Page 118 of Twisted Addiction
I pulled back and walked toward the chopper.
Two cabin crew members waited at the steps—a woman with a warm, practiced smile and a tall man with a crisp, professional posture. Their name tags gleamed under the morning light.
“Welcome aboard, Mrs. Volkov,” the woman said, her tone both polite and deferential. “I’m Clara. We’ll make sure your flight is as comfortable as possible.”
Mark, the tall male attendant, took my small bag and stowed it in a compartment, then gestured me into a plush leather seat.
I sank into it, the cushions soft, grounding me.
Clara draped a blanket over my lap and handed me a bottle of water. “We’ll depart in five minutes,” she said, checking the cabin, while Mark ran a final inspection outside.
This isn’t a dream, I thought, buckling my seatbelt.
The click sounded impossibly loud in the quiet cabin, a tether to reality. The rotor blades whirred to life, vibrating beneath me.
I was truly leaving Lake Como.
As the chopper lifted, the villas and lakes shrank into a glittering mosaic, the world below losing its grip on me.
Memories surged—violent, vivid, inescapable.
I remembered the day Dmitri had invited me to what I thought was his wedding—my twenty-fifth birthday. I’d dressed in my usual shirt and jeans, excitement and disappointment thrumming through me at the thought of watching him marry another woman. But when I arrived, the truth unfolded like a cruel joke. I wasn’t a guest. I was the bride—his bride, his captive.
I remembered how he had carried me in his arms—bridal style—onto the plane when I refused to walk after our forced wedding in New York. I’d fought him, clawed, kicked, screamed that I’d never go with him to Lake Como. But Dmitri was stronger. He always was. He subdued me effortlessly, my defiance nothing against his will.
And I remembered another time... at the Lupo Nero Club. A glamorous socialite had mocked me, her words dripping with venom as she ridiculed my body, calling me names that stung. I’d expected Dmitri to ignore it—to laugh, maybe. Instead, he’d drawn his gun and shot her without hesitation. Just like that. For me.
I remembered defying him before Lake Como’s elite—exposing our forced marriage in front of the men who revered him, humiliating him in his own world of power and pride.
They had promised me freedom, those officers at Lake Como. I’d believed them, desperate to escape. But I hadn’t known their plan—to sell me to my ex’s family, the same people who had once placed a bounty on my head.
Dmitri didn’t have to come for me after that. Not after I had shamed him so publicly. But he did. He came. He saved me.
My chest tightened, the memory twisting like fire in my veins.
Then came the abandonment—four endless months alone in his sprawling mansion, pregnant and adrift in silence. The marble halls echoed with my footsteps, each sound a cruel reminder of how hollow the place had become without him.
The loneliness was a weight that never lifted, pressing into my chest until breathing felt like a chore. My body changed with each passing day, the secret of my pregnancy pulsing beneath my skin—a heartbeat known only to me.
But the emptiness wasn’t what hurt most. It was her—Seraphina. The ghost he’d tried to hide, the woman who still owned pieces of his heart. He’d lied, denied her, and for that, I could never forgive him.
If I carried this child to term, I vowed he would never claim it. The thought of keeping what was his, yet forever out of his reach, became my quiet act of rebellion—my only power left.
Hours passed, the chopper’s hum a steady, hypnotic lullaby, until New York emerged beneath us, the city lights a warm embrace against the night.
At 8 p.m., the wheels touched down, and my pulse quickened the moment I spotted them—Mom and Nonna—standing near the arrival gate.
Their faces lit up, emotions flickering between disbelief, joy, and something rawer—relief. My chest tightened, my throat constricting with a wave of feelings I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in months.
I ran to them, straight into Mom’s arms. Her jasmine perfume enveloped me, familiar and grounding, pulling me back to a time when the world still made sense. “Penelope, my baby!” she cried, her voice breaking as she cradled my face between trembling hands, tears streaming freely. “You’re home... oh, thank God, you’re finally home.”
Nonna’s thin hands reached for mine, her touch gentle yet desperate, silver hair glinting beneath the airport lights. “My sweet girl,” she whispered, her lips trembling into a smile. “We’ve missed you so terribly. The house hasn’t felt alive since you left.”
“I missed you both,” I whispered, my voice catching as I folded into Nonna’s arms.
Her embrace was soft but fierce, the kind of hug that made you feel small and safe no matter how old you were. “I’m so glad to be back. You don’t even know how much I needed this.”
They guided me toward a sleek black car waiting outside. The leather seats were cool beneath my fingertips as we settled in, the hum of the engine a low, steady comfort.
