Category: Insatiable Cravings

  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 143

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 143

     

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 143

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Genevieve ~

    If you’d told me a couple of years ago that I’d spend up to a week in forced isolation, I would have laughed in your face. Yet there I was, on day five of a bàstard’s captivity.

    And not just any bastard—a calculating one, the sort whose mind was always three steps ahead.

    I could feel mine fraying, my grip on composure slipping grain by grain. My thoughts were a restless swarm, leaping from one dreadful possibility to the next, each one darker than the last.

    Rory, by contrast, had found a sort of uneasy rhythm to being trapped. But every so often, she released a sharp hiss of frustration that sliced through the stale air like a whip.

    It was afternoon now. I was sitting on the bed, staring at the door as though I could burn it down with my glare. Rory sat beside me, equally still.

    Low voices leaked through the wood—Viktor’s, the man who had slappéd me, and several others. It was too muffled to make out, and the harder I strained my ears, the more my agitation coiled tight in my chest.

    Throwing my head back, I closed my eyes and let out a low groan, the sound slipping through my lips like smoke.

    What the héll were they talking about?

    I got to my feet, padded towards the door, and pressed my ear against it, desperate for a fragment of clarity.

    “You’re seriously not planning to tell Dominic where they are?”

    My heart lurched. It was the voice of the ídiot who had hit me.

    “No,” Viktor replied—and God, even in that single word you could hear the smirk in his voice. “I want him begging, frantic, just a little longer.”

    “A frantic Dominic does sound nice, but I think… I doubt he’ll be any less ruthless.”

    “That’s why I do the thinking,” Viktor’s tone was laced with quiet authority, the sort that brooked no argument. “And Dominic couldn’t afford to be ruthless now. Not when we had the two people he cared for most.”

    The other voices faded until only Viktor and the idiót remained.

    “I’m just saying,” He muttered, voice lowered, “maybe you should reconsider. Tell Dominic sooner. Let him come here, you get what you want, and he gets the girls back.”

    A sharp hiss, the crack of a palm against a surface. “For Christ’s sake, Ed, stop being such a girl about this!”

    “I’m not being a girl!” Ed’s anger flared, then waned into something more measured. “You, of all people, know who those girls in there are. Aurora is Dominic’s sister—she could kíll half our men if you handed her a weapon. She’s an assàssin dressed as a Barbie. And the other one—Genevieve King. Henry King’s granddaughter. If the old man found out, he’d scour the earth for her. Her brother-in-law’s with the FBI. She’s pregnant with Dominic Morozov’s child—the man who—”

    “Is this overwhelming you?” Viktor cut in, voice a silk-wrapped blade.

    “No, I just—”

    “Ed, calm down and stop being such a girl. We had the upper hand. Henry could summon every army he knew, but he wouldn’t find us. I don’t care if her brother-in-law is the FBI himself—he wouldn’t act without risking his pregnant wife. And Dominic isn’t half as ruthless as you thought without his girls safe and sound. In fact, he is a weakling without them.”

    “You think so?”

    “I do.” Viktor chuckled. “Now stop worrying.”

    “Fine. But when will you tell Dominic where we are?”

    “Let’s see if he figures it out on his own.”

    Figures it out? How the héll could he—?

    “The camera only shows the room,” Ed replied.

    A camera?

    “Exactly,” Viktor said, with that smug note I wanted to punch clean out of him. “The longer he watched his girls pacing and restless, the more it would eat him alive.”

    Bàstard.

    “What if that hacker of his helps? She’s good.”

    “Who isn’t good in Dominic’s blóody clan?” There was venom and envy tangled in his tone. “He chose them well—that’s why that fóol Blade refused to join us after playing us.”

    Blade. I knew it. I knew he wasn’t working with these cretins.

    “Anyway, however good the hacker is, how will she know we’re in Canada from a single room?”

    Canada.

    I stepped back from the door, heart hammering, and returned to my seat with quiet, measured movements. Rory watched me, her expression taut with restrained patience.

    After a beat, I leaned closer, my voice a whisper. “We’re in Canada.”

    Her brow furrowed. “What?”

    “We. Are. In. Canada.” I mouthed the words.

    Recognition dawned, her eyebrows lifting as a small smile curved her lips. “You sure?”

    I nodded. “And there’s a camera.” My eyes darted about the room.

    “Oh, I know.” She glanced to the ceiling and pointed to a faint red blink. “There. I saw it the night they dragged us in.”

    “Why didn’t you say anything?”

    “I thought you’d seen it. It’s obvious.”

    “No, it isn’t.”

    The thing was cleverly hidden—only the tiny red dot betrayed it. No wonder I had missed it.

    “Sorry. I assumed you’d clocked it. I thought it was just for them to watch us.”

    I waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine.” Then I shifted closer to her and she did too, until I was leaning close to her ear. “It shows the live feed to Dominic. That’s what they said.”

    Rory’s eyes flicked to the red dot, then to me. “That meant Nic had been watching us all those days. He must have been feeling so helpless and useless, when he didn’t know where to find us from the feeds.”

    I nodded in agreement. “But now he knows.”

    The door was flung open with so much strength, lethal but as casual as ever. It had both me and Rory flinching. “He knows what?”

    Viktor.

    He stood at six feet, and somehow still felt taller. Like the room shrank when he entered, as though the air itself thickened in his presence. I noticed his skin was a smooth, bronze hue—rich and warm, but it never quite softened him. If anything, it only made the crúelty in his smile look more deliberate. Like sin dressed in sun.

    Viktor cocked his stupíd head to the side, his ever-murderous gaze pinning me down when I didn’t answer him. Then that cocky little disgusting smirk emerged on his face, déadly but bright. “I will repeat myself again—and I really, really hàte doing that—and if none of you answer me…”

    He left it like that. His threat hung in the air, unknown but dangeroús.

    I was busy stumbling over the new rising fear in me to even think of something to appease him with.

    However, Rory wasn’t.

    “You,” she said, ever so casually. The hint of loathing still present. “We were talking about you.”

    His eyes instantly—and I do mean instantly—flicked over to her waiting ones, which she was glaring at him with. “Hmm,” he let out an uncharacteristically soft hum, nodding his stupid head slowly. “Let’s say I believed you, okay, doll? What were you talking about? ”

    Rory’s glare grew even deeper. I didn’t think it was possible, but more haté swirled in her honey eyes for him. “God, I’m going to kíll you.”

    “But I thought we were really starting to be good friends.”

    The sincerity in his voice sounded so odd. So out of place. So not him, that it even had him cringing.

    “F+ck you.”

    He now grinned. “If you want me so bad, then I’ll gladly give you me.” He made a show of placing his palm on top of the left side of his chest, then the other palm on the first one. “I’ve been told I’m a generous giver, after all.”

    “Yeah?” She chuckled, and it was very mocking. “Let me guess, by the girls that told you you were good-looking?”

    Normal Genevieve would have laughed at that. Kidnappéd, pregnant Genevieve who just wanted to go home to her fiancé? Oh no, she didn’t find it funny enough to even crack a smile.

    “I like you,” he said with a small chuckle.

    And want to know the shocking part? It sounded genuine.

    “I don’t understand how the idíot raised you, and you’re like this and he’s like… like that.”

    Bàstard.

    I swear to God, if his head wasn’t rolling on the ground when this was over, then I am not Genevieve Dove King.

    At the unspoken mention of her brother, Aurora flew to her feet, as furious as ever. “If by ‘like that,’ you mean so ambitious and successful and excellent that lowlife peasants like yourself thought they could amount even a grain of his greatness, then yes. Dominic was like that.” Unafraid—or maybe she was hiding it well—and undeterred, she walked over to him. “And the next time you called my brother”—the possessiveness was loud and clear—“an ídiot, you should better start counting your days, because they will be your very last ones. Do you understand me, Viktor?”

    “First, it was her—” he jutted his head to me, earning an immediate frown from me. “—and her hilarious audacity. And now? It’s you and your comical bravery.” He lifted his hand to her face and I watched her fling it away with a grimace. “Does everyone who came in contact with the ídiot”—an intentional jab at her—“think that they’re suddenly untouchable?”

    “It’s not my brother’s fault that you’re lame.”

    “Lame?”

    “Yes.” She nodded. “And pathetic.”

    God…

    “…Rory.”

    Either she didn’t hear me or she chose to ignore me to do better things, like glare at the nincompoop in front of her.

    I tried again. “Rory.” And again. “Rory?” And again! “Aurora!”

    “Listen to your sister-in-law and stop mouthing off.”

    “I didn’t like being told what to do,” she retorted. “You would know that if you really did your research on me. What, are you an amateur?” She did the half-scoff, half-laugh he does. “Are you planning on using those skills when you ‘become’ the don?”

    As soon as her question landed, a loud slap also landed on her cheek, so heavy it pushed her off her feet.

    I sprung up on my own feet and rushed to her. Her face was red, one of her cheeks even redder, the corner of her mouth bloódy.

    “You’re a cóward, you know that, right? It’s only a weak man like yourself that raises his hands on a woman,” I snapped.

    My restraints were finally off. Self-control switched off too.

    “Want to mouth off too?”

    “Why, you’re going to hit me too?” I rasped, stepping closer to him. “Is it going to feed your ego? Hm? Will you clap for yourself, perhaps give yourself a pat on the back after you’re done?”

    “Maybe I will.”

    “Confirming my claim that you truly are a cóward. An untrained, too-ambitious cowàrd.”

    Viktor’s hand flew up again, ready to land hard on my face. I saw it coming, but didn’t even close my eyes—no, I glared at him.

    He stopped midway.

    “Dominic is going to skiñ you alive when he catches you,” I told him in the calmest voice I could muster. “And let’s pray you don’t have families, because he will make them pay for this foolísh act of yours.”

    That did it.

    In a flash, the back of his hand slammed hard on my face. I was dazed, and in less than a second his hand came down to squeeze my throat.

    TBC📖✍️

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  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 127

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 127

     

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 127

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Dominic ~

    There’s a particular madnéss in the way I missed her.

    Not the loud kind. Not the sort that howls through your chest or makes a spectacle of you in public. Mine was the quiet kind—slow-burning and insidious, the sort that seeps into your marrow and refuses to let go. I missed Genevieve like breath. Like stillness after chàos. And when I landed in Shanghai and stood before her door, my suitcase still sitting in the car, I didn’t knock straightaway.

    I just breathed.

    It was absurd, really—how even the air felt different here. Foreign. Edged with city smoke and the tang of damp stone, but laced with something else… something electric. Her. She was behind that door, and I could feel it.

    So I knocked.

    Footsteps. Muffled. Then a voice—sharp, surprised. Familiar. That would be Cora. The one with the acid wit. She opened the door with the finesse of a misfiring android and stared at me as though I’d crawled out of the walls.

    “Dominic Morozov?”

    “Good morning to you too,” I replied lightly, managing a polite smile. Her expression was priceless—like she was watching a ghost. “Won’t you invite me in?”

    She gawked. Completely stunned. “S-sure… Wh-why don’t you… come in?”

    “Thanks.”

    And there she was.

    Genevieve.

    She stood frozen at the table, just staring. No words. No sass. Just those wide, beautiful eyes—uncertain, like she didn’t quite believe I was real. Then something broke inside her, and she moved. Quick. Light-footed. Straight into my arms.

    I caught her like I’d done it a hundred times.

    God, I’d missed this.

    The way she clung to me like she was meant to be there. Her scent—faintly floral, delicate, all her—wrapped around me as I buried my face in the crook of her neck. She was warm, soft, heartbreakingly alive.

    She was mine.

    “What the héll,” she whispered, laughing breathlessly, disbelieving. Her voice trembled with joy, like she didn’t know whether to cry or laugh again. “How are you here?”

