Page 185 of Reckless Obsession

The question is too soft. Too close to sympathy. If he keeps talking to me like I am something worth worrying about, I am going to break in a way I cannot take back.

“How did you find me?” I snap, ignoring his question entirely. “How did you know I was here?”

Dante holds my gaze, refusing to match my hostility. “I was worried. You disappeared. No calls, no answers. I didn’t know where else to check on you, except here.”

I bite my lower lip hard enough to taste copper, turning my eyes away toward the dark concrete facade of the house.

He knows this place because he was the first person I ever brought here. A year ago, back when Dante and I were fucking each other, he had been the only person in this city who didn’t demand a performance from me. Yes, the sex had been effortless and grounding, but Dante was more than that—he was safe, older, profoundly caring in a way that had terrified me because I didn’t think I deserved it.

The only other person I ever showed this sanctuary to was Tristan.

Last month.

The memory arrives without permission: Tristan’s hands braced against the wall beside my head, his mouth at my throat, his body pressed against mine. His voice low in my ear, telling me this place was beautiful. Telling me I was beautiful.

“Did you block me?” Dante asks quietly.

I look down at the gravel beneath my shoes.

The answer is embarrassing.

I nod once.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I… I had to.”

Dante exhales slowly. Then his hand lifts, stopping before it touches me, as if he is asking permission without asking.

“I am not angry with you, Amore mio.”

The words land somewhere deep enough to hurt.

“I just wanted to see you,” he continues. “I leave for Italy tomorrow morning. I do not know when I will return, and I…” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “I did not want to leave without knowing you were safe.”

My throat closes.

Dante’s gaze stays on mine.

“I know you are with Tristan,” he says. “I know there are boundaries, and I would never disrespect your relationship. I am not here to interfere. I only needed to see you one last time.”

“Would you like me to come to Italy with you?”

The question slices through the air before I can stop it.

Dante goes completely still. For the first time since I have known him, he looks genuinely caught off guard.

“What did you say?”

I stare at him.

“Do you want me to come with you?” I repeat.

Dante searches my face.

His expression changes slowly, caution overtaking surprise.

“Maksim,” he says, low and careful, “are you asking me because you want Italy… or because you want to run?”

“Does it matter?”