Page 2 of His Savage Obsession

I was well aware of the feud that had simmered between our families; I wasn't entirely oblivious to the tangled web of family politics. I did my best to stay out of the fray, but ignorance was not my luxury. "He seems like a nice guy, though. I brought him cookies the other day," I replied, trying to defend the only neighbor I’d had a chance to interact with.

"Stay away from him, my love. He is nothing but trouble," my father warned, his eyes narrowing as if that would somehow ward off any ill fate. Liam, my ever-loyal brother, nodded hishead in agreement, his silence speaking volumes. He had no additional words of wisdom to offer, but he was always steadfast in supporting our father's perspective.

Yet, Enzo didn’t strike me as the quintessential bad boy type. After years spent in the company of my father's cronies, I had developed a keen sense for distinguishing between men who were genuinely good at heart and those who would readily stab you in the back. Although my conversations with my handsome neighbor had been few and far between, his expression was an open book to me. We had locked eyes across the street on several occasions, and the depth I found in his gaze suggested that he was far too nuanced to get embroiled in the petty family wars that plagued my father's world. There was something about the way he looked at me—a quiet sincerity that made me question everything I had been taught to believe.

I suppose I fell for him, or perhaps I fell for the fantasy that he represented. My thoughts often drifted to Enzo, an uninvited but frequent visitor in my mind. My father could bug my house and install tiny little cameras in every room, meticulously monitoring my every move, but he couldn’t invade the realm of my thoughts, a sanctuary where no surveillance could reach. I would sit in the living room with the curtains wide open, the sunlight spilling in, as I watched Enzo mow the front lawn shirtless, glistening with sweat under the sun's warm embrace. I’d see him pull weeds from his flower bed with a kind of determination that spoke volumes about his character. Or there he would be, washing and waxing his car by hand, every stroke a testament to his attention to detail. As I observed him, I began to weave daydreams, imagining a life intertwined with a man I knew so little about, yet felt inexplicably drawn to. I started to hope that he was looking in my windows as often as I was peering into his life.

There was no rhyme or reason for my newfound behavior, other than a flickering ember of hope, I suppose. I began wearing less, reveling in the summer air, opening more windows to let in the fresh breeze, and prancing around my living room with an almost reckless abandon whenever I could. The intent behind my antics was to catch Enzo’s attention, to lure him into my world, but he never seemed to look my way. Perhaps he was caught up in the family feud that had long simmered between the Gallaghers and the Bianchis, or maybe he simply didn’t think I was pretty enough to notice.

"Come on, Autumn," Isabella coos on the other end of the line, her voice a sweet, persistent melody, "you know you're restless. Just come on down to the strip. Please!"

If it were anyone else, I would have already been down there, swept up in the excitement of the night. I was bored out of my mind, trapped in my carefully curated, empty home, and it was a Friday night, the promise of adventure lingering in the air. The longer I walked through my quiet rooms, the more my boredom morphed into a restless energy that buzzed beneath my skin. But Isabella had a habit of getting overly wasted, a pattern I had grown all too familiar with. She didn’t know her limits, and we rarely found out what they were until after she had already exceeded them. One moment she would be upright, dancing with abandon on the dance floor, and the next, she would be slumped over, and I’d find myself seriously considering whether I needed to rush her to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. "Iz," I groan, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me, "I don't know."

She whines a few seconds longer, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "I promise to be good tonight," she swears, a hintof desperation in her tone. "I'm getting better at self-managing. Really, I am."

How many times have I heard that before? I don't even have enough fingers to count the countless promises she’s made, each one more fervent than the last. "I'm only wearing a slip, Isabella. It’s already nine." Why do I sound so old? It’s alreadynine?Who am I becoming?

Isabella giggles on the other end of the line, a sound that dances through the receiver. "Wear the slip, Autumn. You'll fit right in, and you still won't even be half as racy as the showgirls, or me, frankly."

I can only imagine what she's got on, likely something dazzling and provocative that she’s flaunting without a care. I chew on my bottom lip, stealing a glance at Enzo's bedroom window, my heartbeat quickening. For a split second, it looks like a shadow moves behind the curtain. I want to believe he’s watching me, that he cares about me like my family and all their goons do, but when a few seconds pass and I see no further movement, I sigh, disappointment settling in. I guess he doesn’t. "Alright, Iz. I'll be there shortly."

The squeal on the other end of the line is nearly deafening, a burst of excitement that makes me wince. "Don't forget your fake," she whispers, the implication clear, as if it’s the most important accessory of the evening.

It's already in my wallet, tucked away like a little secret. "See you soon. Drink water!" I say, my voice a mix of urgency and excitement before hanging up the phone. I start gathering my things, the thrill of the night ahead coursing through me. Any other woman might take her sweet time to get ready, meticulously applying makeup and choosing the perfect outfit,but I push my father's limits daily. If someone snaps a picture of me tonight and it ends up plastered across the tabloids, it'll be his job to spin the story. Underage Autumn Gallagher's night out on the town—your move, Dad.

