Page 128 of His Darkest Obsession
A silent sob wracks through my body. I thought I was finally safe.
I thought he cared.
But I was just a means to an end.
Now Valentina and Vassily have drawn their line in the sand. And if Valentina's threats mean anything…
A familiar helplessness from two years ago reaches up from a dark depth, curls its hateful fingers around my heart, and drags me down, down, down beneath the surface until it becomes almost impossible for me to breathe.
Oh God.
I wrap my arms tighter around myself until my fingers dig into the flesh. Pain streaks down my arms as I claw desperately for just a hint of control.
But instead, all I find is despair in the heavy silence of a prison I was stupid enough to start calling home.
40
ANATOLY
ONE WEEK LATER
I takeanother sip of vodka straight from the bottle, not bothering with a glass as I watch the sun making its slow and inexorable descent into the horizon from my office in Manhattan.
Indigo has slipped away from me like water through my fingers. She barely looks at me anymore, and keeps herself wrapped tight in layers of clothes even inside the mansion.
The fire that burned between us has gone cold.
Last night at dinner, she sat as far from me as the table allowed, answering my questions with single words before excusing herself early.
I keep replaying the morning after the election in my mind. One moment she was warm in my arms, whispering my name like a prayer.
The next... nothing.
She moved back to her own room without explanation, and I've been sleeping alone ever since.
God, was that really just a week ago?
Roma tells me that this might be for the best. This way, I can devote all focus on the bratva and the war with the Volkovs that's bleeding us dry. I crumple up the paper telling me that we lost another three more men yesterday.
As for Bennet…
That snake keeps delaying our agreed appointments with bureaucratic excuses. Each time I call, it's the same bullshit about "processes" and "timing."
I slam my fist against the desk, papers scattering to the floor.
"Fuck!"
Victory has turned to ash. The city that should be mine still slips from my grasp.
And the woman that I love…
But at the thought of that single cursed word, the fucking bratva oath returns and hangs over my head like a sword on a string:"I care for no one but the bratva, and I shall love none other than the bratva."
But that's not fucking true, is it? It hasn't been fucking true since the moment she drew that razor across my throat.
I want to fucking tell her that. But we haven't been able to get a single moment with each other for the past week. It's almost like she's deliberately avoiding me.
It's Bennet, I think to myself. It has to be. She's heard that he won the re-election, and that must be why she's becoming withdrawn like this. It has to be.
