BECOMING HIS OBSESSION

𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑨 𝑷𝑶𝑽

I shoot him in the exact same spot I stabbed him seconds ago.

"Yo yoooou" He stammers, pointing at me as I watch life leave him

"For my parents"

The crack of the suppressed pistol reverberates through the lounge as I watch Carlos's blood pool on the tiled floor. The same way he decorated the walls of my home six years ago.

One last time, my bullet digs a hole on his forehead

"For my brother" his lifeless body splatters blood on my red Louboutin heels-the one I've been saving for this exact moment.

When I finally murder the Don of Viper Lane.

Not yet. But soon.

"Who taught you how to be this good, nena?"

Damien's voice pulls me out of the murderous daydream. Carlos's best friend and right hand questions me.

Instead, I smile at an accomplished mission seated eight feet away: Carlos

His gaze has been on me for twenty minutes now, observing as I dismantle one of his men at chess.

About to be two now.

"Checkmate"

Damien hisses as I kick down his king.

"You're bad for these men's pockets." Vera hands over my winnings.

"It has been a bad play"

Damien teases, gripping my hand with a smile that I return.

I hug the cash to my chest, playing up my victory while others clamor for one more round.

"Please one round Thalia"

"If you find a better player, you know where to find me." I yell to the room, releasing my hair from its bun, letting it fall around my shoulders.

His gaze still burns & I give in to look.

Legs wide apart, back against the cushions of a two-seater sofa, occupying space like he owns it. Cigarette smoke circles him like incense burned around an idol.

The murmurs and shuffling of the lounge fade out. All I feel is venom.

Anger hammers against my ribs. My nails dig crescents into my palms. Pain. Focus. Not yet. Not here. Not like this.

I take three steps toward the exit. Three steps toward fresh air and freedom, until a wall of muscle blocks my path.

Orio. One of Carlos's enforcers-useful for breaking bones and issuing threats when Greg, the primary bodyguard, isn't around. I've cataloged every one of Carlos's men I can identify. Orio ranks bottom for intelligence but top for blind obedience.

"Did I..." I blink thrice and let timidness creep into my voice, "forget something?"

Young and scared-that's what they expect from a young woman facing down a man quadruple her size.

"My boss wants to see you." His voice scrapes like gravel and cigarettes.

I raise my brows at him.

"NOW." He barks, squaring his shoulders.

On paper and to strangers, I look like a regular bratty girl. Tonight, I look the part. I might as well use it.

"If your boss wants to see me," I begin, gripping my purse tighter, feeling the weight of the scissors inside

"he should act like a man and approach me himself. Not send an underling."

Orio's nostrils flare. His hand twitches toward the gun I know he keeps in his waistband.

Come to me Carlos, I'm not like the men that stutter at your presence or the women that beg for your attention

"For the meantime, I'm uninterested." I duck under his outstretched arm.

"Play with me."

Three words. A direct command. No elaboration, no asking. Just the absolute expectation of obedience.

The voice is deep and smooth, like honeyed whiskey laced with boredom and authority. It makes every hair on my body stand at attention, sending ice racing through my veins.

I turn slowly, pulse pounding in my ears as I face him: Carlos Terrius, Don of Viper Lane.

Six years of preparation should have made this easier.

My heart slams against my ribs, trying to escape. Or warn me.

This is him. This is the man. All I need is for him to want me for a quick fuck in his home, his hotel, his office-anywhere I can plant the cameras buried in my bag. Learn his routine enough to destroy him

"MOVE."

Orio's order cuts through my thoughts.

I lift my head to properly look at Carlos.

He's more commanding in person than through my camera lenses. Six-foot-three of lean muscle and controlled violence in an impeccably tailored black suit. Dark hair falls across his forehead-longer than modern, shorter than rebellious.

But it's his eyes that pin me in place. Deep and dark beneath thick brows, set in clean-shaven olive skin. He must have shaved since I last captured him on film.

Dead eyes on a thirty-one-year-old face, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach drop.

"So you're the incapable boss who sends others to do his work?"

The words escape before I can stop them. Sharp. Edged with the bitterness that belongs to the seventeen-year-old girl he destroyed, not the calculated weapon I've become.

His eyes narrow.

"Excuse me?"

And this is where I die. Two of his men approach me with steps that promise bloodshed

"You heard me." I commit to the grave I'm digging. Take me to the dungeon you punish me. Get me into your world.

