Page 84 of Darkest Oblivion
“Do you want me to uncover your dark secrets before her, Marco?” Dmitri’s voice rumbled low, a growl that vibrated through the balcony.
My father flinched, guilt etched deep into every line of his face, his confident posture gone. “Dmitri...” His voice faltered.
Dmitri’s gaze snapped back to him. “Let this be the last time you interfere,” he said, precise. “Send anyone near her again, and I’ll make sure they don’t leave this city alive. You, Marco, consider this your final warning. Go back to New York. Tell her mother and nonna she’s under my protection, that she will remain mine. And do not—ever—test me. Understood?”
“Understood,” my father muttered, nodding quickly, eyes darting as if expecting Giovanni or Dmitri to strike without hesitation.
His retreat left a hollow ache inside me, the folded paper he’d pressed into my hands still clutched, its weight more than physical.
I swallowed hard, feeling the pull of Dmitri’s presence behind me even as my heart still ached.
Giovanni slipped away without a word, leaving Dmitri and me alone on the balcony, the gothic arches of the castle looming like silent judges over the lake’s black waters.
Dmitri’s eyes softened as they swept over me again, his piercing blue gaze flicking to my ribs and hands.
“Are you sure you’re not injured?” His voice was low, almost intimate, and it stole my breath. “I can have a doctor check you, right now.”
“I’m fine,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice, though each breath reminded me of the pain lancing through my side. Before I could stop myself, I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my cheek to the hard plane of his chest. His heartbeat was strong, a rhythm that anchored me in the chaos.
I didn’t know why I needed him like this—maybe it was the weight of my father’s revelations, the horror of Dmitri’s childhood, the boy I’d loved suffering in silence.
Back in New York, when we were neighbors, he’d return from Italy after holidays with small, thoughtful gifts—a chipped seashell pendant, a hand-carved wooden bird, tokens of his care despite the horrors he endured.
I’d cherished them then, unaware they came from a boy living a private hell.
I remembered one summer, his eyes shadowed, a forced smile on his lips.
He’d brought me a tiny woven bracelet, his fingers trembling as he tied it around my wrist, muttering that he found the thread in an alley.
I hadn’t noticed the faint burns on his knuckles, the flinch when I hugged him too tightly, the way his body had carried invisible scars from cages and iron rods.
Another time, he had plucked a single daisy from God-knows-where, laughing as I tucked it behind my ear—but the laughter had been brittle, cracked, a mask for the pain he carried across borders and oceans.
Now, holding him, I felt the depth of that brokenness, the weight of the years he’d endured. It wasn’t guilt—not yet—but a crushing sorrow for the boy who had hidden his suffering so well, who had made me his world while his life crumbled. Ihugged him tighter, fingers digging into his back as if I could hold that boy together now.
“What are you doing, Penelope?” Dmitri’s voice was hesitant, and for the first time, his arms seemed unsure, almost fragile beneath mine.
“I just... want to stay like this,” I admitted, voice muffled against his chest. His warmth was a lifeline, and I clung to it, desperate for stability in the storm surrounding us.
He pulled back slightly, his gaze sharp, searching mine. “What did your father tell you?” Suspicion cut through his words, a reminder that he distrusted even my affection.
“Nothing,” I lied softly, shielding him from the raw truths I’d only begun to understand. The weight of his childhood, the endless torment, was too much to confront aloud—not here, not now.
His hands lingered at my shoulders, tense.
“Me having your child—is it compulsory?” I asked, the words trembling from my lips, weighted by obligation.
Dmitri’s jaw tightened, his expression distant but unwavering. “Yes. Tradition demands it. Before I turn thirty-one, an heir must be born—or the clan merges with another. An heir is not optional.”
The reality pressed in like a vice.
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering, the paper in my hand burning like a secret I wasn’t ready to confront.
“Then take me,” I whispered, reckless and raw, surrendering to the toxic pull I couldn’t escape. I hated myself for it—but I wanted him. Wanted to carry his child, wanted to bind myself to him despite the monster he’d become.
He pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing, suspicion sharp as a blade. “What in the world did your father tell you?” His voice was low, searching, dangerous.
“Only about my mom and nonna,” I lied, forcing calm over the storm of nerves in my chest. “Nothing else.”