    “I flew,” I said with a grin, and she gave my chest a playful smack. It didn’t húrt, but it nearly winded me—in the best way. “I missed you too, my Vixen.”

    And I meant it. Every bloódy word.

    “You know I missed you.”

    “Do I? Do I know that?”

    That moment held us suspended—her radiant, me unravelled. Her eyes stripped me bare. I leaned in, drawn like a tide, lips nearly brushing hers—but she stopped me. A palm to my chest. Gentle, firm.

    Restraint.

    I sighed, straightening slightly. It was alright. Not now. But soon.

    I turned to Cora instead, offering her a hand—anything to ground myself, to stop myself from completely losing it just from being near Genevieve.

    “Dominic Morozov, just as you said.”

    “I’m, uh—” Cora blinked, seeming to reboot. “Cora.”

    “Well then, Cora with no surname, lovely to meet you.”

    She smiled, clearly still processing. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

    “Likewise.”

    “Oh,” she added, glancing quickly at Genevieve before flicking back to me. “All good things, I hope?”

    I nodded. “Oh, absolutely.” Then turned back to Genevieve, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “So now, if you’ll excuse us—I’d quite like to kiss my girlfriend

    Cora vanished like she’d been set alight. Her bedroom door clicked shut, and I turned to Genevieve again.

    I didn’t kiss her. Not yet.

    I just looked at her.

    Drank her in.

    She was wearing joggers and a simple top, barefoot, hair a little tousled—but to me, she looked like a miracle. Somehow more vivid than I remembered, like time apart had only made her clearer. 

    “I thought you had something incredibly important this week,” she murmured. “What are you doing here?”

    “I do have something to do, my Love” I said. 

    “May I know what it is?”

    The urge to tell her nearly won. But no—the reveal needed timing. The right moment. The right sky.

    “You’ll see.” I pulled her in close, feeling the way she moulded to me like we were carved from the same shape. “But first,” I breathed against her hair, “let me kiss you.”

    And I did.

    ••

    By the time I stood on the rooftop waiting for her, the nerves were beginning to claw in.

    The cold air bit through my suit, and my heart thudded slow but heavy.

    I didn’t know what scared me more: the idea of what I was about to do—or the thought that she might say no.

    Then the door opened, and there she was.

    She stepped out like a vision. Red dress clinging to her like it’d been made for that body, her hair smooth and glossy, eyes wide as they found me.

    I could hardly breathe.

    She walked toward me, every step knocking something loose in my chest, and I met her halfway. My hand slid around her waist automatically, instinctively. I guided her to the chair with the kind of care I reserved for precious things.

    “Are you going to do the very important thing after this?” she asked as she sat, smoothing her dress. “Thanks.” 

    “This is the very important thing.”

    She blinked. “This date?”

    I nodded.

    “And what is it? You know, the thing?”

    I wanted to tell her. But not yet. Not until the timing was perfect. Not until the sky had fully darkened and the stars came out as witnesses.

    “Let’s eat first.”

    “But—”

    “Let’s eat first, baby.”

    She sighed. “Okay.” 

    Her voice was casual. But her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up her fork.

    And me?

    I was already falling, deeper than before, terrified and alive because tonight—tonight, I was going to ask her the question that would change everything.

    She laughed at something—something I’d said, maybe. I couldn’t recall, not when every pulse in my body was hammering out the same frantic rhythm: do it, do it, do it.

    The rooftop shimmered beneath the city lights. It was quiet up here, elevated and private, a cocoon above the chàos of Shanghai. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, throwing soft shadows across her face as she tilted her head and sipped her wine. 

    God, she was beautiful. Unfairly so. And she had every idea of it.

    I reached for her hand, tracing idle circles into her palm. Her skin was warm, delicate, and when I finally spoke, my voice was rough—like it’d been dragged through gravel.

    “Genevieve.”

    She looked up. “Hmm?”

    “I have to say something, and you need to let me finish.”

    Immediately, suspicion flickered behind her eyes. “What’s going on?”

    I stood. Walked around the table. My heart had become a goddamn weapon in my chest, beating so loud I could barely hear my own thoughts. I got down on one knee, just as she gasped. 

    Her hand flew to her mouth. “Dom…”

    “I know,” I said, voice trembling. “I know it’s mad. But I’ve always been màd for you, haven’t I? You know how obsesséd I am—God, it’s terrífying how much I love you. But what terrifiés me more is a life without you in it.”

    My throat thickened. “A ring can’t promise a perfect life. But it can be a promise that I’ll spend every day choosing you. And yeah, maybe it’s too soon for some—but I can’t keep waiting.”

    She was silent. Stunned.

    I pulled out the box. Flipped it open. The ring caught the light and shone like it had a soul.

    “I want you to be mine. Publicly. Permanently. I want the whole world to know you’re my person. That I’m yours.”

    Tears welled in her eyes, trembling in the lamplight.

    “This isn’t about tradition, or some ticking timeline, or whatever the world thinks we’re supposed to do. This is about the fact that when you’re not near me, I feel like I’m living in greyscale. It’s about the way you look at me when you’re annoyed but still love me. The way you say my name like I belong to you—and how f+cking right it feels when you do.”

    I took her hand. Kissed her knuckles. Held on like they were the only things anchoring me to this world. “I’ve done monstroús things in this life. Things I’ll never be able to wash off. But somehow… somehow you still look at me like I’m worth saving. Like there’s something good in me. And I’d spend every day proving you right, if you’ll let me.” 

    I swallowed, “Six years ago, I met this wild-eyed seventeen-year-old girl on a rooftop. You remember? I threatened to throw you off and you didn’t look fazed.”

    We both laughed, soft and teary.

    “That girl got under my skin and didn’t leave. She made me fall—hard. Now she’s a woman who has achieved so more than I ever thought possible. And she still isn’t afraid of anything.”

    The breeze nipped at my cheeks. My hands were trembling. “Genevieve King, you are the most maddening, brilliant, fearless woman I have ever known. I love you beyond reason. So… will you marry me?” 

    For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She didn’t even breathe. For a moment, I thought I’d overstepped. Pushed too far, too soon.

    “Yes,” she whispered. Then louder: “Yes, yes, yes—are you iñsane? Yes!”

    She dropped to her knees in front of me and kissed me like she’d waited a lifetime. Hands in my hair, tears on her cheeks, laughter tumbling from her lips as I slid the ring onto her finger with shaking hands.

    “God, all the horrible things I thought you were about to say,” she muttered.

    I laughed, dazed and breathless. “F+ck, I love you.”

    “I love you more.”

    “Impossible.”

    She opened her mouth to argue—but this time, I kissed her silent.

    •• 

    Her back hit the door of the penthouse the moment we stumbled inside.

    I hadn’t planned it—hadn’t meant to kiss her that hard, that desperate—but the second she said yes, the second I felt her hands gripping my face with that breathless laugh against my lips, I lost it.

    She was mine. Mine.

    No shadows of doubt. No lingering maybes. She chose me.

    And I was hers. 

    I kissed her like a man who had waited lifetimes. Pinned her to the door with my hips, one hand cupping her jaw as my mouth devoured hers—hot, open, filthy. Her fingers tangled in my shirt, dragging it up, baring my skin. I tore it off and tossed it somewhere behind us.

    “Dominic,” she gasped against my lips.

    I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist like it was instinct. I walked her backwards through the suite, lips never leaving hers. She tasted like wine and forever. Like something holy.

    “You don’t know,” I rasped, kissing down her throat, “what that word did to me.”

    “What word?” she panted.

    “Yes.”

    I dropped her onto the bed gently, but my eyes—my hands—were starved. I looked at her like she was sacred. And then I stripped her slow, kissing every inch of skin I uncovered. The curve of her hip. The dip of her waist. The underside of her breast, where she was soft and unguarded.

    Her fingers clutched my shoulders as I settled between her thighs, reverent and ravenous.

    I kissed her there—tasted her—and she arched off the bed with a gasp so sweet I nearly came undone.

    “You’re shaking,” she whispered, breathless.

    “I’ve never wanted anything like this,” I said, my voice wrecked. “Like you.”

    Her hand found my jaw, her thumb brushing my cheek. I leaned into it like a starving man. 

    “Then take me,” she said. “I’m yours.”

    That word—yours—tore through me like fire.

    I kissed her again, deeper this time, as I slid into her slowly. We both gasped. Her legs wrapped around me tight, her heels digging into my back. And for a moment, I didn’t move. I just looked at her.

    Her eyes. Her flushed lips. Her chest rising fast.

    “F+ck, Genevieve,” I groaned. “You feel like heaven. Like héll. Like home.”

    And then I moved.

    It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t rushed either. It was a rhythm made of devotion and madness, of every emotion I didn’t have words for. She moaned my name like it was a prayer and a curse, her nails raking down my back, her body arching into mine like we couldn’t get close enough.

    I whispered everything into her skin—how beautiful she was, how much I loved her, how I’d burn the world for her.

    I kissed her through her climax, holding her face as she shattered beneath me, my name falling from her lips like salvation.

    And when I followed—groaning, trembling, ruined—I buried my face in her neck and held her like I’d never let go.

    We lay tangled in silence, bodies slick with sweat, hearts thundering in sync. Her fingers traced circles on my spine. My hand rested on her belly, protective, possessive, calm.

    “You were shaking,” she murmured again.

    “Still am,” I confessed into her skin.

    She laughed softly and whispered, “You’re such a menace.”

    I smiled. “Yours.”

    TBC📖✍️

    Next Episode 

    Previous Episode 

  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 127

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 127

     

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 127

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Dominic ~

    There’s a particular madnéss in the way I missed her.

    Not the loud kind. Not the sort that howls through your chest or makes a spectacle of you in public. Mine was the quiet kind—slow-burning and insidious, the sort that seeps into your marrow and refuses to let go. I missed Genevieve like breath. Like stillness after chàos. And when I landed in Shanghai and stood before her door, my suitcase still sitting in the car, I didn’t knock straightaway.

    I just breathed.

    It was absurd, really—how even the air felt different here. Foreign. Edged with city smoke and the tang of damp stone, but laced with something else… something electric. Her. She was behind that door, and I could feel it.

    So I knocked.

    Footsteps. Muffled. Then a voice—sharp, surprised. Familiar. That would be Cora. The one with the acid wit. She opened the door with the finesse of a misfiring android and stared at me as though I’d crawled out of the walls.

    “Dominic Morozov?”

    “Good morning to you too,” I replied lightly, managing a polite smile. Her expression was priceless—like she was watching a ghost. “Won’t you invite me in?”

    She gawked. Completely stunned. “S-sure… Wh-why don’t you… come in?”

    “Thanks.”

    And there she was.

    Genevieve.

    She stood frozen at the table, just staring. No words. No sass. Just those wide, beautiful eyes—uncertain, like she didn’t quite believe I was real. Then something broke inside her, and she moved. Quick. Light-footed. Straight into my arms.

    I caught her like I’d done it a hundred times.

    God, I’d missed this.

    The way she clung to me like she was meant to be there. Her scent—faintly floral, delicate, all her—wrapped around me as I buried my face in the crook of her neck. She was warm, soft, heartbreakingly alive.

    She was mine.

    “What the héll,” she whispered, laughing breathlessly, disbelieving. Her voice trembled with joy, like she didn’t know whether to cry or laugh again. “How are you here?”

    “I flew,” I said with a grin, and she gave my chest a playful smack. It didn’t húrt, but it nearly winded me—in the best way. “I missed you too, my Vixen.”

    And I meant it. Every bloódy word.

    “You know I missed you.”

    “Do I? Do I know that?”

    That moment held us suspended—her radiant, me unravelled. Her eyes stripped me bare. I leaned in, drawn like a tide, lips nearly brushing hers—but she stopped me. A palm to my chest. Gentle, firm.