Carlos raises one hand. They freeze instantly.

"Well-trained dogs," I mutter.

His jaw ticks. He heard me.

Carlos doesn't explode as expected. Instead, he bows his head, a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he twirls an archaic-looking silver ring on his index finger.

A dry chuckle escapes him, and my throat goes dry.

"I was hoping I misheard," he murmurs to the floor, the ring catching the dim light of the lounge.

"Something a coward would do."

I retort, and he draws in a breath.

When he looks up, his eyes are pure darkness. Amusement vanished from his expression

Hands in pocket, He moves. Three strides of purposeful, predatory rage

"What a very brave way to invite a deep painful death."

THALIA POV

"What a very brave way to invite a deep painful death."

The seriousness in his threat hits like a punch, my knees almost give out at the intensity of his grip on my cheeks as he presses them together

"Too soon to show weakness now," he continues in that whiskey-smooth growl, his nails digging into my skin.

Then he releases me.

"But, I've always had a weakness for brave things."

Before I can react or draw breath, his fingers clamp onto my jaw again, forcing my face up. His hands are like ice, but his eyes are lava.

He's so close I can see the faint scar cutting through his neck, covered in tattoos and the sharp, lethal edge of his jaw. He smells like expensive oud and tobacco.

I force myself to look back up at him. One of his brows is raised, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

He won't get that satisfaction.

"When a stranger needs something, the word 'please' usually comes first."

He releases my jaw, taking a precise step back, his eyes widening slightly.

"Hmmmm."

Is all he mutters and suddenly two of his men grab my shoulders.

"Let me go!"

"Am I... a stranger?

Carlos lights a cigarette with agonizing slowness,

drawling out each word like a taunt, and anxiety floods my system.

His men release me.

Does he know? No. Impossible. He never saw me that night-I was living with my grandmother across the country when it happened. I've lost the baby fat. I've sharpened my features. I've become someone else entirely.

But doubt creeps in, cold and insidious.

Instead of responding, I turn toward the door, desperate for air, space, and the ability to think clearly without his presence scrambling my thoughts.

"Leave," Carlos's lethal voice halts my step. When did he get so close?

His hot breathe fans my neck, holding my neck against the door.

His chest pressing against my back, a solid wall of muscle and threat, pinning me still.

Something warm spreads through my core and I want to vomit.

Never. Not him. Not when I'm this close

In one swift move, he turns me to face him

"Leave and you'll find out why people disappear in my presence."

He finishes then lets me go

I instantly hate myself for how weak his movements make me feel. All those years of training, and he can still subdue me easily.

"Move" Orio says but I remain still, watching Carlos's eyes rake over me, taking inventory of every curve hidden beneath my leather pants and lace top.

Searching for every angle, every vulnerability.

But he misses the gun strapped to my ankle.

His knife-edge jaw isn't the only intimidating thing about him. It's the pride in the way he carries himself, like he's ruler of us all.

"Interesting."

He breaks the stare first, turning away abruptly.

Then he seals my fate with five words:

"Get her to the table."

Orio's hand clamps onto my arm.

"I'll walk!" I shake away from his grip and he lets me.

CARLOS POV

In my years as the Don of Viper Lane, no one has dared not to fear me. Not my rivals. Not my enemies.

Not even Zara.

And I have never been more aroused in my life.

"I told you," I let my temper flare, "I. Don't. Repeat. Myself."

The temper isn't about her disobedience or lack of fear. It's about the fact that I want to watch that smart mouth form the word "please"-and mean it.

It's about the fact that I want to see her defiance crack. Watch her fair ass redden beneath my palm. Blindfold and suspend her, denying her release just for being bratty.

But I can't do that.

Instead, I watch her face cycle through emotions: defiance, anger, calculation.

She's not afraid.

Most people who face me realize their shit luck and start begging or preparing to die.

Not her. She looks like she wants to murder me instead.

Which is interesting.

Pretty doll stares at the chessboard between us, then eases back into her seat with a smile that's pure provocation.

I tilt my head, cataloging that smile. I want to swallow it whole. I want her to realize that I set the tone for any game, and a five-foot-ten woman with a mouth that's a recipe for chaos won't change that.

I lift a brow at Orio. He points his gun at her head, she goes completely still.

"Play," he orders, "or never play again."

Her lips tremble. Not at the command, but at the cold metal of the barrel pressing against her temple.

My heart peaks. Nice fear, pretty doll.

