The Italian Obsession Novels & Stories

When we arrived, my nerves were stretched tight. Inside, Elijah’s hand immediately found mine, his grip firm, grounding me even as fear crawled up my spine. He knew I was tense. He always knew. The doors opened. Noise slammed into us like a wave. Whispers. Murmurs. Laughter. Disgusted stares. Every eye in the room turned toward us. Toward me. I felt stripped bare under their gazes. Hatred lingered openly on their faces—no attempt to hide it. Of course they knew. Everyone knew. The first same-sex marriage between mafia families? It was scandal written in blood.

as the words flowed out of my mouth, I suddenly remembered Ayita, these were the exact same words she uttered that same day. “This is my confession” I paused for a while and closed my eyes, “I ordered the death of someone and I am obsessed with a woman. I didn’t choose to be obsessed with her but it happened and here we are. I ordered the death of a man because he was liking the woman I liked” The priest kept listening to me and from the little holes separating us, he didn’t have any judgmental look on his face. I already liked him. “Do you wish to desist from such things?” He asked me and I paused, I wasn’t ready to let go of her nor was I ready to let any man near her.

The smell of incense and burning ozone filled the air, a holy funeral for a profane love. “I would burn every generation of Moretti to ashes before I let them touch a single hair on your head,” he hissed, his face inches from hers. “You think this is about them? It’s only ever been about you. My obsession isn't a flaw in the architecture, Ivy. It is the architecture.”

She had curled up in the center of the bed, her breathing soft, unaware that he stood alone in the dark, battling demons with her name etched into their claws. He shouldn’t have touched her. Shouldn’t have tasted the one thing in his life that wasn’t broken, corrupted, or purchased with blood. But he had. And now he was hooked. The problem was, in his world, obsession came with a price. And someone was already collecting. A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. “Come in,” he said. Luca entered, face tight. “We have a problem.” Dante turned. “Romano business?” “No. Worse.”

“Ah, that’s the European way. We work hard, sure, but we live and play hard too. Not like the corporate slavery they try and force on us. No! It’s about balance—about savoring life.” Just then, a couple of women pass to sit at a neighboring table, giggling as they throw Matteo appreciative glances. I watch as he gives them a wink, his smile widening. He holds his glass up to them before he drinks. “They can’t help themselves,” he says quietly to me, barely concealing his smirk. “It’s the Italian blood, you know? Makes us irresistible.” Then he laughs out loud. I laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t seem to mind the attention.”

“You can’t…God, Giovanni, you can’t fix what’s broken in you by breaking me too.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. His hand slid from my hair to cup the side of my face, surprisingly careful for a man made of violence. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t tried to stay away?” His voice was low, edged with fury and something far more dangerous, honesty. “But you’re under my skin, Mirabella. In my blood. And no matter what I do, I can’t tear you out.” My chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. “That’s obsession. Not love.”

“Is something wrong? The moment you walked in, I saw you scanning the place. You got a bit scared when the server brought out a wine. Your eyes keep darting around. Is this a case of some psycho ex-lover?” “No. It’s worse. It’s a case of the Italian Mafia king.” I kept looking at him. “You’re good at observing people.” I took a sip of my wine and found myself unable to resist scanning the room again. “There you go again, scanning people.” My eyes immediately locked onto him when he mentioned it, and his lips spread into a wide smile. “Do you really have a baby?” I furrowed my eyebrows. “What do you mean?” “Nothing. They serve amazing lasagna. Would you like to try?”

“I’m not the mafia hitman for nothing, Alora. I know you aren’t Vittoria. But still, you’re Dante’s girl. And I have a goal—kill everything he loves.” “He doesn’t love me. Dante detests me. So please let me go.” My voice echoed in the closet as I screamed. “Nah. Even a dumb fool can see the man is obsessed with you.” You’re the one obsessed with Vittoria, I almost screamed but chose to keep silent. There’s no need arguing with someone like him. It’s very evident he’s mentally unwell. “What? Cat got your tongue?” he taunted at my silence. “Well, I’m done playing,” he smirked, placing the barrel of the gun on my forehead. “Anything you want to say to me before you go?”

*"How do you expect me to keep my voice down? That man proposed to you. I thought he was married to his work." *"It wasn't romantic!"* I groaned, covering my face. *"It was practical. Logical. Stupid. Cold. Very him."* Diana plopped beside me, clutching my arm. *"Explain. Every detail. Right now. If you miss one comma, I'll slap you."* I told her everything. From the text. To him showing up. To the marriage talk. To the knife falling at the most dramatic possible moment. *"Okay,"* Diana exhaled, rubbing her temples. *"Let me get this straight. He wants to marry you because… it's convenient? Because you're quiet? Because you don't annoy him? And you won't disrupt his… ecosystem?"*

"Sorry. Drama, drama, drama," She gave me a strange look. "Isn't that what Italians are known for?" "From what I've heard, Italians are known for much more than just drama." I wiggled my eyebrows at her. I chuckled. Winced when the stitches pulled on my lower belly. She shot forward. "Who the hell put you up so high? Are they stupid?" I laughed again. "Domenico." She cursed him under her breath. "Why are the hot, moody ones so stupid?"