Page 62 of Crimson Sin
My hand shakes so violently that I nearly drop the phone. The motel room spins around me. “You must be mistaken. That document…it wasn't...” My throat closes. It was supposed to be a lie, a prop. A paper marriage to fool others, nothing more. But now it is real, legal, and binding.
The voice on the line continues, oblivious to the earthquake ripping through me. “We'll send a copy of your marriage certificate to your mailing address for your records. Congratulations again, Mrs. Zorin.”
The call ends, leaving me frozen in the silence of the motel room. My reflection in the mirror across the room stares back at me, pale skin and wild eyes. I touch my abdomen again, a reflex I cannot control. Bound by law. Bound by blood. Bound by the growing life inside me. The lie has become reality, and I don’t know if I have the strength to face it.
23
DANIIL
The control room hums with low static, the soft glow of monitors painting the space in green light. I lean forward in the chair, my elbows braced on my knees, eyes fixed on the security feeds looping back hour by hour. The timestamp in the corner mocks me with its relentless march forward. Four days, fourteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes since Naomi disappeared from my life.
Her absence gnaws at me like a festering wound, and no amount of replaying the footage brings answers. I have watched these same clips until my eyes burn, and the shadows on screen blend together in meaningless shapes. Frame by frame, I search for something I missed, a glance, a gesture, or a moment of hesitation that might reveal the truth. Cameras do not lie, but tonight their silence feels like betrayal. She’s gone, and someone helped her vanish.
For days, I have torn through leads, burned through favors, and bled information from men who thought themselves untouchable. My network spreads across Chicago like a spider's web, touching every corner of the underworld and everylegitimate business that serves as a front for darker purposes. I have called in debts accumulated over the years, threatened men who believed their secrets were buried too deep to unearth, and still, the trail leads nowhere.
A cabin in the Adirondacks, whispered to be one of Viktor's safehouses, turned up empty, its windows covered in dust, the rooms silent. I drove there myself, refusing to trust this lead to anyone else. The winding mountain roads seemed to stretch endlessly, each mile feeding the desperate hope that I would find her there alive, unharmed, and waiting for rescue. Instead, I found nothing but the hollow echo of abandonment. No Viktor. No Naomi. Only echoes of what might have been there before.
Every false trail feeds the fire in my chest, and yet I keep hunting because I cannot stop. I will not stop. Sleep eludes me, and food tastes like dirt. The empire I built feels meaningless without her presence to give it purpose.
I have my men shadowing Charlotte, following her routines, and watching the museum where Naomi poured her soul into her work. Charlotte moves through her days as if trying to appear normal. She stops at the same coffee shop, eats lunch at the same café, and takes the same route home. But if Naomi dares to reach for familiarity and the life she once fought to claim, my people will see it. I will know.
Every corner of her former existence is under surveillance now. The art store she visited twice a week. The small Italian restaurant where she ordered the same pasta dish every Friday night. The bookstore where she spent hours browsing mysteries and art books. All of it watched and waiting for her return.
The door opens behind me. I don’t turn. I know the rhythm of those footsteps. Each step is placed precisely by a woman whohas never doubted her right to walk into any room or deliver news that will reshape the world of whoever waits inside.
Irina has never wasted time with pleasantries. I can feel her studying me, and taking inventory of my exhaustion, desperation, and the way grief has carved new lines into my face. She doesn’t sit or wait for acknowledgment. Her voice drops into the charged silence like a stone thrown into still water.
“The marriage certificate was filed. Legally.”
The words punch through me like a bullet tearing flesh. I lift my gaze from the screens and stare at her reflection in the glass, trying to process what she has just revealed.
Elegant as ever, her dark hair bound tightly at the nape of her neck, her tailored suit immaculate, and a crimson slash of lipstick the only concession to color. She stands as if carved from stone, resolute beneath the fury I know is building in my stare. This woman, who has served my family for decades and guided my rise to power, has just admitted to a betrayal so complete it steals my breath.
For a moment, I can’t move. My pulse slows and then pounds in my ears like thunder.Filed. Legally.The implications crash over me in waves, each one more devastating than the last.
My mind races back to the plan we constructed together, the elaborate charade designed to satisfy my mother's will without binding me permanently to anyone. Forge a document and maintain the illusion long enough to secure my inheritance, then destroy the evidence once the charade has served its purpose. Nothing more. Nothing binding. A business arrangement disguised as matrimony, temporary as morning mist. And yet…
“You are certain?” My voice is low and dangerous, with the promise of violence that has made grown men confess their sins and beg forgiveness.
Her eyes show a restrained satisfaction that she planned this. Every step and detail is orchestrated with the same rigor she brings to managing my business affairs. “There is no uncertainty. It was submitted through proper channels, processed, and recorded. Under Illinois law, the union is binding.”
The elaborate fiction we created has become an inescapable reality, and Naomi, wherever she is, now carries my name in the eyes of the law. She is legally my wife, and I had no idea until this moment.
I rise to my feet slowly, every inch of me tight with rage that threatens to explode into violence. The chair rolls backward, striking the wall with a thud. My hands want to destroy something and find release for the fury building in my chest like pressure in a boiler about to explode.
“That was never the arrangement,” I seethe.
“No,” she replies evenly, unmoved by the danger radiating from every line of my body. “But it is what was necessary. You will thank me one day. The Bratva respects bloodlines, Daniil. Chaos ends with heirs.”
Her audacity stuns me into silence. She speaks of necessity as if she had no choice, and manipulating my life and Naomi's was simply another business decision requiring her expertise.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood. The pain keeps me from crossing the room and wrapping my fingers around her throat.Naomi is gone, her presence a ghost I cannot banish, and now, officially, she is mine. Not pretend or strategy. Legally and irrevocably.
Somewhere in the city, possibly in the world, Naomi carries my name. She may not even know it yet. When she discovers the truth, what will she think? That I planned this betrayal? That I used her desperation against her? That every moment between us was another form of manipulation?
“Blyat! You played God with my life!” I bellow, my voice sharpening like a blade drawn from its sheath. “And with hers.”
Irina lifts her chin, unyielding as granite. “I secured your legacy. Your mother's will demanded you be married by your thirty-third birthday. The clock was running. If Naomi had vanished without the certificate filed, your inheritance and position would be vulnerable. Every contact in Chicago would smell weakness. I made certain that cannot happen.”