I watch her fists clench and unclench, trying to hide her panic. But the soft rise and fall of her chest is crack enough.

She's lived with monsters.

It's time she dances with one like me..

"What are you-" She stands to showcase het anger, but Orio shoves her back down with a hard push on her shoulders.

If looks could kill, I would be ash. But I just tip over two of her pawns with ravaging slowness.

Her eyes widen, lips part & close.

Full, soft lips.

"'Never play again'

isn't an empty threat."

The dominance in my words just infuriates her more, but she forces herelf to calm. She's assessing the situation. She knows she's outnumbered. Two of my men are visible. More lurk in the shadows and she probably figured it out

Because my first soldier she played with before Damien is absent

"You didn't introduce yourself or state the stakes." she says with that voice that does things to me

"I guess Damien didn't teach you the rules."

She adds.

Funny. I'm not playing stranger with you.

"You know who I am, Thalia.

Her eyes snap to me and I quirk my eyebrow at her.

Infuriating her further by puffing my cigarette.

THALIA POV

"Thalia"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of my name. His face remains neutral-no anger, no satisfaction. Just dark pitch eyes.

"And neither of us needs the money." He continues while I steady my heart that's in overdrive.

Gun to my head

He knows my name.

I hold my breath, forcing calm into my racing pulse.

How much else does he know? Nope. Damien probably told him. On paper and internet I'm a normal student who launders Trustfund

Orio presses the gun harder.

Gun.

The few people remaining in the lounge rush out.

"Don is here!"

"Viper lane strikes again!"

Words and screams muffling into each other

If this turns to a gunfight, would it be smart to use mine?

"You blew your cover? a six years careful revenge over chess game?!"

The shrill voice of Marcus makes me shudder. I can imagine his words and heat. Even Vaughn's disappointment flash through my mind.

No. Marcus and Vaughn would kill me themselves if they found out I'd blown my cover over this.

I only wanted to rattle him, see if he was as volatile as the reports suggested. Now I'm about to get executed over a chess game.

"I don't know what you mean, but I do need the money." A lie. I need something far more valuable-access.

He leans closer. My pulse hammers as his nose grazes my skin, his cheek pressing against my neck. I expect words, threats, something. Instead, he just breathes me in. Slow. Deliberate. Taking me in like I'm evidence.

Then he pulls back, removing the gun from my temple and settling into his seat as he lights a fresh cigarette. By my count-that's his sixth tonight.

"You say you need money," smoke curls between us as he studies me, "but your leather isn't cheap."

The flame casts sharp shadows across his features.

"And? Some of us want more."

His eyes narrow, his cigarette stick in place between his plump lips. But there's something else beneath the scrutiny-a current I can't quite name.

"What kind of debt are you in, pretty doll?"

There it is. He's profiling me, searching for leverage.

"Why? Want to be my pimp?"

Laughter erupts from my left. I took in this place to know it's Damien, he sits in the shadows, eating prawns with a grin that hasn't left his face since Carlos dragged me here.

Carlos's expression doesn't change.

We hold each other's stare until he dumps his cigarette for a cuba & Orio lights it

"Okay, pretty doll, what do you want?"

I don't need to think, I know what I want

"You didn't take this long to state your terms earlier," Damien adds, his first words since they sat me down.

"Pretty. Doll." Carlos draws out each syllable, rough-voiced and sharp-edged.

The calm I hadn't noticed on his face evaporates, replaced by something lethal.

"I'm thinking." I force the words past the tension in my throat.

What do I want?

The truth burns: I want you suffering. I want you begging. I want you to lose everything before you die choking on your own blood.

But that's the endgame. Right now, I need proximity. After years of surveillance, I've learned that taking down Carlos means dismantling Viper Lane, and vice versa. Even with Shadow's resources, Marcus, the mafia lord who trained Vaughn & I, we agreed it's nearly impossible to destroy both simultaneously.

But if I'm inside? I'll have access to his schedule, his meals, life, contacts, his vulnerabilities

"Give me a job."

Laughter ripples through the room, Orio. Carlos shoots him a glare and the sound dies like it never existed

Carlos just tilts his head, curious.

I move my rook to h8, facing his pawn.

"Told you I need the money."

He moves his knight to d7, trapping me.

"What are you good at?" His voice cuts through my analysis.

I meet his gaze then he puffs a smoke at the ceiling.

"Cooking." Damien chuckles, but I continue.