    Restraint.

    I sighed, straightening slightly. It was alright. Not now. But soon.

    I turned to Cora instead, offering her a hand—anything to ground myself, to stop myself from completely losing it just from being near Genevieve.

    “Dominic Morozov, just as you said.”

    “I’m, uh—” Cora blinked, seeming to reboot. “Cora.”

    “Well then, Cora with no surname, lovely to meet you.”

    She smiled, clearly still processing. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

    “Likewise.”

    “Oh,” she added, glancing quickly at Genevieve before flicking back to me. “All good things, I hope?”

    I nodded. “Oh, absolutely.” Then turned back to Genevieve, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “So now, if you’ll excuse us—I’d quite like to kiss my girlfriend

    Cora vanished like she’d been set alight. Her bedroom door clicked shut, and I turned to Genevieve again.

    I didn’t kiss her. Not yet.

    I just looked at her.

    Drank her in.

    She was wearing joggers and a simple top, barefoot, hair a little tousled—but to me, she looked like a miracle. Somehow more vivid than I remembered, like time apart had only made her clearer. 

    “I thought you had something incredibly important this week,” she murmured. “What are you doing here?”

    “I do have something to do, my Love” I said. 

    “May I know what it is?”

    The urge to tell her nearly won. But no—the reveal needed timing. The right moment. The right sky.

    “You’ll see.” I pulled her in close, feeling the way she moulded to me like we were carved from the same shape. “But first,” I breathed against her hair, “let me kiss you.”

    And I did.

    ••

    By the time I stood on the rooftop waiting for her, the nerves were beginning to claw in.

    The cold air bit through my suit, and my heart thudded slow but heavy.

    I didn’t know what scared me more: the idea of what I was about to do—or the thought that she might say no.

    Then the door opened, and there she was.

    She stepped out like a vision. Red dress clinging to her like it’d been made for that body, her hair smooth and glossy, eyes wide as they found me.

    I could hardly breathe.

    She walked toward me, every step knocking something loose in my chest, and I met her halfway. My hand slid around her waist automatically, instinctively. I guided her to the chair with the kind of care I reserved for precious things.

    “Are you going to do the very important thing after this?” she asked as she sat, smoothing her dress. “Thanks.” 

    “This is the very important thing.”

    She blinked. “This date?”

    I nodded.

    “And what is it? You know, the thing?”

    I wanted to tell her. But not yet. Not until the timing was perfect. Not until the sky had fully darkened and the stars came out as witnesses.

    “Let’s eat first.”

    “But—”

    “Let’s eat first, baby.”

    She sighed. “Okay.” 

    Her voice was casual. But her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up her fork.

    And me?

    I was already falling, deeper than before, terrified and alive because tonight—tonight, I was going to ask her the question that would change everything.

    She laughed at something—something I’d said, maybe. I couldn’t recall, not when every pulse in my body was hammering out the same frantic rhythm: do it, do it, do it.

    The rooftop shimmered beneath the city lights. It was quiet up here, elevated and private, a cocoon above the chàos of Shanghai. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, throwing soft shadows across her face as she tilted her head and sipped her wine. 

    God, she was beautiful. Unfairly so. And she had every idea of it.

    I reached for her hand, tracing idle circles into her palm. Her skin was warm, delicate, and when I finally spoke, my voice was rough—like it’d been dragged through gravel.

    “Genevieve.”

    She looked up. “Hmm?”

    “I have to say something, and you need to let me finish.”

    Immediately, suspicion flickered behind her eyes. “What’s going on?”

    I stood. Walked around the table. My heart had become a goddamn weapon in my chest, beating so loud I could barely hear my own thoughts. I got down on one knee, just as she gasped. 

    Her hand flew to her mouth. “Dom…”

    “I know,” I said, voice trembling. “I know it’s mad. But I’ve always been màd for you, haven’t I? You know how obsesséd I am—God, it’s terrífying how much I love you. But what terrifiés me more is a life without you in it.”

    My throat thickened. “A ring can’t promise a perfect life. But it can be a promise that I’ll spend every day choosing you. And yeah, maybe it’s too soon for some—but I can’t keep waiting.”

    She was silent. Stunned.

    I pulled out the box. Flipped it open. The ring caught the light and shone like it had a soul.

    “I want you to be mine. Publicly. Permanently. I want the whole world to know you’re my person. That I’m yours.”

    Tears welled in her eyes, trembling in the lamplight.

    “This isn’t about tradition, or some ticking timeline, or whatever the world thinks we’re supposed to do. This is about the fact that when you’re not near me, I feel like I’m living in greyscale. It’s about the way you look at me when you’re annoyed but still love me. The way you say my name like I belong to you—and how f+cking right it feels when you do.”

    I took her hand. Kissed her knuckles. Held on like they were the only things anchoring me to this world. “I’ve done monstroús things in this life. Things I’ll never be able to wash off. But somehow… somehow you still look at me like I’m worth saving. Like there’s something good in me. And I’d spend every day proving you right, if you’ll let me.” 

    I swallowed, “Six years ago, I met this wild-eyed seventeen-year-old girl on a rooftop. You remember? I threatened to throw you off and you didn’t look fazed.”

    We both laughed, soft and teary.

    “That girl got under my skin and didn’t leave. She made me fall—hard. Now she’s a woman who has achieved so more than I ever thought possible. And she still isn’t afraid of anything.”

    The breeze nipped at my cheeks. My hands were trembling. “Genevieve King, you are the most maddening, brilliant, fearless woman I have ever known. I love you beyond reason. So… will you marry me?” 

    For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She didn’t even breathe. For a moment, I thought I’d overstepped. Pushed too far, too soon.

    “Yes,” she whispered. Then louder: “Yes, yes, yes—are you iñsane? Yes!”

    She dropped to her knees in front of me and kissed me like she’d waited a lifetime. Hands in my hair, tears on her cheeks, laughter tumbling from her lips as I slid the ring onto her finger with shaking hands.

    “God, all the horrible things I thought you were about to say,” she muttered.

    I laughed, dazed and breathless. “F+ck, I love you.”

    “I love you more.”

    “Impossible.”

    She opened her mouth to argue—but this time, I kissed her silent.

    •• 

    Her back hit the door of the penthouse the moment we stumbled inside.

    I hadn’t planned it—hadn’t meant to kiss her that hard, that desperate—but the second she said yes, the second I felt her hands gripping my face with that breathless laugh against my lips, I lost it.

    She was mine. Mine.

    No shadows of doubt. No lingering maybes. She chose me.

    And I was hers. 

    I kissed her like a man who had waited lifetimes. Pinned her to the door with my hips, one hand cupping her jaw as my mouth devoured hers—hot, open, filthy. Her fingers tangled in my shirt, dragging it up, baring my skin. I tore it off and tossed it somewhere behind us.

    “Dominic,” she gasped against my lips.

    I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist like it was instinct. I walked her backwards through the suite, lips never leaving hers. She tasted like wine and forever. Like something holy.

    “You don’t know,” I rasped, kissing down her throat, “what that word did to me.”

    “What word?” she panted.

    “Yes.”

    I dropped her onto the bed gently, but my eyes—my hands—were starved. I looked at her like she was sacred. And then I stripped her slow, kissing every inch of skin I uncovered. The curve of her hip. The dip of her waist. The underside of her breast, where she was soft and unguarded.

    Her fingers clutched my shoulders as I settled between her thighs, reverent and ravenous.

    I kissed her there—tasted her—and she arched off the bed with a gasp so sweet I nearly came undone.

    “You’re shaking,” she whispered, breathless.

    “I’ve never wanted anything like this,” I said, my voice wrecked. “Like you.”

    Her hand found my jaw, her thumb brushing my cheek. I leaned into it like a starving man. 

    “Then take me,” she said. “I’m yours.”

    That word—yours—tore through me like fire.

    I kissed her again, deeper this time, as I slid into her slowly. We both gasped. Her legs wrapped around me tight, her heels digging into my back. And for a moment, I didn’t move. I just looked at her.

    Her eyes. Her flushed lips. Her chest rising fast.

    “F+ck, Genevieve,” I groaned. “You feel like heaven. Like héll. Like home.”

    And then I moved.

    It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t rushed either. It was a rhythm made of devotion and madness, of every emotion I didn’t have words for. She moaned my name like it was a prayer and a curse, her nails raking down my back, her body arching into mine like we couldn’t get close enough.

    I whispered everything into her skin—how beautiful she was, how much I loved her, how I’d burn the world for her.

    I kissed her through her climax, holding her face as she shattered beneath me, my name falling from her lips like salvation.

    And when I followed—groaning, trembling, ruined—I buried my face in her neck and held her like I’d never let go.

    We lay tangled in silence, bodies slick with sweat, hearts thundering in sync. Her fingers traced circles on my spine. My hand rested on her belly, protective, possessive, calm.

    “You were shaking,” she murmured again.

    “Still am,” I confessed into her skin.

    She laughed softly and whispered, “You’re such a menace.”

    I smiled. “Yours.”

    TBC📖✍️

    Next Episode 

    Previous Episode 

  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 122

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 122

     

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 122

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Genevieve ~

    The gazebo.

    We stood around it like it was some sort of ancient relic, as if staring hard enough might coax out the truth we were desperate to find. The wooden frame had long since aged, its varnish peeling in tired curls at the edges, and yet the faint, stubbórn scent of cedar clung to the beams like a ghost of the past. Beneath us, the boards groaned softly in protest, strained beneath the weight of too many feet—and far too many buried emotions. 

    My fingertips brushed along the railing, rough beneath my touch, splintered and worn. It reminded me too much of life lately—recognisable, but no longer safe. Fractured in ways that made me question everything.

    “Where exactly would he hide something in here?” I asked, crouching to peer beneath the bench, then lifting one of the dust-laden cushions that had long since faded to a miserable grey. “There’s nowhere discreet.”

    “There is,” Dexter murmured, already near the far corner, crouched low. His brow furrowed in thought as he swept his fingers across the floorboards. Then he stilled. “Here.”

    We clustered around him. He was tapping against a loose plank with careful precision, his ear seemingly tuned to something only he could hear. It made me wonder—again—just how many secrets he was still keeping.

    “It’s hollow underneath. It’s definitely here,” he said at last, voice edged with a quiet sort of triumph. The kind you don’t actually want, because being right means something terrible is coming.

    He wedged his fingers beneath the plank and gave it a sharp pull. Dust erupted into the air, and we all recoiled slightly, coughing and waving the haze away. I squinted through the dusty light and saw it—tucked beneath the floorboards, barely visible. A box.

    Rory reached for it first, hands trembling ever so slightly. It was small—black, metal, battered—but sturdy. It looked like it was designed to protect things. Dangerous things.

    I hovered just behind her, chewing the inside of my cheek raw. “Open it,” I breathed, the words barely more than a whisper, as if anything louder might set off an explosion.

    The latch gave with a soft click. My heart paused. The silence that followed was deafening.

    Inside, nestled within a crumpled old handkerchief, lay photographs. Dozens. Some yellowed and frayed with age, others worryingly recent. Each bore a name scrawled on the back in Blade’s unmistakable handwriting—obsessive, careful. There were receipts, newspaper cuttings, even a flash drive tucked into one corner.

    “Oh my God…” Rory whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all.

    I reached in and picked up a photograph—and froze.

    Dominic.

    Not as he is now. Younger. Bruised. Blood smeared at the corner of his mouth. He stood beside someone unrecognisable, their face caught mid-motion, blurred. But it wasn’t just the image—it was the story it hinted at. This wasn’t mere gossip. This was history. Carefully hidden.

