Page 17 of Twisted Addiction
But no. I wouldn’t let it die.
I’ll never abort my child. I know the risks, know the consequences might strip the life right out of me—but I don’t care. I want this baby. I need this baby.
My eyes fell to the small curve of my belly, still barely a swell, but to me it was everything. My hand drifted over it, trembling, and tears stung my eyes. “You’re mine,” I whispered, as if the baby could hear me. “You’re all mine.”
A memory I would never have rushed in, unbidden and cruel: the faint cry of a newborn in my arms, the softness of downy hair against my cheek, the impossible warmth of a tiny body pressing into me, safe and alive.
I imagined kissing that little brow. For a moment, the dream was so vivid it hurt, a perfect life threaded out before me—gone in the blink of an eye.
The tears spilled freely now, hot trails down my cheeks.
I pressed both palms against my stomach as if I could hold the future inside me by sheer will. As if love alone could keep this fragile heartbeat alive.
And Dmitri—this monster who refused to let me go—needed an heir to secure his empire. If I couldn’t give him one, would he force me to watch another woman carry the child I couldn’t give him, raise the heir meant to secure his empire? The thought alone was enough to make bile rise in my throat.
Exhaustion overtook me, and I didn’t realize I’d drifted off until the darkness of sleep pulled me under, my dreams haunted by Dmitri’s cold eyes, Alexei’s sly smile, and the fragile heartbeat of a child I might never hold.
Chapter 5
DMITRI VOLKOV
The dim, cavernous underground hall beneath my estate hummed with the faint echo of disciplined breaths, the air thick with the scent of polished leather and gun oil.
I stood at the head of the chamber, my posture unyielding, eyes scanning the thirty men arrayed before me in precise, uniformed rows—like loyal hounds awaiting their master’s command.
These weren’t ordinary thugs; they were elite, battle-hardened warriors, ex-Navy SEALs and Special Forces operatives from across the globe, masters of every conceivable weapon from silenced pistols to long-range sniper rifles, with decades of covert operations, urban warfare, and counter-terrorism under their belts.
Their skills were legendary: precision marksmanship that could thread a needle at a thousand yards, hand-to-hand combat that turned flesh into pulp, and tactical expertise honed in the world’s deadliest hotspots—Afghanistan’s rugged mountains, Iraq’s chaotic streets, and Somalia’s pirate-infested waters.
Recruiting them had cost a fortune, draining accounts that could have funded small wars, but their presence was non-negotiable.
In a world where enemies lurked in every shadow, mediocrity was a death sentence.
“Where’s the contract?” I asked Giovanni, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
He stood at my side, ever the faithful shadow, his bandaged legs a stark reminder of his recent failure.
“I dropped it on the bed as per your instructions,” he replied, his tone steady despite the limp that betrayed his pain.
I nodded, my gaze locking onto the men.
Their attention was absolute, eyes forward, bodies rigid—a testament to their training. “Of all your duties here,” I began, my words measured and commanding, “one stands above the rest. You must ensure my woman is protected—at all costs.”
“We will protect her with our lives, Commander.” they thundered in unison, their voices reverberating off the concrete walls like a war drum.
“Should even a strand of her hair fall to the ground without my permission,” I continued, my tone dropping to a lethal whisper, “you will all be slaughtered. Slowly. Alive.”
“By our honor and blood—she is under our watch.” The echo was fiercer this time, laced with the gravity of my threat.
I exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment settling over me.
Giovanni had briefed them on every contingency—patrolling the estate’s perimeters, monitoring surveillance feeds, and executing rapid response drills.
But I needed them to internalize the core of it: Penelope.
My brothers—Alexei, Viktor, and Nikolai—had slithered back into Lake Como like vipers returning to their nest.
Their return spelled danger, not for me—I thrived on threats—but for her.
