Page 47 of Twisted Addiction
“The point,” Alexei said, his voice sharpening, “is that we’re running out of time. Dmitri’s trial for coercion is underway. The Lake Como Tribunal doesn’t operate like a normal court—they’re faster, meaner. You’ll be called to testify soon. And when that happens, you’ll either protect him or free yourself.”
His words hit me like cold water. “Protect him?” I scoffed. “You really think I’d defend the man who turned my life into a cage?”
Alexei tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “I think you still love him enough to hesitate.”
I went still. The air between us thickened, heavy with everything I refused to admit.
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, voice softening into something that almost sounded like care.
“Listen to me, Penelope,” Alexei said, his tone sharpening to something persuasive. “If you sign the documents—and get Dmitri to do the same—you’ll be allowed to leave Lake Como under the Tribunal’s protection. Dmitri won’t be able to touch you—legally, politically, not even through his men. You’ll have your freedom back.”
“My freedom?” A dry laugh slipped out, brittle as glass.
“Alexei, men like you don’t hand out mercy for free. I asked you before what you wanted for it, but you wouldn’t give me a straight answer.” I leaned back, studying him. “Don’t tell me this sudden heroism is just goodwill. And even if I did sign them, you think Dmitri would just... let me go? He’d burn this entire city to ash before he let that happen.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Good,” he murmured. “Then you understand exactly who you’re dealing with. But I know the laws of this territory better than anyone alive. You just have to trust me.”
His calm confidence scraped against something raw in me. For a moment, I almost wanted to believe him—then shame followed, sharp and quick, for even considering it.
I exhaled shakily. “You still haven’t answered my question,” I said, voice low. “Why are you really helping me, Alexei? Whatdo you stand to gain? And don’t say it’s just about overthrowing Dmitri.”
He smiled slowly, the kind that sent a chill down my spine. “Maybe I like saving beautiful, broken things.”
Broken things?
The words sank in like a blade wrapped in velvet. My jaw tightened. “I’m not something to be fixed,” I said quietly, though even I could hear the tremor beneath it.
I turned my head slightly, eyes flicking toward the cameras glinting in the corner of the restaurant. “And Dmitri is probably watching this conversation right now.”
Alexei’s lips curved—half amusement, half warning. “Dmitri’s under surveillance,” he said, adjusting his cufflinks with unhurried precision. “I don’t walk into rooms without knowing who’s watching. And trust me—he’s not coming through that door today.”
Then, almost casually, he reached into his coat and placed a sleek new phone on the table. Its screen was dark and reflective. “You’ll need this. Tell Dmitri you bought it. It’s encrypted. Call me if anything happens.”
I stared at the device as if it might bite. “Why would I ever call you?”
He leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table, voice dipping low. “Because when the walls start closing in, and they will, you’ll realize I’m the only one still standing on your side.”
I forced a hollow laugh. “We’re still strangers, Alexei. And I haven’t agreed to let you represent me. If I ever need help, believe me—you’re not the first person I’d call.”
Alexei’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened—cool, confident, knowing.
“Two weeks,” he said, straightening to his full height. “That’s how long you have before the Tribunal summons you. That’syour window, Penelope—your only chance to choose the version of hell you can live with.”
He turned and walked away with unhurried grace, his shoes silent against the polished marble.
I watched him go, the scent of his cologne lingering like smoke, the weight of the file heavy in my trembling hands.
For a long moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Then, somehow, I pushed myself to my feet.
Questions slammed through my skull, sharp and relentless, but I forced a professional smile onto my face and stepped back into the warm hum of the restaurant. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the golden wash of candlelight—all of it blurred together, distant and unreal, as I floated through the motions of normalcy.
My hands worked on instinct, but my mind was a storm.
How did Alexei know about my uncles’ murders?
Why is he pushing so hard for this divorce?
