut-off denim shorts, the ones she’s yet to wear since she moved into my place, and Jesus Christ, I have to stifle a groan at the thought.
Thankfully, Dante is walking in front of me as I follow him down the hall, so I can discreetly reach down and adjust my cock without being seen.
When we enter his office, I find Romeo and Lorenzo—Light ’em up Lorenzo, the resident firebug in our establishment—both seated near the boss’s desk.
They stand as I extend my bandaged hand, and Romeo inspects it with a squint. “What the fuck?”
“Emily playing nursemaid,” I explain.
He chuckles. “Lucia was like that when I got stabbed. She even ordered some skimpy little nurse outfit online, thinking it’d break through my resolve.”
I chuckle because I can totally see her doing that. This poor guy didn’t stand a chance the moment she set eyes on him. She obviously did something right, though; they’re now married with a kid.
Dante rounds the desk, taking his rightful seat on the other side.
“I called this meeting because early this morning someone firebombed La Riviera. And when I sayfirebombed, I use the term loosely. The dumb fucks lobbed a poor excuse for a Molotov cocktail—something that looked like it was created from a YouTube DIY video—and it barely caught. It smashed through the front window, but fortunately, Massimo was inside prepping dough at the time and managed to put it out with a fire extinguisher before it could even take hold. If they weren’t so incompetent, though, it could’ve turned out a lot worse.”
“Do you think it was the bikies?” I ask.
He nods before answering. “I managed to get the CCTV, it was two guys dressed in black with hoods and bandannas covering their faces, but the stolen car they used was found burnt out a block away from the Reapers clubhouse. It doesn’t take a genius to know it was them.”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as a cold ripple runs down my spine.
I’m grateful Emily wasn’t there, and that Massimo wasn’t hurt, but any relief I feel is tangled inside me along with something else. A gnawing fear that the threat is still real.
I thought I took care of them, but clearly, the Reapers are too damn stupid to know when to pull their fucking heads in. Too stupid to realise they’re digging their own graves one reckless stunt at a time.
“I’m not sure if it was retribution for what happened when they came to the restaurant to intimidate Emily, or if they somehow got word we were behind the raid. Either way, those cunts are going to pay for what they did. I can’t just stand by and do nothing,” Dante states.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
His gaze moves to Lorenzo, who sits back in his chair with his arms crossed and an expression carved from stone.
“We’re going to show them how it’s done properly. They want to start a fire, well, we’ll give them a fucking inferno.”
There’s promise laced behind Dante’s words, and a slight smile curves at Lorenzo’s lips as he sits forward in his seat and rubs his hands together.