    A chill crept down my spine, settling deep into my bones. The fabric of my dress did little to shield me from the sudden bite of cold. But it wasn’t the weather. It was dread. Pure and paralyzing.

    “Why would Blade keep these?” I asked, barely able to get the words past the thundering in my ears. “Why… what was he planning to do with them?”

    “I don’t know,” Dexter replied, his voice taut, brittle. He didn’t meet my gaze. “We weren’t supposed to know.”

    Aurora was silent. Too silent. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself like she was trying to hold in the pieces. “This isn’t just betràyal,” she said quietly. “It’s a blóody well thought-out plan. Going back years.”

    My chest tightened.

    It felt like something was pressing down on it, slowly, deliberately. Like the universe was forcing me to feel every ounce of unease I’d tried to ignore earlier. I stared at the box—at what it held—and my stomach twisted violéntly.

    I cast a glance over my shoulder.

    Dominic stood still. Silent.

    His expression was carved from stone, but I knew that look—confusion, heartbreak, and a ràge so potent it barely needed words.

    He hadn’t spoken. Not once. And all of us—Rory, Dex, and me—we were waiting. Hoping he’d say something. Anything that might give us the faintest clue about what was going on inside that mind of his.

    But it was like he couldn’t. Either stunned into silence or trapped beneath the weight of thoughts too loud to allow speech.

    Above us, the sky hung low, thick with the promise of rain. The wind whipped around the gazebo, rustling trees and rattling beams like the place was barely holding together.

    Was it as old as the secrets buried beneath it?

    Or were the secrets older still?

    Was this truly the long game Aurora claimed it to be?

    I didn’t want to believe it.

    The photographs burned in my hands, each one heavier than the last. But I couldn’t let go. Couldn’t tear my eyes away. Every image was a thread, and Blade had stitched them together into something far more sinister than idle curiosity.

    He’d known. He’d watched. Documented. Calculated every move.

    And the worst part—the part that made bile rise in my throat—was how meticulous it all was.

    I turned over another photograph. The name scribbled on the back stole the breath from my lungs.

    Daniel Morozov

    Before I could react, Aurora snatched it from my grip.

    “Is this Dad?” she demanded, voice sharp and trembling. She stared down at it like it might burst into flàmes. “Blade had this the whole time and didn’t say a word?”

    Dexter looked between us, jaw clenched. “He wasn’t just gathering dirt. He was building something. A case? Blackmail? Insurance? Leverage? Call it what you like.”

    “But against who?” Rory asked, voice thin. “Dominic? The Bràtva? All of us?”

    I shook my head slowly. “It wasn’t revenge. Not with Blade. It was too clean. Too strategic.”

    Silence fell again. But now it was thick. Suffocàting. Heavy with unspoken truths.

    And I couldn’t shake the feeling that Blade hadn’t just been trying to protect us.

    He’d been preparing for wàr.

    But against whom?

    As if in answer, Dexter plucked another photo from the box and flipped it over. The name written on the back, in bold red ink: VIKTOR VALDISLAV. 

    “I know him,” Dominic said quietly, finally breaking his silence. 

    “He’s a Serbian gang leader,” he went on, voice low and flat. “And an ex-MMA fíghter. Ring any bells?” 

    His eyes flicked from the photo in Dexter’s hand to his face—something passed between them, silent and sharp, like a conversation the rest of us weren’t privy to. “We had a fíght once.”

    A fíght? Like in a proper ring? One of those underground bouts you only see in films?

    Dex looked blank for a heartbeat, then his brow furrowed as the memory clicked into place. “Wait—was that the bloke who got so worked up he nearly stabbéd you? That was ages ago. What’s he got to do with anything now? It’s been—what? Twelve, thirteen years?” As if something else had just dawned on him, he added, “And Blade wasn’t even with us then.”

    “It’s been fifteen years,” Dominic corrected quietly. “Blade joined us exactly six months after that.”

    Bit too coincidental, isn’t it? I didn’t say it aloud, but the thought clanged in my head like a warning bell. Still, I stayed silent, letting the conversation wind on while trying to piece together the jagged puzzle forming in my mind.

    “Didn’t Ivan set that fight up?” Dexter asked suddenly. “He’s the one who matched you two, didn’t he?”

    “What are you getting at, Dexter?” Aurora snapped, and for the first time, she used his full name. Her voice had a crack of something raw—anger, maybe betrayal. “Are you trying to say that Uncle—” She stopped abruptly, catching herself like the word physically húrt her, before pushing on. “That Ivan knew this would happen? That some Serbian psychó would come back after fifteen bloódy years to kíll us all?”

    Dexter turned to face her, his jaw clenched, frustration simmering just beneath his skin. “Yes, Aurora. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. Who the héll knows anymore?”

    “Well, you should,” she shot back, eyes blazing, “since you’re suddenly the blóody expert!”

    “You’re being childish.” He ground the words out through his teeth. “The man you’re—” The next words teetered on the edge of cruelty. I could see them coming, could feel the impact they were going to have—but by the time he caught himself, it was too late. “—the man you’re supporting is responsible for your parents’ deàths. And you’re still backing him.”

    The world froze.

    Dominic moved before anyone else could. His voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Dexter.” The single word was laced with restrained fúry.

    He wasn’t just Dominic anymore—he was Dominic Morozov, head of the most feared màfia clan in the world . His entire demeanour shifted. Power rolled off him in waves, cold and thunderous.

    Dexter’s expression changed instantly. The rage drained from his face, replaced by something quieter—fear, regret, deference. He lowered his head, exhaling shakily, like the breath itself might undo him.

    Even deàd, Ivan was causing chaós. Typical.

    The tension in the room crackled, thick and stifling. It sat on our skin like humidity before a storm. I could barely breathe through it. So I did the only thing I could think of to cut through it.

    “The flash drive,” I said, voice steady but quiet. “What do you reckon’s on it?”

    I wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, but Dominic’s gaze shifted to mine. And just like that—softened. The rage didn’t vanish, but it dulled. For me.

    “Do you think the tapping code unlocks something on it? Or is it something else entirely?”

    Above us, the clouds finally gave way. Rain pattered softly against the windows and pavement—gentle, but insistent.

    Dominic swore under his breath and snatched the flash drive from Dexter’s hand.

    “Drive alone. I’ll take them home.”

    Dexter gave a small, respectful nod, bowing his head once more. “Yes, Boss.”

    TBC📖✍️

    Next Episode 

    Previous Episode 

  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 122

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 122

     

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 122

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Genevieve ~

    The gazebo.

    We stood around it like it was some sort of ancient relic, as if staring hard enough might coax out the truth we were desperate to find. The wooden frame had long since aged, its varnish peeling in tired curls at the edges, and yet the faint, stubbórn scent of cedar clung to the beams like a ghost of the past. Beneath us, the boards groaned softly in protest, strained beneath the weight of too many feet—and far too many buried emotions. 

    My fingertips brushed along the railing, rough beneath my touch, splintered and worn. It reminded me too much of life lately—recognisable, but no longer safe. Fractured in ways that made me question everything.

    “Where exactly would he hide something in here?” I asked, crouching to peer beneath the bench, then lifting one of the dust-laden cushions that had long since faded to a miserable grey. “There’s nowhere discreet.”

    “There is,” Dexter murmured, already near the far corner, crouched low. His brow furrowed in thought as he swept his fingers across the floorboards. Then he stilled. “Here.”

    We clustered around him. He was tapping against a loose plank with careful precision, his ear seemingly tuned to something only he could hear. It made me wonder—again—just how many secrets he was still keeping.

    “It’s hollow underneath. It’s definitely here,” he said at last, voice edged with a quiet sort of triumph. The kind you don’t actually want, because being right means something terrible is coming.

    He wedged his fingers beneath the plank and gave it a sharp pull. Dust erupted into the air, and we all recoiled slightly, coughing and waving the haze away. I squinted through the dusty light and saw it—tucked beneath the floorboards, barely visible. A box.

    Rory reached for it first, hands trembling ever so slightly. It was small—black, metal, battered—but sturdy. It looked like it was designed to protect things. Dangerous things.

    I hovered just behind her, chewing the inside of my cheek raw. “Open it,” I breathed, the words barely more than a whisper, as if anything louder might set off an explosion.

    The latch gave with a soft click. My heart paused. The silence that followed was deafening.

    Inside, nestled within a crumpled old handkerchief, lay photographs. Dozens. Some yellowed and frayed with age, others worryingly recent. Each bore a name scrawled on the back in Blade’s unmistakable handwriting—obsessive, careful. There were receipts, newspaper cuttings, even a flash drive tucked into one corner.

    “Oh my God…” Rory whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all.

    I reached in and picked up a photograph—and froze.

    Dominic.

    Not as he is now. Younger. Bruised. Blood smeared at the corner of his mouth. He stood beside someone unrecognisable, their face caught mid-motion, blurred. But it wasn’t just the image—it was the story it hinted at. This wasn’t mere gossip. This was history. Carefully hidden.

    A chill crept down my spine, settling deep into my bones. The fabric of my dress did little to shield me from the sudden bite of cold. But it wasn’t the weather. It was dread. Pure and paralyzing.

    “Why would Blade keep these?” I asked, barely able to get the words past the thundering in my ears. “Why… what was he planning to do with them?”

    “I don’t know,” Dexter replied, his voice taut, brittle. He didn’t meet my gaze. “We weren’t supposed to know.”

    Aurora was silent. Too silent. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself like she was trying to hold in the pieces. “This isn’t just betràyal,” she said quietly. “It’s a blóody well thought-out plan. Going back years.”

    My chest tightened.

    It felt like something was pressing down on it, slowly, deliberately. Like the universe was forcing me to feel every ounce of unease I’d tried to ignore earlier. I stared at the box—at what it held—and my stomach twisted violéntly.

    I cast a glance over my shoulder.

    Dominic stood still. Silent.

    His expression was carved from stone, but I knew that look—confusion, heartbreak, and a ràge so potent it barely needed words.

    He hadn’t spoken. Not once. And all of us—Rory, Dex, and me—we were waiting. Hoping he’d say something. Anything that might give us the faintest clue about what was going on inside that mind of his.

    But it was like he couldn’t. Either stunned into silence or trapped beneath the weight of thoughts too loud to allow speech.

    Above us, the sky hung low, thick with the promise of rain. The wind whipped around the gazebo, rustling trees and rattling beams like the place was barely holding together.

    Was it as old as the secrets buried beneath it?

    Or were the secrets older still?

    Was this truly the long game Aurora claimed it to be?

    I didn’t want to believe it.

    The photographs burned in my hands, each one heavier than the last. But I couldn’t let go. Couldn’t tear my eyes away. Every image was a thread, and Blade had stitched them together into something far more sinister than idle curiosity.

    He’d known. He’d watched. Documented. Calculated every move.

    And the worst part—the part that made bile rise in my throat—was how meticulous it all was.

    I turned over another photograph. The name scribbled on the back stole the breath from my lungs.

    Daniel Morozov

    Before I could react, Aurora snatched it from my grip.

    “Is this Dad?” she demanded, voice sharp and trembling. She stared down at it like it might burst into flàmes. “Blade had this the whole time and didn’t say a word?”

    Dexter looked between us, jaw clenched. “He wasn’t just gathering dirt. He was building something. A case? Blackmail? Insurance? Leverage? Call it what you like.”

    “But against who?” Rory asked, voice thin. “Dominic? The Bràtva? All of us?”

    I shook my head slowly. “It wasn’t revenge. Not with Blade. It was too clean. Too strategic.”

    Silence fell again. But now it was thick. Suffocàting. Heavy with unspoken truths.

    And I couldn’t shake the feeling that Blade hadn’t just been trying to protect us.

    He’d been preparing for wàr.

    But against whom?

