"If you're enjoying His Deadly Obsession: Hunted by the Mafia Boss, don't forget to support it with Power Stones and gifts! Your support means everything."
A dark chuckle brushed against her ear, his breath hot and mocking. "So, you haven't forgotten me after all."
Olivia shivers. Lorenzo feels a thrill at the sight—he has spent three years plotting his revenge, and watching her tremble pleases him. He grabs her and jerks her around to face him; her back slams against the car and she winces from the impact.
It's dark and she can't make out his features, he seems to be wearing a mask. "Vincent… what do you want from me?" Olivia whispered, her voice breaking.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear before biting down hard. She screamed as pain lanced through her skin, only for him to release her once blood touched his tongue.
"I want you to suffer a fate worse than death, Olivia," he hissed coldly. "I once swore I'd kill you, but I've changed my mind. Now, I'll take everything from you—until you beg for death. But even that wish, I won't grant."
His gloved hand tightened around her throat, choking the air from her lungs. Olivia gasped and clawed desperately at him, her vision blurring. Just as she thought she would faint, he loosened his grip.
But before she could catch her breath, his other hand snaked around her waist, yanking her hard against him, her chest pressed to his. Trapped between his body and the cold steel of her car, she could feel the dangerous heat radiating off him.
"If I were you," Lorenzo whispered, his voice low and cruel, "I'd keep my mouth shut about my return. Tell anyone else—like you did today—and they'll end up just like the man you ran your mouth to."
Olivia's breathing quickened, uneven and shallow. She froze as Lorenzo's words sank in, forcing herself to look up at him. His eyes were flat, unreadable—cold and expressionless.
"Vincent—tell me. What did you do to Reporter Joe?" she managed to say, her voice strained.
Lorenzo let out a low, cruel laugh that seemed to crawl beneath her skin. "You really want to know what I did to that fool?" His voice carried a mocking edge, as if her question itself were laughable.
The cold metal shifted as he lowered the gun from her temple, letting the muzzle trace a slow path down her throat to the center of her chest. Olivia froze, every muscle going rigid. He leaned in closer, his face so near she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin.
"You'll see soon enough," he said, voice a flat whisper. "Go check."
The pressure vanished as abruptly as it had come. The parking lot was almost pitch-black; when Olivia blinked and looked around, the space beside her was empty.
For a dizzy moment she couldn't tell if she'd imagined the whole thing — until the memory of his voice, his laugh, and the shape of his hand burned in her mind.
Her hand trembled as she switched on her phone's flashlight. The harsh light cut through the dark, revealing empty rows of parked cars and the dim glow of a nearby lamp post.
She slammed the car open, dove into the driver's seat, and sped toward Reporter Joe's building. Her hands shook on the wheel; each red light felt like an eternity. She called Joe phone again and again. No answer. With her heart hammering, she pushed harder on the accelerator.
When she pulled up outside his building — an upscale block of glass and concrete, guarded and exclusive — the security gate swung shut between her and the entrance. Three burly guard approached and folded his arms.
"I'm Olivia Whitmore. I'm a friend of Joe's. Let me in," she demanded, breathless. "He's not answering his phone. You have to let me check on him."
The guard's expression remained indifferent. "He didn't tell us he was expecting anyone. I can't just let you through without clearance."
Olivia's voice went cold. "Call him. Ask him yourself. I called — he's not picking up."
"The guard hesitated before shaking his head. 'It's against building regulations. No visitors are allowed unless cleared.'"At last, one of the guards relented. "Wait here," he muttered, disappearing through the gates to check with Reporter Joe.
Olivia clutched her bag tighter, every second dragging like an hour. Thirty minutes passed, but the guard who had gone to check on Joe never returned. Instead, the wail of sirens shattered the night. Police cruisers pulled up at the building entrance, followed closely by an ambulance.
The knot in Olivia's chest tightened into a blade. No… no, it can't be… "Please, what's happening?" she begged, reaching for one of the officers. He brushed past her with a curt warning.
"Don't interfere. Stay back."The policemen pushed through the gates. None of the security staff dared stop them. Moments later, the gates opened again. The paramedics wheeled out a stretcher. A body lay beneath a white sheet.
Olivia's world narrowed to that single shape. Before anyone could stop her, she lunged forward, ripping the sheet back.
Her scream caught in her throat.
Reporter Joe's face—bloodied, mangled beyond recognition—was turned upward toward the sky, lifeless and empty. The man she had spoken to just that afternoon was now reduced to this tortured shell.
She stumbled backward, shaking violently, then collapsed to the ground. Around her, cameras clicked and flashed as reporters swarmed, shouting questions. Olivia didn't hear them. She could only stare, tears streaking her cheeks.
A uniformed officer broke through the crowd and crouched beside her. "Miss, we were told you came here looking for the deceased. That's how we discovered the scene."
His words barely reached her. Olivia's lips moved soundlessly until a hoarse whisper escaped.
"He killed him…" Her hands trembled. "Vincent killed him. And it's my fault. He killed him because of me…"
The officer's gaze sharpened. "What did you just say?"
But Olivia was no longer answering. She was lost in her guilt, her body trembling as the weight of the truth closed around her.
The officer froze in shock, but before he could ask more questions, detectives arrived and took over the case. They also escorted Olivia—who seemed to have lost her senses—away with them.
At the precinct they escorted her into an interrogation room. Detective Mike sat opposite her and folded his hands on the table. "Miss Whitmore, tell us what you know. Why did you go to the deceased's building?" he asked, his voice even but firm.
Olivia rocked in her chair, eyes hollow. She kept repeating, barely louder than a whisper, "He's back… he killed him… it's because of me."