Page 1 of The Obsession
Chapter 1
Dominic
Three years ago …
Iroll over with a frustrated growl when my phone starts vibrating on the bedside table again. This is the third time it’s rung in the past twenty minutes. It’s barely 9 am, but I only got home a few hours ago, and I already know whoever this persistent fucker is, they’re not going to let me sleep until I pick up.
I reach for my phone and squint against the brightness as I bring it closer to my face. An unknown number flashes on the screen, which only makes me more annoyed. I hate phone calls, even on a good day. Texting is more my style, or honestly, no contact at all. But if I want any chance of getting back to sleep, I need to deal with this shit quickly.
I hit the accept button, bring it to my ear, and grumble, “What,” down the line.
“I-I … umm,” a woman’s voice stammers, clearly thrown off by my tone, but I couldn’t care less. I’m not a people person for good reason. I make no excuses for who I am. “I was hoping to speak with a Mr Dominic Rizzo,” she finally says.
“Speaking,” I reply, with about as much enthusiasm as I had when I answered the call.
“Oh, Mr Rizzo, hi. My name is Mary?—”
“Get to the point, Mary,” I snap in an attempt to speed things up.
She clears her throat before continuing, “As I was saying, my name is Mary, and I’m calling from DOCS … the Department of Community Services. Are you familiar with?—”
“Yes,” I interrupt again, sitting up and dragging a hand down my face. I grew up in the system, so yeah, I know exactly who they are. But that’s a part of my life I’m not interested in revisiting. I left all that bullshit behind the second I aged out, so if this is some kind of courtesy call or a box she needs to tick, she can fuck the hell off. I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself. “What do you want, Mary? I work nights, and I’m trying to sleep.”
“Oh, right. I’m sorry for waking you, Mr Rizzo. I guess that would explain your gruffness.”
“Gruffness?” I repeat, arching an eyebrow. It’s almost laughable. She hasn’t even seen my cunty side yet.
“I’m calling in relation to Violet … she’s your sister, right?”
The mere mention of that name immediately gets my attention. My sister and I might not be close anymore, but that protective-big-brother side of me never really went away.
Violet was only five when we got dumped into the system … I was eight. I may have been young, but I did my best to look out for her when no one else would. We bounced through a few foster homes before she finally got adopted, and after that, I lost contact with her.
When I turned eighteen, the first thing I did was go looking for her, and for a few years, it felt like we finally had a shot at being a real family. When she turned eighteen, shemoved in with me, but then she met that fuckerTray, the guy who dragged her into drugs and all kinds of shady shit, and everything fell apart.
She lied to me, stole from me, but despite it all, I stuck by her. I tried to pull her out of it more times than I can count. I even beat the shit out of that motherfucker for leading her astray, but in the end, she pushed me away, hard.
She eventually moved out, taking anything of mine that held value. We haven’t spoken in a long time—her doing, not mine—but hearing her name still hits like a gut punch. Despite everything she’s done to me, I still love her … I still care. She’s my little sister. The only family I have.
The fact that she’s an adult now has me wondering why they’d be calling me at all.
“Yes, she’s my sister. Has something happened?”
“She listed you as her next of kin when she was admitted to the hospital.”
Fuck.Those words make my stomach twist. “Hospital?”
With the way Violet’s been living these past few years, a part of me always knew it was only a matter of time before she overdosed or something worse happened. I saw the bruises on her, so I know that fucker was heavy-handed with her; it’s another reason I beat him up. Images of my poor mother flashed through my mind the moment I saw the marks on her skin, and I probably would’ve killed him if Violet hadn’t stopped me.
I was just a small boy when I had to witness my father slapping my mother around. I was helpless then, but I’m not anymore. I couldn’t save my mum, but I sure as hell tried to save my sister. In the end, short of kidnapping her and locking her away until she saw some fucking sense, my hands were tied.
“Yes. She was admitted yesterday … she was in labour,” Mary replies.
“Labour. She’s pregnant?”
“She gave birth to a little girl late last night, but unfortunately, due to her addiction, the baby was born with drugs in her system.”
My heart stops for a second. I don’t even know what to say. Violet … a mother? The last time I saw her, she could barely take care of herself.