    As if in answer, Dexter plucked another photo from the box and flipped it over. The name written on the back, in bold red ink: VIKTOR VALDISLAV. 

    “I know him,” Dominic said quietly, finally breaking his silence. 

    “He’s a Serbian gang leader,” he went on, voice low and flat. “And an ex-MMA fíghter. Ring any bells?” 

    His eyes flicked from the photo in Dexter’s hand to his face—something passed between them, silent and sharp, like a conversation the rest of us weren’t privy to. “We had a fíght once.”

    A fíght? Like in a proper ring? One of those underground bouts you only see in films?

    Dex looked blank for a heartbeat, then his brow furrowed as the memory clicked into place. “Wait—was that the bloke who got so worked up he nearly stabbéd you? That was ages ago. What’s he got to do with anything now? It’s been—what? Twelve, thirteen years?” As if something else had just dawned on him, he added, “And Blade wasn’t even with us then.”

    “It’s been fifteen years,” Dominic corrected quietly. “Blade joined us exactly six months after that.”

    Bit too coincidental, isn’t it? I didn’t say it aloud, but the thought clanged in my head like a warning bell. Still, I stayed silent, letting the conversation wind on while trying to piece together the jagged puzzle forming in my mind.

    “Didn’t Ivan set that fight up?” Dexter asked suddenly. “He’s the one who matched you two, didn’t he?”

    “What are you getting at, Dexter?” Aurora snapped, and for the first time, she used his full name. Her voice had a crack of something raw—anger, maybe betrayal. “Are you trying to say that Uncle—” She stopped abruptly, catching herself like the word physically húrt her, before pushing on. “That Ivan knew this would happen? That some Serbian psychó would come back after fifteen bloódy years to kíll us all?”

    Dexter turned to face her, his jaw clenched, frustration simmering just beneath his skin. “Yes, Aurora. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. Who the héll knows anymore?”

    “Well, you should,” she shot back, eyes blazing, “since you’re suddenly the blóody expert!”

    “You’re being childish.” He ground the words out through his teeth. “The man you’re—” The next words teetered on the edge of cruelty. I could see them coming, could feel the impact they were going to have—but by the time he caught himself, it was too late. “—the man you’re supporting is responsible for your parents’ deàths. And you’re still backing him.”

    The world froze.

    Dominic moved before anyone else could. His voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Dexter.” The single word was laced with restrained fúry.

    He wasn’t just Dominic anymore—he was Dominic Morozov, head of the most feared màfia clan in the world . His entire demeanour shifted. Power rolled off him in waves, cold and thunderous.

    Dexter’s expression changed instantly. The rage drained from his face, replaced by something quieter—fear, regret, deference. He lowered his head, exhaling shakily, like the breath itself might undo him.

    Even deàd, Ivan was causing chaós. Typical.

    The tension in the room crackled, thick and stifling. It sat on our skin like humidity before a storm. I could barely breathe through it. So I did the only thing I could think of to cut through it.

    “The flash drive,” I said, voice steady but quiet. “What do you reckon’s on it?”

    I wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, but Dominic’s gaze shifted to mine. And just like that—softened. The rage didn’t vanish, but it dulled. For me.

    “Do you think the tapping code unlocks something on it? Or is it something else entirely?”

    Above us, the clouds finally gave way. Rain pattered softly against the windows and pavement—gentle, but insistent.

    Dominic swore under his breath and snatched the flash drive from Dexter’s hand.

    “Drive alone. I’ll take them home.”

    Dexter gave a small, respectful nod, bowing his head once more. “Yes, Boss.”

    TBC📖✍️

    Next Episode 

    Previous Episode 

  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 122

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 122

     

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 122

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Genevieve ~

    The gazebo.

    We stood around it like it was some sort of ancient relic, as if staring hard enough might coax out the truth we were desperate to find. The wooden frame had long since aged, its varnish peeling in tired curls at the edges, and yet the faint, stubbórn scent of cedar clung to the beams like a ghost of the past. Beneath us, the boards groaned softly in protest, strained beneath the weight of too many feet—and far too many buried emotions. 

    My fingertips brushed along the railing, rough beneath my touch, splintered and worn. It reminded me too much of life lately—recognisable, but no longer safe. Fractured in ways that made me question everything.

    “Where exactly would he hide something in here?” I asked, crouching to peer beneath the bench, then lifting one of the dust-laden cushions that had long since faded to a miserable grey. “There’s nowhere discreet.”

    “There is,” Dexter murmured, already near the far corner, crouched low. His brow furrowed in thought as he swept his fingers across the floorboards. Then he stilled. “Here.”

    We clustered around him. He was tapping against a loose plank with careful precision, his ear seemingly tuned to something only he could hear. It made me wonder—again—just how many secrets he was still keeping.

    “It’s hollow underneath. It’s definitely here,” he said at last, voice edged with a quiet sort of triumph. The kind you don’t actually want, because being right means something terrible is coming.

    He wedged his fingers beneath the plank and gave it a sharp pull. Dust erupted into the air, and we all recoiled slightly, coughing and waving the haze away. I squinted through the dusty light and saw it—tucked beneath the floorboards, barely visible. A box.

    Rory reached for it first, hands trembling ever so slightly. It was small—black, metal, battered—but sturdy. It looked like it was designed to protect things. Dangerous things.

    I hovered just behind her, chewing the inside of my cheek raw. “Open it,” I breathed, the words barely more than a whisper, as if anything louder might set off an explosion.

    The latch gave with a soft click. My heart paused. The silence that followed was deafening.

    Inside, nestled within a crumpled old handkerchief, lay photographs. Dozens. Some yellowed and frayed with age, others worryingly recent. Each bore a name scrawled on the back in Blade’s unmistakable handwriting—obsessive, careful. There were receipts, newspaper cuttings, even a flash drive tucked into one corner.

    “Oh my God…” Rory whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all.

    I reached in and picked up a photograph—and froze.

    Dominic.

    Not as he is now. Younger. Bruised. Blood smeared at the corner of his mouth. He stood beside someone unrecognisable, their face caught mid-motion, blurred. But it wasn’t just the image—it was the story it hinted at. This wasn’t mere gossip. This was history. Carefully hidden.

    A chill crept down my spine, settling deep into my bones. The fabric of my dress did little to shield me from the sudden bite of cold. But it wasn’t the weather. It was dread. Pure and paralyzing.

    “Why would Blade keep these?” I asked, barely able to get the words past the thundering in my ears. “Why… what was he planning to do with them?”

    “I don’t know,” Dexter replied, his voice taut, brittle. He didn’t meet my gaze. “We weren’t supposed to know.”

    Aurora was silent. Too silent. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself like she was trying to hold in the pieces. “This isn’t just betràyal,” she said quietly. “It’s a blóody well thought-out plan. Going back years.”

    My chest tightened.

    It felt like something was pressing down on it, slowly, deliberately. Like the universe was forcing me to feel every ounce of unease I’d tried to ignore earlier. I stared at the box—at what it held—and my stomach twisted violéntly.

    I cast a glance over my shoulder.

    Dominic stood still. Silent.

    His expression was carved from stone, but I knew that look—confusion, heartbreak, and a ràge so potent it barely needed words.

    He hadn’t spoken. Not once. And all of us—Rory, Dex, and me—we were waiting. Hoping he’d say something. Anything that might give us the faintest clue about what was going on inside that mind of his.

    But it was like he couldn’t. Either stunned into silence or trapped beneath the weight of thoughts too loud to allow speech.

    Above us, the sky hung low, thick with the promise of rain. The wind whipped around the gazebo, rustling trees and rattling beams like the place was barely holding together.

    Was it as old as the secrets buried beneath it?

    Or were the secrets older still?

    Was this truly the long game Aurora claimed it to be?

    I didn’t want to believe it.

    The photographs burned in my hands, each one heavier than the last. But I couldn’t let go. Couldn’t tear my eyes away. Every image was a thread, and Blade had stitched them together into something far more sinister than idle curiosity.

    He’d known. He’d watched. Documented. Calculated every move.

    And the worst part—the part that made bile rise in my throat—was how meticulous it all was.

    I turned over another photograph. The name scribbled on the back stole the breath from my lungs.

    Daniel Morozov

    Before I could react, Aurora snatched it from my grip.

    “Is this Dad?” she demanded, voice sharp and trembling. She stared down at it like it might burst into flàmes. “Blade had this the whole time and didn’t say a word?”

    Dexter looked between us, jaw clenched. “He wasn’t just gathering dirt. He was building something. A case? Blackmail? Insurance? Leverage? Call it what you like.”

    “But against who?” Rory asked, voice thin. “Dominic? The Bràtva? All of us?”

    I shook my head slowly. “It wasn’t revenge. Not with Blade. It was too clean. Too strategic.”

    Silence fell again. But now it was thick. Suffocàting. Heavy with unspoken truths.

    And I couldn’t shake the feeling that Blade hadn’t just been trying to protect us.

    He’d been preparing for wàr.

    But against whom?

    As if in answer, Dexter plucked another photo from the box and flipped it over. The name written on the back, in bold red ink: VIKTOR VALDISLAV. 

    “I know him,” Dominic said quietly, finally breaking his silence. 

    “He’s a Serbian gang leader,” he went on, voice low and flat. “And an ex-MMA fíghter. Ring any bells?” 

    His eyes flicked from the photo in Dexter’s hand to his face—something passed between them, silent and sharp, like a conversation the rest of us weren’t privy to. “We had a fíght once.”

    A fíght? Like in a proper ring? One of those underground bouts you only see in films?

    Dex looked blank for a heartbeat, then his brow furrowed as the memory clicked into place. “Wait—was that the bloke who got so worked up he nearly stabbéd you? That was ages ago. What’s he got to do with anything now? It’s been—what? Twelve, thirteen years?” As if something else had just dawned on him, he added, “And Blade wasn’t even with us then.”

    “It’s been fifteen years,” Dominic corrected quietly. “Blade joined us exactly six months after that.”

    Bit too coincidental, isn’t it? I didn’t say it aloud, but the thought clanged in my head like a warning bell. Still, I stayed silent, letting the conversation wind on while trying to piece together the jagged puzzle forming in my mind.

    “Didn’t Ivan set that fight up?” Dexter asked suddenly. “He’s the one who matched you two, didn’t he?”

    “What are you getting at, Dexter?” Aurora snapped, and for the first time, she used his full name. Her voice had a crack of something raw—anger, maybe betrayal. “Are you trying to say that Uncle—” She stopped abruptly, catching herself like the word physically húrt her, before pushing on. “That Ivan knew this would happen? That some Serbian psychó would come back after fifteen bloódy years to kíll us all?”

    Dexter turned to face her, his jaw clenched, frustration simmering just beneath his skin. “Yes, Aurora. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. Who the héll knows anymore?”

    “Well, you should,” she shot back, eyes blazing, “since you’re suddenly the blóody expert!”

    “You’re being childish.” He ground the words out through his teeth. “The man you’re—” The next words teetered on the edge of cruelty. I could see them coming, could feel the impact they were going to have—but by the time he caught himself, it was too late. “—the man you’re supporting is responsible for your parents’ deàths. And you’re still backing him.”

    The world froze.

    Dominic moved before anyone else could. His voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Dexter.” The single word was laced with restrained fúry.

    He wasn’t just Dominic anymore—he was Dominic Morozov, head of the most feared màfia clan in the world . His entire demeanour shifted. Power rolled off him in waves, cold and thunderous.

    Dexter’s expression changed instantly. The rage drained from his face, replaced by something quieter—fear, regret, deference. He lowered his head, exhaling shakily, like the breath itself might undo him.

    Even deàd, Ivan was causing chaós. Typical.

    The tension in the room crackled, thick and stifling. It sat on our skin like humidity before a storm. I could barely breathe through it. So I did the only thing I could think of to cut through it.