"For someone who chain-smokes, shouldn't you pair it with something to drink? Or does your throat not burn anymore?"

Metal presses against my temple before I finish the sentence. I gasp: sharp, involuntary.

I can shoot a gun. I've trained myself past the phobia, mostly. But I hate having one pointed at me.

My chest rises and falls too rapidly. I repeat my mantra silently: Live to kill Carlos. Live to kill Carlos.

It doesn't work.

Carlos stands so quickly his chair scrapes the floor. He draws his own weapon and my entire body goes cold, throat goes dry.

But he aims it at Orio's head.

"Never point your gun at her without my direct order. Ever."

"Yes, sir." Orio's voice shakes as he lowers his weapon.

I remain frozen, staring at Carlos's sharp profile.

"Do you all hear me?" The harshness in his tone makes me want to cover my ears.

"Order received, sir." Five voices-maybe more-respond from the darkness.

I scan the room but see only Orio and Damien. When I look back, Carlos is seated again, casual as if he hadn't just threatened to execute his own man.

I bite my lower lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to slow my racing heart.

"My personal assistant." He makes his move on the board without looking at it.

"You start tonight if you win."

"Personal assistant?" I can't hide my shock. "Tonight?"

I don't need a job or information that chains me.

Marcus PA doesn't have a life outside of work. Lives in his building. Has access to everything but he knows his breathing schedule.

"What PA starts work at eight PM?"

He sets down his cigarette and drains a full glass of clear tequila in one swallow. I wince at the burn he must feel.

Or maybe he's too burnt to feel anything anymore.

"Have a problem with it?" His eyes lock onto mine. "Then lose."

The challenge in his voice sparks something defiant in me, but I force it down.

He makes another move.

"Play. " Demanding as usual

I stare at the board before making a Mindless move

"I'm not good at paperwork or taking orders." I feel the weight of his gaze and the intensity brings out a limited respect in me, so I add

"Sir."

For the first time tonight, I hear his teeth grind.

He makes another move-

another opening for me to attack.

I throw it again, playing a meaningless response.

He shoots me a glare. Damien chuckles before adding

"This is getting interesting"

Carlos downs another tequila and play. This time, he mirror me.

Instead of protecting, he opens space around his king-an obvious path to checkmate.

He's better than this. I glance at Damien, who raises his glass in mock salute.

He knows I'm throwing the game.

And Carlos knows too

"I'm better in a kitchen." The words come out flat, disinterested.

A smile crosses his face, but it makes him look more dangerous, not less.

"Are you now?"

He plays again-an obvious trap that any decent player would see.

He puffs his smoke straight at me. Challenging, unwavering gaze.

Please. That open slot for chef & I'll play well

Marcus made one of his live out kitchen staff get sacked so there'll be soace for me to apply.

Like now.

I make another careless move, my mind already working through the implications.

If I win, I'm his PA. Trapped & monitored. In days he'll find out my records on net are lies. My affiliation with Shadows, his enemy.

He plays, I reach for another piece and throw it. Losing it is

The glass in his hand shatters.

Blood wells from his palm, dripping onto the board. Onto the floor.

Red. So much red.

My breath catches.

No. Not now. Stay present. Stay focused.

But the red spreads, and suddenly I'm not in the lounge anymore.

I'm seventeen, standing in the doorway of my childhood home.

Blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. Blood everywhere.

"Stop playing games within games." Carlos's voice sounds distant, muffled.

My mother's face, eyes open and empty. My brother.

I suck in a breath. Force my eyes to focus on the chessboard. The pieces blur.

"Shit." Damien's voice cuts through the fog.

"Carlos-"

Carlos walk towards me, blood trailing behind from his palm,

my vision returns to my dad's blood on his palm

Don't look at his hand. Don't look at the blood

Another breath. Deeper. My nails dig into my palms.

You're not there. You're here. In the lounge. With your enemy.

But I look.

I feel his attention on me like a physical weight.

Blood drips from his fingers onto the tiled lounge but all I can see is theirs: My family's.

And the lounge fades into fog

"Interesting." His voice wraps around me, cold. Intrigued. Weapon. Close

"I think we should get her a doctor," Damien says, sounding restless.

"No." Carlos cuts in, so close to me.

From the fog, I see his hand move up to my cheek

"NO" The scream tear from me.

That hand killed them

I try to stand, get away from him but my legs wobble and I collapse onto rigid body