Towards obsession

Vicenzo POV

Towards obsession

It was a fresh morning, I was already dressed on my bath robe as I made my way to the balcony enjoying the atmosphere as fresh air hit me.

I decided to go check up on momma, at the bottom of the stairs, I found her, my mother, Alessia, seated elegantly in her silk robe, a porcelain cup in hand.

She sipped her tea with the same poise she carried into every room, her eyes calm, distant, as though she belonged to another world entirely.

“Ma,” I greeted softly, forcing a smile. “You’re up early.”

She didn’t look at me, not at first. The steam from her cup seemed to interest her more than my presence. I stepped closer, lowering my tone, trying to be the son instead of the boss for once.

“I thought I’d sit with you a while. Maybe keep you company.”

Her gaze flicked toward me, sharp and fleeting. “You’ve have a long day, Vicenzo,” she said coolly. “Don’t force sweetness when what you need is rest. Go upstairs.”

I froze for a second, her words cutting deeper than I’d admit. I had expected hoped—for warmth, but she shoved me aside with her indifference, as she often did.

I climbed the stairs again, slower this time, until I reached my room. Opening the balcony doors, I stepped into the cool morning air. The city stretched before me, restless even at dawn. I lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, letting the breeze wash over me.

“What a good day” I said to my self as I picked up the telephone to dail my cook number.

“Can I have omelette and coffee please” I said to her as she responded affirmatively , why hasn’t Nam my assistant call me yet ? I thought to my self as I shoved the thought aside and continued rocking my chair

The faint clink of cutlery and the rich scent of roasted coffee beans wrapped around me like a promise.

I leaned back in my chair, letting the early morning quiet seep in. After about ten minutes, the kitchen door opened and my cook walked in, carrying a tray with steady hands.

“Your coffee and omelette, sir,” he said, placing it neatly before me.

The espresso’s bitter aroma curled in my nose, perfectly balanced by the buttery scent of the omelette. I picked up the cup, inhaling slowly before taking a sip.

I exhaled, a low hum escaping me. “What a great day,” I murmured to myself.

The cook glanced at me, curious. “You’ve already decided that, sir? The day’s just starting.”

I smirked, stirring the coffee lazily. “When you’re me, you don’t wait for the day to tell you how it’s going to be. You tell the day.”

A faint chuckle came from him. “Or maybe you bend the day until it listens to you.”

I cut into the omelette, the yolk spilling out golden and soft—just the way I liked it. “Exactly.”

For a moment, I let myself enjoy the bite. But my thoughts were already on the shipment. Weeks of planning, late-night calls, making sure every loose end was tied… and silencing anyone who thought about getting in the way. Today was the payoff.

But before that…

I set the fork down slowly. “I’m making a stop before I head to the base,” I said aloud, though more to myself than to him.

The cook, still clearing the side table, glanced at me. “Business, sir?”

“Something like that.” I leaned back in my chair, my eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m going to see Rose.”

His hands paused mid-motion. “Haven’t seen her in a while, have you?”

I smiled faintly. “Not nearly enough. She’s been… keeping her distance.”

“Do you think she’ll be happy to see you?” he asked cautiously.

I met his eyes, my voice calm but edged. “Happy? Maybe. Angry? Maybe. Either way, she’ll see me. And she’ll remember.”

The cook gave me a look like he wanted to say more, but I cut him off sharply, rising from my seat.


“Why don’t you just go back and do what you’re supposed to do,” I said coolly, “and leave the rest to me.”

He lowered his head and went back to work.

I headed to my room, pulling open the wardrobe doors. Rows of tailored suits and crisp shirts greeted me, each one a statement in its own right.

My fingers skimmed over the fabrics until they landed on a deep charcoal suit sharp, understated, lethal in its elegance.

I dressed slowly, deliberately. Shirt buttoned, tie knotted, jacket fitted to perfection.

The Rolex slid onto my wrist with a familiar weight. In the mirror, my reflection stared back—calm, polished, dangerous.

“Let’s see if you’re still as stubborn as I remember, mia rosa,” I murmured to myself.

The drive to her place was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine. My men stayed in the car when I stepped out, walking up to her door.

I knocked once.

Footsteps approached, and then the door cracked open. Rose stood there, eyes widening when she saw me.

Her hand tightened on the door, and her first instinct was to close it—but my palm pressed firmly against the wood, stopping her.

“Rose…” I said, my voice low, almost pleading. “Don’t. Please.”

She glared at me, her lips pressed into a hard line. “You shouldn’t be here, Vicenzo.”

“I had to see you,” I said, holding her gaze. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I know you’re angry. But I want you back.”

Her chest rose and fell, and I could see the war in her eyes. “It’s not that simple,” she said, shaking her head.

I stepped closer, still holding the door. “It is for me. I don’t care what happened I just know I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the door, like she was deciding whether to slam it or let me in. I didn’t move, waiting, my heartbeat slow but heavy.