Alle Kapitel von Dark Obsession : Kapitel 41 – Kapitel 50

Silvano Pain is a familiar companion. The stitches across my ribs pull with every breath, a sharp reminder of how close I came to dying in that smoke-filled corridor. But pain doesn’t control me. I do. I sit on the edge of the bed in the safe house, jaw clenched, staring at the wall. My blood still stains the floorboards where Ciro worked on me. I should be resting, but rest is for weaker men. Mirella is back in that bastard’s house, and the thought of her breathing the same air as Riccardo Salviati makes my blood burn hotter than any wound. She belongs to me now. Whether she fully accepts it or not. A knock sounds. Tiziano enters without waiting. “You look like death,” he says flatly. “I feel worse.” I stand slowly, ignoring the flare of pain. “Status on her.” Tiziano watches me carefully. “She’s home. Playing the shaken daughter well enough. Riccardo bought the story for now, but he’s tightening the leash. University resumes in a week.” University. Another cage she thinks w

Mirella I wake up in my own bed the next morning with Silvano’s marks still lingering on my skin and his confessions echoing in my head. The house smells faintly of smoke and cleaning chemicals. Downstairs, workers are already repairing the damage from the attack. Life in the Salviati mansion moves on like nothing happened, because that’s what we do — we bury the mess and keep smiling. I stare at the ceiling, jaw clenched. Monster. That’s what I called him last night. And he didn’t even deny it. He just smiled that dark, arrogant smile and fucked me harder while telling me about burning a family alive. About killing for my father. About standing outside houses and listening to people scream. I should be disgusted. I should be terrified. Instead, I’m angry at how much I still want him. My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Group chat. Elara: Coffee at 10? Don’t you dare say you’re busy. We need details about the attack. And the engagement. Giulia is losing her mind. Giulia

Silvano The next evening, I wait until well past midnight before making my move. The Salviati mansion is still recovering. Workers spent the entire day repairing the worst of the fire and bullet damage, but scaffolding still lines the east wing and the faint smell of smoke lingers in the night air. It will be weeks before the house looks normal again. That mess works in my favor. I slip past the new perimeter guards — my own men now — and climb up to her balcony. One quiet tap on the glass. Mirella opens the door fast, eyes flashing with immediate irritation. She grabs my arm and yanks me inside, locking the door behind me. “You’re actually insane,” she hisses, keeping her voice low. “My father is still awake downstairs. The house is full of workers and extra security. If anyone sees you here—” “No one will.” I crowd her against the wall, one hand braced beside her head. “I’m done making you sneak out to me. From now on, I come to you.” She shoves at my chest, careful of my wo

Mirella The dorm room feels too small tonight. Textbooks are spread across my bed like a battlefield, highlighters scattered everywhere, but I’ve read the same paragraph three times without absorbing a single word. My mind keeps drifting back to Silvano slipping through my window last night, the way he pinned me down and told me I was his like it was an undeniable fact. I hate how much power he has over me. A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. Elara pokes her head in, holding two cups of coffee. “Break time,” she announces, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “You’ve been locked in here for hours. Talk to me.” I accept the coffee with a grateful nod and take a sip. The warmth does nothing to settle the knot in my stomach. Elara sits on the edge of my bed, studying me. “You’ve been different since the attack. Quieter. More… guarded. And this engagement thing with Tiziano? It doesn’t feel like you.” I force a shrug. “It’s my father’s decision. Allia

Silvano The university campus sprawls below me like a hunting ground. I stand on the rooftop of the adjacent building, raincoat collar turned up against the light drizzle, binoculars steady in my hands. From this position, I have a perfect view of the law faculty courtyard where Mirella sits with her friends and a group of classmates. She laughs at something one of the males says — a tall, clean-cut guy in a button-down shirt who leans too close when he speaks. My jaw tightens. The urge to put a bullet between his eyes flares hot and sudden. I breathe through it, but the jealousy coils tight in my chest like a living thing. She is mine. Not his. Not Tiziano’s. Not anyone else’s. Mirella brushes her hair back from her face, arguing with the group about some legal technicality. Even from this distance, I can see the fire in her eyes, that stubborn spark that makes me want to pin her down and remind her exactly who she belongs to. She looks alive here — the brilliant law student