    “The flash drive,” I said, voice steady but quiet. “What do you reckon’s on it?”

    I wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, but Dominic’s gaze shifted to mine. And just like that—softened. The rage didn’t vanish, but it dulled. For me.

    “Do you think the tapping code unlocks something on it? Or is it something else entirely?”

    Above us, the clouds finally gave way. Rain pattered softly against the windows and pavement—gentle, but insistent.

    Dominic swore under his breath and snatched the flash drive from Dexter’s hand.

    “Drive alone. I’ll take them home.”

    Dexter gave a small, respectful nod, bowing his head once more. “Yes, Boss.”

    TBC📖✍️

    Next Episode 

    Previous Episode 

  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 120

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 120

     

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 120

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Genevieve ~

    “Wait—so you’re saying you wouldn’t mind at all if he proposed to you?” Everett asked, sounding absolutely scandalised. I gave a small nod, and that only seemed to wind him up further. “As in marry him?”

    “Everett, yes. I am aware of what a proposal entails.”

    He’d been on this topic relentlessly for nearly two weeks now, ever since he’d officially met Dominic. If it wasn’t ‘Why the héll are you with him?’, it was ‘Do you know he wants to make you his wife?’—always delivered with a grimace like he’d bitten into something sour.

    “What do you even see in him?” he asked, his exasperation thick and unyielding, wrapping itself tight around the words.

    A smile crept unbidden across my lips. “What do I see in Dominic?” I could feel the warmth spreading across my face as thoughts of him drifted in like sunlight. “Alright, listen carefully, because I’m not saying this again. Dominic might not look like a good man—but he is. Beneath all that ‘pretentious gentleman’ behaviour you always mock,” I added with a chuckle, “he’s kind. Genuinely kind. Sweet. Thoughtful. Gentle.”

    “Are we still talking about the same Dominic Morozov?” he deadpanned. “Because I’m fairly certain ‘kind’, ‘sweet’, and—what was the other one?—‘gentle’ shouldn’t be used in the same breath as him.”

    “Well, they are.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “Dominic is all of that and more. He’s been there for me in ways no one else has. Doesn’t that mean something? That your sister is happy—doesn’t that matter to you?”

    He went silent. For a moment, he just stared at me. The tension in Liam’s flat suddenly thickened, like a fog settling between us. Then he sank down beside me on the worn sofa, sighing as he did.

    “Listen… it’s not that I’m not happy for you. I am. Truly. I’ve never seen that light in your eyes shine this brightly before.” His voice was soft but carried weight, like each syllable was carefully chosen. “But how do you expect me to just stand by and watch the same man who broke my little sister’s heart be the one to make it beat again?”

    I turned towards him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were full—of worry, of doubt… of fear.

    “I was there, Dove. When you became someone I barely recognised. When the heartbreak consumed you. I was the one who sat beside you as you lay in bed, too shattered to speak. I heard your cries—you thought you were whispering, but I heard every broken sound.”

    His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “All I wanted was to fix it, to make you feel better, but you gave me nothing but those hollow, practised smiles. I nearly flew back here to knock him flat—but you begged me not to. Begged. You even made Adrianna and Xavier promise not to interfere. So we didn’t. We kept our distance. And now he’s back in your life and I’m supposed to just… accept it?”

    The memories came flooding in—China, cold and distant. That first month when I’d cried myself to sleep nearly every night, when my chest physically ached. The weight of those nights pressed down on me now.

    “You’re blinded by love,” Everett murmured, shaking his head before I could say anything more. “And I’m terrifiéd I’ll have to watch you fall apart again.”

    “It won’t happen again.”

    “You can’t be certain of that.”

    “I can,” I shot back, more forcefully than I intended. His eyes widened slightly. “This time, I know. He loves me. He won’t húrt me again.”

    “He didn’t seem to struggle the first time,” Everett said quietly, his words like a kñife wrapped in velvet. Calm, but cutting. “What makes you think he won’t do it again?”

    I stood up so suddenly the sofa creaked beneath me. “I don’t know, alright? I don’t know! Blóody héll, Everett!” My hands clenched by my sides. “If you hàte him so much, then why are you with his sister?”

    “Because Aurora’s nothing like him,” he answered simply.

    I exhaled, long and heavy, as the argument drained the air from my lungs. “Alright, fine. Let’s say you’re right. But can’t we at least agree he’s not the villàin you think he is?” When he didn’t respond, I let out a frustrated hiss. “Please, Ever. If not friends, then just… be civil. For me.”

    “Dove—”

    “Please, Everett.”

    He hesitated, then gave in with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll try. Just for you. And maybe… for Rory.”

    My smile was instant and genuine. “You know, I like you with Rory.”

    He mirrored my smile. “Yeah. I like me with her too.”

    “She makes you happy.”

    “She really does.” His expression softened. The smile that followed was the most real I’d seen since… well, since before her. The One Who Shall Not Be Named. “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve her.”

    “You do,” I said firmly. “The universe wouldn’t have given her to you otherwise. And if you break her heart, Dominic will kíll you.”

    He laughed, low and genuine. “Your double standards are honestly something else.”

    “Oh, this isn’t double standards,” I smirked.

    “No?”

    “No. This is survival instinct.”

    Before he could quip back, the sharp ding of my phone snapped my attention towards the coffee table. My chest tightened. I already knew it was bàd—there was something about the sound that felt like a harbinger.

    It was a message from Echo.

    Not a private one. The group chat she’d added me to—with Rory, Sal, Blade… and me.

    Echo: Blade got out.

    Three words.

    Just three words. And yet they knocked the wind out of me.

    “I’m not stuck. I’m simply biding my time.”

    His voice echoed in my head. Blade’s words. Blade’s promise.

    Had his time come?

    What happens now?

    The air turned poisonóus, thick with dréad. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My lungs rebelled, my mind spiralling.

    “Dove?” Everett’s voice pulled me out, grounding me. His brows furrowed as he studied my face. “What is it?”

    “Cora. She, um… just broke up with her boyfriend.”

    The lie came too easily. Too smooth. But I latched onto it like a lifeline.

    “That’s why you look like someone just threaténed you?” he asked, unconvinced. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

    It is a thréat. A threàt to the Bràtva. To Dominic. To Rory. To all of us. If Blade finds Him—if “He” wants the Bràtva as Blade claimed—then we’re all in the crosshairs.

    “It sort of is,” I said quickly, keeping my tone light. “Heartbroken Cora isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

    Please believe me. Just this once.

    “Well, alright. I should get going anyway—give you space to deal with her.” Everett rose from the sofa, patting his pockets as he checked for his phone. “Take care of yourself, alright? And for God’s sake, pick up your phone when I ring.”

    “I will,” I promised. “You too.”

    He nodded and kissed my temple before heading out, the door clicking softly behind him.

    And just like that, I was alone—with three words that changed everything. 

    •• 

    The drive to Dominic’s house had passed in a haze. One moment I was bidding my brother goodbye, the next I was dressed, heart hammering in my chest as I sped through the streets with barely a thought, adrenaline making my hands tremble on the steering wheel.

    “Did you get the text?” It was the first thing I said the moment I stepped across the threshold into his room.

    He looked up from the soft glow of his laptop screen and gave a single, curt nod.

    “What do you reckon will happen now?” I asked, though I already knew he wouldn’t have the answer. “Where do you think he’s gone?”

    Dominic’s gaze lifted again. He gave a subtle wave of his fingers—come here. My feet felt like lead, but I forced them to move. I crossed the room and sank onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath us. The weight of my panic settled like a second skin around my shoulders, tight and suffocating.

    “He didn’t go home—his house,” he said quietly, voice devoid of emotion. “And if I knew what his next move was, I wouldn’t be sat here, Vixen.”

    I gave a slow nod and turned my eyes to the screen. “What are you doing?”

    Blade was there—on-screen, seated and handcuffed to a chair. His face, bruised and bloódied by Dexter’s fists, was already beginning to heal. But his eyes burñed, focused intently on the CCTV camera perched on the far wall. The footage was dated for the night before.

    “How the héll did he get out?”

    “I don’t know, my love.”

    I dragged my fingers across my cheek, brushing back the loose strands that had slipped from my ponytail. “So what are you watching now?”

    “I feel like I’m missing something vital, Genevieve. And it’s driving me màd. It’s right in front of me, but I can’t blóody see it.”

    I reached for his free hand, and he sighed the moment our fingers touched. He threaded his through mine and lifted them, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my hand.

    “I hate this,” he muttered. “I can’t think straight. I can’t focus. I can’t even carve out time for you. The Bràtva’s in a mess—it’s like everything’s crumbling around me.”

    I should have said something—anything—but no words came. I kept staring at the screen.

    At Blade.

    Something about him held me càptive. The smirk that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The slight tilt of his head. And—most of all—the repetitive tap tap of his fingers on his thigh, hidden beneath the table.

    “Dom.” My voice came out as a whisper, so faint I barely heard it myself.

    I couldn’t look away. The tapping… it wasn’t just a nervous tic. The longer I watched, the more it began to feel deliberate.

    Like a message.

    “His fingers… Look at his fingers,” I said again, this time louder, my voice quick and clipped. “That tapping—it’s odd, isn’t it?”

    “Odd how?”

    “Odd as in—it doesn’t feel random. Like he’s trying to tell us something.”

    Dominic turned to me, his eyes scanning mine, searching for logic or maybe signs I’d lost the plot. Then, without a word, he looked back at the screen.

    “Tell us what, exactly?”

    “Like a code.”

    That got his attention. His focus sharpened instantly. He leaned forward slightly, as though the shift would help him see clearer. “A code?”

    “Have you checked his house?”

    “Yeah. I went with Dexter and Echo, took a few of the lads. We turned the place over.”

    “Find anything?”

    “Nothing.”

    “Then this tapping—it’s a message. And whatever it is, it’s hidden there. In his house.”

    “But why would he give us a code if he’s working for someone else?”

    “I don’t know. Maybe he was ordered to. Or maybe…” I faltered, the words sticking in my throat.

    “You’re one of the clever ones.” Blade’s voice echoed in my head.

    “Or maybe what?” Dominic pressed.

    I met his gaze. “Maybe Blade’s still with the Bràtva.”

    “Gen—”

    “I know how it sounds. I know it’s fóolish. But that’s what my gut’s telling me. That’s what my heart’s screaming.”

    “And what’s your head saying?”

    “That we need to get to Blade’s house. Now. If he wants us to find something, it must matter—to you. To the Bràtva. And if someone else sees the code first, whatever he’s trying to show us… it could be lost.”

    “But I don’t even see the bloódy thing.”

    “Look properly,” I urged. “Just… look.”

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap tap.

    Tap.

    Tap.

    Tap tap tap tap.

    The silence between us was heavy, thick with concentration. Then, slowly, Dominic’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I can see it.”

    “What is it?”

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap tap. 

    Tap. 

    Tap.

    Tap tap tap tap.

    “Two. Two. Three. One. One. Four.” His voice was quiet but steady, eyes gleaming with something close to relief. “Thank—”

    His phone rang.

    It was right beside me on the bed, and I caught the name before he picked it up.

    Dexter.

    He snatched it up and stood, posture shifting into something harder, colder. The voice he used was the one I knew from the Base. The Don’s voice.

    “Yes?”

    He listened in silence, eyes narrowing. A few seconds passed.

    “I just saw it too. Meet me there?”

    Another pause. Then he cursed softly. “No, tell her to stay back.” A beat of silence. “Fine. Let her come.”

    He ended the call and turned to me, eyes dark and assessing.

    “Do you want to come with me?”

    “To Blade’s house?”

    He nodded.

    “Yeah,” I said, heart already thudding harder. “Yeah, I do.”