I quickly switch out the robe for a thigh-length black blazer, its sharp lines giving me a sense of empowerment, and I slip on a pair of high heels that are as stunning as they are treacherous. If I take a spill, I’m sure to sprain my ankle, but the risk only adds to the thrill. Underneath, the satin red slip peeks out, luxurious and daring, while my wild head of red curls tumbles around my shoulders like a fiery crown. I'm a modern-day Merida, ready to carve my own path through the neon jungle of Vegas. I guess it's time for an adventure.

3

ENZO

One hour and thirty-seven minutes. That's how long it takes for their night to implode, unraveling before my very eyes.

I don’t do background checks on Autumn’s friends. One, it would take far too long to sift through their histories. Two, it’s a waste of money and resources that could be better spent elsewhere. Three, I simply don’t want to. But when her blonde friend Isabella transforms from the life of the party into a venomous diva in heels, I can’t help but wonder if there was some way I could have intervened to prevent this impending disaster.

It all started innocently enough, a seemingly carefree evening. They grabbed drinks at an outdoor bar, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air as they guzzled their cocktails down with gusto before heading to a club. I thought they had slipped past the door with a stunning pair of fake IDs, until the bartender tipped me off, casually remarking that the blonde had a jaw-dropping rack. “Thanks, buddy.” I slip him a twenty, feeling a mix of gratitude and annoyance, then head inside, scanning thecrowd for my under-dressed Cinderella and her out-of-control best friend.

It doesn’t take long to locate them amid the pulsing lights and throbbing bass. Isabella is dancing in a cage, her movements bold and reckless, while Autumn is down on the ground, her voice raised in a heated confrontation with some guy in an ill-fitting suit. My blood starts boiling, a hot rush of protective instinct surging through me. Do I rush in to save the twit who’s too drunk to know any better, or do I focus on the girl of my dreams, who deserves far better? Decisions, decisions.

I watch from the sidelines for a couple of minutes, my heart racing as I try to determine what to do. Isabella is flashing the room her goods, completely unbothered by the attention. I can't help but wonder if she even wore panties when she stepped out tonight. The good news is that she's finally stopped drinking; the bad news is that she’s already had enough to reach a level of recklessness that worries me. When Sia sang about swinging from the chandelier, it was Isabella she was channeling. That girl is wild, a whirlwind of energy and chaos. I kind of admire her spirit, even if it puts her in precarious situations.

It only takes her a few seconds to realize that Autumn is being carted off by the man in the suit she was arguing with. Without a second thought, Isabella springs from the cage, landing on the dance floor with the grace of a superhero. Her determination is palpable; she has no interest in letting Mr. Big and Bad take her friend for the night. With fierce resolve, she grabs onto Autumn's arm and jerks her in the opposite direction, as if she’s trying to save her from the jaws of a predator.

At this point, my feet move without being told to, propelled by a sense of urgency. I begin walking toward them, my heart pounding louder than the bass thumping in the background.Everyone in my way—the dancing girls lost in their own revelry, the men trying to cozy up to them, and the multitude of partygoers in between—gets pushed aside as I make my way through the chaotic crowd. Autumn is being fought over like a piece of meat, and the closer I get, the more their argument escalates, reverberating in the air around us.

"Let her go, meathead," Isabella snarls, her voice dripping with venom, reminiscent of a feral dog ready to defend its territory. I swear she's about to foam at the mouth with rage.

"You're bad for her, Izzy, just like you were bad for me. Stop dragging our family down," he retorts, tugging Autumn's arm harder in the opposite direction, his face a mask of frustration and disdain. The tension crackles in the air, and I know I can’t stand by any longer.

For a split second, she looks up and sees my face, and in that fleeting moment, recognition ignites a spark in her eyes. A silent plea for help flickers there, raw and desperate, and it sends a jolt through me. I weigh the possibility of grabbing her around the waist, yanking her away from the chaos surrounding us, but a nagging hesitation holds me back. I don’t want to pull her into a third direction, complicating an already fraught situation.

Isabella steps closer, her presence imposing as she gives Autumn's arm a slight tug, allowing her body a moment of slack. "Liam, baby, this is the best pussy you've ever had," she taunts, her tone laced with both possessiveness and contempt.

"Excuse me, mind if I steal this beautiful woman for a minute?" I interject, finally making my way toward them, my voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. Liam and Isabella manage to agree on something for once; they both shout a resounding 'no' at me, their voices ringing out in unison like adiscordant harmony. I tighten my jaw, the muscles in my face tensing as I remind myself not to rip either of them apart right here and now. "Then at least let the lady go."

In a surprising twist, Liam does exactly that, but only so he can invade my personal space, his anger palpable. "The fuck you want, Bianchi? You think I don't know who you are?" he sneers, his eyes narrowing in challenge.

Funny how that works; just a moment ago, I had no clue who he was. It was only Isabella's sharp utterance of his name that jolted my memory back to the surface. "Put your dick away, Gallagher. Nobody wants a fight," I reply, my tone dripping with disdain, ready to defuse the situation before it spirals further out of control.