Twisted Obsession (Editing)

53 - Egos in Overdrive

Lorenzo Vincelli

I hear the whir of helicopters in the distance, their blades cutting through the air like a warning. They grow louder, and then I see him—Emilio González de Cosío. He steps out of the sleek black helicopter, his Brioni suit draped perfectly over his muscular frame. His wrist is adorned with a watch that likely costs more than most people's lives, a few million dollars worth of craftsmanship that gleams in the fading light. As he walks toward us, one of the staff members trails behind him, clearly there to make sure everything stays pristine.

"Vincelli," Emilio calls, a smirk dancing across his lips as he closes the distance between us. His eyes assess me, like he's already sizing up the next move. I stand, meeting his gaze, the corner of my mouth twitching slightly in response.

"González," I reply, the word smooth but carrying the weight of a history neither of us can escape.

Carlotta chuckles from her seat, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she takes a slow sip of her drink. "The amount of testosterone flying around is insane," she remarks, almost to herself, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

Emilio turns his head to her, one brow arched in mock surprise. "Charming as always, Scarfiotti," he says, his tone light but with an edge. There's something about the way he says her name, like he knows exactly how to make it sound both respectful and dismissive at the same time. Carlotta's lips curl into a playful grin as she raises her glass, acknowledging the jab with a mock toast.

He turns back to me, eyes narrowing slightly as if the banter has lost its charm. "I've been waiting for this dinner invite for months now," Emilio says, his voice dripping with both patience and something darker beneath the surface.

"Oh, I'm sure you've been counting the days," I reply dryly, taking a slow step closer to him. "Wouldn't want to miss a chance to discuss business and personal matters, would we?"

Emilio's smirk widens, the playful tension between us building. "You know me too well, Vincelli. Always business, always pleasure." He chuckles darkly, his eyes flashing with that familiar challenge. "And maybe a little bit of both tonight."

Carlotta leans back in her chair, the amusement never leaving her face. "Just don't get too cozy, boys. I'm not here to babysit," she adds, and I can almost hear the smirk in her voice as she takes another sip, watching the two of us like we're her personal entertainment.

Emilio's eyes flicker to her, but then he looks back at me, his tone becoming more serious. "You know, Lorenzo, I never did get the full story. Why keep me waiting so long?"

I smile, a little sharper this time. "Patience, Emilio. It's a virtue, after all."

Nikola chuckled softly, unbuttoning his crisp suit jacket with a casual ease, his movements smooth and deliberate. As he took a seat at the polished table, one of the staff members quickly stepped forward, handing him a glass of whiskey. He took a slow sip, his eyes scanning the room before offering a brief, almost amused, comment about Nikola Košarac's notorious tardiness.

Just as he finished his sentence, the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades slicing through the air echoed, and Emilio's helicopter began to pull away, the roar of the engine fading into the distance. Not a moment later, Nikola's own helicopter touched down with a deep, powerful hum, its sleek black body gleaming in the sunlight.

The door swung open, and out stepped Nikola Košarac himself—tall, with broad shoulders that filled the space, wearing a tailored suit that was likely worth more than most people's yearly salaries. His presence was nothing but confidence and power. His sharp jawline was accentuated by the slight stubble that had begun to form, and his eyes, dark and calculating, were hidden momentarily behind a sleek pair of sunglasses. He was still on the phone, his voice deep and firm as he spoke his mother tongue into the device, his every movement purposeful, like a man who always had control.