    TBC📖✍️

    Next Episode 

    Previous Episode 

  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 120

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 120

     

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 120

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Genevieve ~

    “Wait—so you’re saying you wouldn’t mind at all if he proposed to you?” Everett asked, sounding absolutely scandalised. I gave a small nod, and that only seemed to wind him up further. “As in marry him?”

    “Everett, yes. I am aware of what a proposal entails.”

    He’d been on this topic relentlessly for nearly two weeks now, ever since he’d officially met Dominic. If it wasn’t ‘Why the héll are you with him?’, it was ‘Do you know he wants to make you his wife?’—always delivered with a grimace like he’d bitten into something sour.

    “What do you even see in him?” he asked, his exasperation thick and unyielding, wrapping itself tight around the words.

    A smile crept unbidden across my lips. “What do I see in Dominic?” I could feel the warmth spreading across my face as thoughts of him drifted in like sunlight. “Alright, listen carefully, because I’m not saying this again. Dominic might not look like a good man—but he is. Beneath all that ‘pretentious gentleman’ behaviour you always mock,” I added with a chuckle, “he’s kind. Genuinely kind. Sweet. Thoughtful. Gentle.”

    “Are we still talking about the same Dominic Morozov?” he deadpanned. “Because I’m fairly certain ‘kind’, ‘sweet’, and—what was the other one?—‘gentle’ shouldn’t be used in the same breath as him.”

    “Well, they are.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “Dominic is all of that and more. He’s been there for me in ways no one else has. Doesn’t that mean something? That your sister is happy—doesn’t that matter to you?”

    He went silent. For a moment, he just stared at me. The tension in Liam’s flat suddenly thickened, like a fog settling between us. Then he sank down beside me on the worn sofa, sighing as he did.

    “Listen… it’s not that I’m not happy for you. I am. Truly. I’ve never seen that light in your eyes shine this brightly before.” His voice was soft but carried weight, like each syllable was carefully chosen. “But how do you expect me to just stand by and watch the same man who broke my little sister’s heart be the one to make it beat again?”

    I turned towards him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were full—of worry, of doubt… of fear.

    “I was there, Dove. When you became someone I barely recognised. When the heartbreak consumed you. I was the one who sat beside you as you lay in bed, too shattered to speak. I heard your cries—you thought you were whispering, but I heard every broken sound.”

    His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “All I wanted was to fix it, to make you feel better, but you gave me nothing but those hollow, practised smiles. I nearly flew back here to knock him flat—but you begged me not to. Begged. You even made Adrianna and Xavier promise not to interfere. So we didn’t. We kept our distance. And now he’s back in your life and I’m supposed to just… accept it?”

    The memories came flooding in—China, cold and distant. That first month when I’d cried myself to sleep nearly every night, when my chest physically ached. The weight of those nights pressed down on me now.

    “You’re blinded by love,” Everett murmured, shaking his head before I could say anything more. “And I’m terrifiéd I’ll have to watch you fall apart again.”

    “It won’t happen again.”

    “You can’t be certain of that.”

    “I can,” I shot back, more forcefully than I intended. His eyes widened slightly. “This time, I know. He loves me. He won’t húrt me again.”

    “He didn’t seem to struggle the first time,” Everett said quietly, his words like a kñife wrapped in velvet. Calm, but cutting. “What makes you think he won’t do it again?”

    I stood up so suddenly the sofa creaked beneath me. “I don’t know, alright? I don’t know! Blóody héll, Everett!” My hands clenched by my sides. “If you hàte him so much, then why are you with his sister?”

    “Because Aurora’s nothing like him,” he answered simply.

    I exhaled, long and heavy, as the argument drained the air from my lungs. “Alright, fine. Let’s say you’re right. But can’t we at least agree he’s not the villàin you think he is?” When he didn’t respond, I let out a frustrated hiss. “Please, Ever. If not friends, then just… be civil. For me.”

    “Dove—”

    “Please, Everett.”

    He hesitated, then gave in with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll try. Just for you. And maybe… for Rory.”

    My smile was instant and genuine. “You know, I like you with Rory.”

    He mirrored my smile. “Yeah. I like me with her too.”

    “She makes you happy.”

    “She really does.” His expression softened. The smile that followed was the most real I’d seen since… well, since before her. The One Who Shall Not Be Named. “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve her.”

    “You do,” I said firmly. “The universe wouldn’t have given her to you otherwise. And if you break her heart, Dominic will kíll you.”

    He laughed, low and genuine. “Your double standards are honestly something else.”

    “Oh, this isn’t double standards,” I smirked.

    “No?”

    “No. This is survival instinct.”

    Before he could quip back, the sharp ding of my phone snapped my attention towards the coffee table. My chest tightened. I already knew it was bàd—there was something about the sound that felt like a harbinger.

    It was a message from Echo.

    Not a private one. The group chat she’d added me to—with Rory, Sal, Blade… and me.

    Echo: Blade got out.

    Three words.

    Just three words. And yet they knocked the wind out of me.

    “I’m not stuck. I’m simply biding my time.”

    His voice echoed in my head. Blade’s words. Blade’s promise.

    Had his time come?

    What happens now?

    The air turned poisonóus, thick with dréad. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My lungs rebelled, my mind spiralling.

    “Dove?” Everett’s voice pulled me out, grounding me. His brows furrowed as he studied my face. “What is it?”

    “Cora. She, um… just broke up with her boyfriend.”

    The lie came too easily. Too smooth. But I latched onto it like a lifeline.

    “That’s why you look like someone just threaténed you?” he asked, unconvinced. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

    It is a thréat. A threàt to the Bràtva. To Dominic. To Rory. To all of us. If Blade finds Him—if “He” wants the Bràtva as Blade claimed—then we’re all in the crosshairs.

    “It sort of is,” I said quickly, keeping my tone light. “Heartbroken Cora isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

    Please believe me. Just this once.

    “Well, alright. I should get going anyway—give you space to deal with her.” Everett rose from the sofa, patting his pockets as he checked for his phone. “Take care of yourself, alright? And for God’s sake, pick up your phone when I ring.”

    “I will,” I promised. “You too.”

    He nodded and kissed my temple before heading out, the door clicking softly behind him.

    And just like that, I was alone—with three words that changed everything. 

    •• 

    The drive to Dominic’s house had passed in a haze. One moment I was bidding my brother goodbye, the next I was dressed, heart hammering in my chest as I sped through the streets with barely a thought, adrenaline making my hands tremble on the steering wheel.

    “Did you get the text?” It was the first thing I said the moment I stepped across the threshold into his room.

    He looked up from the soft glow of his laptop screen and gave a single, curt nod.

    “What do you reckon will happen now?” I asked, though I already knew he wouldn’t have the answer. “Where do you think he’s gone?”

    Dominic’s gaze lifted again. He gave a subtle wave of his fingers—come here. My feet felt like lead, but I forced them to move. I crossed the room and sank onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath us. The weight of my panic settled like a second skin around my shoulders, tight and suffocating.

    “He didn’t go home—his house,” he said quietly, voice devoid of emotion. “And if I knew what his next move was, I wouldn’t be sat here, Vixen.”

    I gave a slow nod and turned my eyes to the screen. “What are you doing?”

    Blade was there—on-screen, seated and handcuffed to a chair. His face, bruised and bloódied by Dexter’s fists, was already beginning to heal. But his eyes burñed, focused intently on the CCTV camera perched on the far wall. The footage was dated for the night before.

    “How the héll did he get out?”

    “I don’t know, my love.”

    I dragged my fingers across my cheek, brushing back the loose strands that had slipped from my ponytail. “So what are you watching now?”

    “I feel like I’m missing something vital, Genevieve. And it’s driving me màd. It’s right in front of me, but I can’t blóody see it.”

    I reached for his free hand, and he sighed the moment our fingers touched. He threaded his through mine and lifted them, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my hand.

    “I hate this,” he muttered. “I can’t think straight. I can’t focus. I can’t even carve out time for you. The Bràtva’s in a mess—it’s like everything’s crumbling around me.”

    I should have said something—anything—but no words came. I kept staring at the screen.

    At Blade.

    Something about him held me càptive. The smirk that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The slight tilt of his head. And—most of all—the repetitive tap tap of his fingers on his thigh, hidden beneath the table.

    “Dom.” My voice came out as a whisper, so faint I barely heard it myself.

    I couldn’t look away. The tapping… it wasn’t just a nervous tic. The longer I watched, the more it began to feel deliberate.

    Like a message.

    “His fingers… Look at his fingers,” I said again, this time louder, my voice quick and clipped. “That tapping—it’s odd, isn’t it?”

    “Odd how?”

    “Odd as in—it doesn’t feel random. Like he’s trying to tell us something.”

    Dominic turned to me, his eyes scanning mine, searching for logic or maybe signs I’d lost the plot. Then, without a word, he looked back at the screen.

    “Tell us what, exactly?”

    “Like a code.”

    That got his attention. His focus sharpened instantly. He leaned forward slightly, as though the shift would help him see clearer. “A code?”

    “Have you checked his house?”

    “Yeah. I went with Dexter and Echo, took a few of the lads. We turned the place over.”

    “Find anything?”

    “Nothing.”

    “Then this tapping—it’s a message. And whatever it is, it’s hidden there. In his house.”

    “But why would he give us a code if he’s working for someone else?”

    “I don’t know. Maybe he was ordered to. Or maybe…” I faltered, the words sticking in my throat.

    “You’re one of the clever ones.” Blade’s voice echoed in my head.

    “Or maybe what?” Dominic pressed.

    I met his gaze. “Maybe Blade’s still with the Bràtva.”

    “Gen—”

    “I know how it sounds. I know it’s fóolish. But that’s what my gut’s telling me. That’s what my heart’s screaming.”

    “And what’s your head saying?”

    “That we need to get to Blade’s house. Now. If he wants us to find something, it must matter—to you. To the Bràtva. And if someone else sees the code first, whatever he’s trying to show us… it could be lost.”

    “But I don’t even see the bloódy thing.”

    “Look properly,” I urged. “Just… look.”

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap tap.

    Tap.

    Tap.

    Tap tap tap tap.

    The silence between us was heavy, thick with concentration. Then, slowly, Dominic’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I can see it.”

    “What is it?”

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap tap. 

    Tap. 

    Tap.

    Tap tap tap tap.

    “Two. Two. Three. One. One. Four.” His voice was quiet but steady, eyes gleaming with something close to relief. “Thank—”

    His phone rang.

    It was right beside me on the bed, and I caught the name before he picked it up.

    Dexter.

    He snatched it up and stood, posture shifting into something harder, colder. The voice he used was the one I knew from the Base. The Don’s voice.

    “Yes?”

    He listened in silence, eyes narrowing. A few seconds passed.

    “I just saw it too. Meet me there?”

    Another pause. Then he cursed softly. “No, tell her to stay back.” A beat of silence. “Fine. Let her come.”

    He ended the call and turned to me, eyes dark and assessing.

    “Do you want to come with me?”

    “To Blade’s house?”

    He nodded.

    “Yeah,” I said, heart already thudding harder. “Yeah, I do.”

    TBC📖✍️

    Next Episode 

    Previous Episode 

  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 120

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 120

     

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 120

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Genevieve ~

    “Wait—so you’re saying you wouldn’t mind at all if he proposed to you?” Everett asked, sounding absolutely scandalised. I gave a small nod, and that only seemed to wind him up further. “As in marry him?”

    “Everett, yes. I am aware of what a proposal entails.”

    He’d been on this topic relentlessly for nearly two weeks now, ever since he’d officially met Dominic. If it wasn’t ‘Why the héll are you with him?’, it was ‘Do you know he wants to make you his wife?’—always delivered with a grimace like he’d bitten into something sour.

    “What do you even see in him?” he asked, his exasperation thick and unyielding, wrapping itself tight around the words.

    A smile crept unbidden across my lips. “What do I see in Dominic?” I could feel the warmth spreading across my face as thoughts of him drifted in like sunlight. “Alright, listen carefully, because I’m not saying this again. Dominic might not look like a good man—but he is. Beneath all that ‘pretentious gentleman’ behaviour you always mock,” I added with a chuckle, “he’s kind. Genuinely kind. Sweet. Thoughtful. Gentle.”

    “Are we still talking about the same Dominic Morozov?” he deadpanned. “Because I’m fairly certain ‘kind’, ‘sweet’, and—what was the other one?—‘gentle’ shouldn’t be used in the same breath as him.”

    “Well, they are.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “Dominic is all of that and more. He’s been there for me in ways no one else has. Doesn’t that mean something? That your sister is happy—doesn’t that matter to you?”

    He went silent. For a moment, he just stared at me. The tension in Liam’s flat suddenly thickened, like a fog settling between us. Then he sank down beside me on the worn sofa, sighing as he did.

    “Listen… it’s not that I’m not happy for you. I am. Truly. I’ve never seen that light in your eyes shine this brightly before.” His voice was soft but carried weight, like each syllable was carefully chosen. “But how do you expect me to just stand by and watch the same man who broke my little sister’s heart be the one to make it beat again?”

    I turned towards him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were full—of worry, of doubt… of fear.

    “I was there, Dove. When you became someone I barely recognised. When the heartbreak consumed you. I was the one who sat beside you as you lay in bed, too shattered to speak. I heard your cries—you thought you were whispering, but I heard every broken sound.”

    His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “All I wanted was to fix it, to make you feel better, but you gave me nothing but those hollow, practised smiles. I nearly flew back here to knock him flat—but you begged me not to. Begged. You even made Adrianna and Xavier promise not to interfere. So we didn’t. We kept our distance. And now he’s back in your life and I’m supposed to just… accept it?”

    The memories came flooding in—China, cold and distant. That first month when I’d cried myself to sleep nearly every night, when my chest physically ached. The weight of those nights pressed down on me now.

    “You’re blinded by love,” Everett murmured, shaking his head before I could say anything more. “And I’m terrifiéd I’ll have to watch you fall apart again.”

    “It won’t happen again.”

    “You can’t be certain of that.”

    “I can,” I shot back, more forcefully than I intended. His eyes widened slightly. “This time, I know. He loves me. He won’t húrt me again.”

    “He didn’t seem to struggle the first time,” Everett said quietly, his words like a kñife wrapped in velvet. Calm, but cutting. “What makes you think he won’t do it again?”

    I stood up so suddenly the sofa creaked beneath me. “I don’t know, alright? I don’t know! Blóody héll, Everett!” My hands clenched by my sides. “If you hàte him so much, then why are you with his sister?”

    “Because Aurora’s nothing like him,” he answered simply.

    I exhaled, long and heavy, as the argument drained the air from my lungs. “Alright, fine. Let’s say you’re right. But can’t we at least agree he’s not the villàin you think he is?” When he didn’t respond, I let out a frustrated hiss. “Please, Ever. If not friends, then just… be civil. For me.”

    “Dove—”

    “Please, Everett.”

    He hesitated, then gave in with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll try. Just for you. And maybe… for Rory.”

    My smile was instant and genuine. “You know, I like you with Rory.”

    He mirrored my smile. “Yeah. I like me with her too.”

    “She makes you happy.”

    “She really does.” His expression softened. The smile that followed was the most real I’d seen since… well, since before her. The One Who Shall Not Be Named. “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve her.”

    “You do,” I said firmly. “The universe wouldn’t have given her to you otherwise. And if you break her heart, Dominic will kíll you.”

    He laughed, low and genuine. “Your double standards are honestly something else.”

    “Oh, this isn’t double standards,” I smirked.

    “No?”

    “No. This is survival instinct.”

    Before he could quip back, the sharp ding of my phone snapped my attention towards the coffee table. My chest tightened. I already knew it was bàd—there was something about the sound that felt like a harbinger.

    It was a message from Echo.

    Not a private one. The group chat she’d added me to—with Rory, Sal, Blade… and me.

    Echo: Blade got out.

    Three words.

    Just three words. And yet they knocked the wind out of me.

    “I’m not stuck. I’m simply biding my time.”

    His voice echoed in my head. Blade’s words. Blade’s promise.

    Had his time come?

    What happens now?

    The air turned poisonóus, thick with dréad. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My lungs rebelled, my mind spiralling.

    “Dove?” Everett’s voice pulled me out, grounding me. His brows furrowed as he studied my face. “What is it?”

    “Cora. She, um… just broke up with her boyfriend.”

    The lie came too easily. Too smooth. But I latched onto it like a lifeline.

    “That’s why you look like someone just threaténed you?” he asked, unconvinced. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

    It is a thréat. A threàt to the Bràtva. To Dominic. To Rory. To all of us. If Blade finds Him—if “He” wants the Bràtva as Blade claimed—then we’re all in the crosshairs.

    “It sort of is,” I said quickly, keeping my tone light. “Heartbroken Cora isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

    Please believe me. Just this once.

    “Well, alright. I should get going anyway—give you space to deal with her.” Everett rose from the sofa, patting his pockets as he checked for his phone. “Take care of yourself, alright? And for God’s sake, pick up your phone when I ring.”

    “I will,” I promised. “You too.”

    He nodded and kissed my temple before heading out, the door clicking softly behind him.

    And just like that, I was alone—with three words that changed everything. 

    •• 

    The drive to Dominic’s house had passed in a haze. One moment I was bidding my brother goodbye, the next I was dressed, heart hammering in my chest as I sped through the streets with barely a thought, adrenaline making my hands tremble on the steering wheel.

    “Did you get the text?” It was the first thing I said the moment I stepped across the threshold into his room.

    He looked up from the soft glow of his laptop screen and gave a single, curt nod.

    “What do you reckon will happen now?” I asked, though I already knew he wouldn’t have the answer. “Where do you think he’s gone?”

    Dominic’s gaze lifted again. He gave a subtle wave of his fingers—come here. My feet felt like lead, but I forced them to move. I crossed the room and sank onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath us. The weight of my panic settled like a second skin around my shoulders, tight and suffocating.

    “He didn’t go home—his house,” he said quietly, voice devoid of emotion. “And if I knew what his next move was, I wouldn’t be sat here, Vixen.”

    I gave a slow nod and turned my eyes to the screen. “What are you doing?”

    Blade was there—on-screen, seated and handcuffed to a chair. His face, bruised and bloódied by Dexter’s fists, was already beginning to heal. But his eyes burñed, focused intently on the CCTV camera perched on the far wall. The footage was dated for the night before.

    “How the héll did he get out?”

    “I don’t know, my love.”

    I dragged my fingers across my cheek, brushing back the loose strands that had slipped from my ponytail. “So what are you watching now?”

    “I feel like I’m missing something vital, Genevieve. And it’s driving me màd. It’s right in front of me, but I can’t blóody see it.”

    I reached for his free hand, and he sighed the moment our fingers touched. He threaded his through mine and lifted them, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my hand.

    “I hate this,” he muttered. “I can’t think straight. I can’t focus. I can’t even carve out time for you. The Bràtva’s in a mess—it’s like everything’s crumbling around me.”

    I should have said something—anything—but no words came. I kept staring at the screen.

    At Blade.

    Something about him held me càptive. The smirk that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The slight tilt of his head. And—most of all—the repetitive tap tap of his fingers on his thigh, hidden beneath the table.

    “Dom.” My voice came out as a whisper, so faint I barely heard it myself.

    I couldn’t look away. The tapping… it wasn’t just a nervous tic. The longer I watched, the more it began to feel deliberate.

    Like a message.

    “His fingers… Look at his fingers,” I said again, this time louder, my voice quick and clipped. “That tapping—it’s odd, isn’t it?”

    “Odd how?”

    “Odd as in—it doesn’t feel random. Like he’s trying to tell us something.”

    Dominic turned to me, his eyes scanning mine, searching for logic or maybe signs I’d lost the plot. Then, without a word, he looked back at the screen.

    “Tell us what, exactly?”

    “Like a code.”

    That got his attention. His focus sharpened instantly. He leaned forward slightly, as though the shift would help him see clearer. “A code?”

    “Have you checked his house?”

    “Yeah. I went with Dexter and Echo, took a few of the lads. We turned the place over.”

    “Find anything?”

    “Nothing.”

    “Then this tapping—it’s a message. And whatever it is, it’s hidden there. In his house.”

    “But why would he give us a code if he’s working for someone else?”

    “I don’t know. Maybe he was ordered to. Or maybe…” I faltered, the words sticking in my throat.

    “You’re one of the clever ones.” Blade’s voice echoed in my head.

    “Or maybe what?” Dominic pressed.

    I met his gaze. “Maybe Blade’s still with the Bràtva.”

    “Gen—”

    “I know how it sounds. I know it’s fóolish. But that’s what my gut’s telling me. That’s what my heart’s screaming.”

    “And what’s your head saying?”

    “That we need to get to Blade’s house. Now. If he wants us to find something, it must matter—to you. To the Bràtva. And if someone else sees the code first, whatever he’s trying to show us… it could be lost.”

    “But I don’t even see the bloódy thing.”

    “Look properly,” I urged. “Just… look.”

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap tap.

    Tap.

    Tap.

    Tap tap tap tap.

    The silence between us was heavy, thick with concentration. Then, slowly, Dominic’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I can see it.”

    “What is it?”

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap.

    Tap tap tap. 

    Tap. 

    Tap.

    Tap tap tap tap.

    “Two. Two. Three. One. One. Four.” His voice was quiet but steady, eyes gleaming with something close to relief. “Thank—”

    His phone rang.

    It was right beside me on the bed, and I caught the name before he picked it up.

    Dexter.

    He snatched it up and stood, posture shifting into something harder, colder. The voice he used was the one I knew from the Base. The Don’s voice.

    “Yes?”

    He listened in silence, eyes narrowing. A few seconds passed.

    “I just saw it too. Meet me there?”

    Another pause. Then he cursed softly. “No, tell her to stay back.” A beat of silence. “Fine. Let her come.”

    He ended the call and turned to me, eyes dark and assessing.

    “Do you want to come with me?”

    “To Blade’s house?”

    He nodded.

    “Yeah,” I said, heart already thudding harder. “Yeah, I do.”

    TBC📖✍️

    Next Episode 

    Previous Episode 

  • Insatiable Cravings – Episode 115

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 115

      

     

    INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

    Insatiable Cravings – Episode 115&116

    Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

    TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

    Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

    By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

    ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

    ~ Dominic ~

    You’re already too late.

    The words hung in the air like the reek of something foul—clinging, inescapable. They wormed into my skull, repeating in a maddéning loop until they lost all meaning. Just noise. Too late. Too late. Too late.

    I stared down at Blade. Smug bastàrd, still grinning despite the blóod trailing from the corner of his mouth. He looked like a man who held a secret—one he was too much of a cowàrd to bury and too much of a traitōr to protect.

    I stepped back, breathing through my nose, each inhale sharp and laced with the metallic tang of blóod. Rage coiled tight in my chest, fists clenched so hard my knuckles cracked. But lashing out wouldn’t get me what I needed. Not now.

    “F+ck,” I muttered under my breath.

    He laughed. A horrid, gurgling thing that scraped down my spine. “Don’t pańic just yet, Boss.”

    I turned on my heel, refusing to give him another second of my gaze. My eyes found her across the room—always her. As though the air itself bent to lead me back to her.

    She leant against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed and watchful. Not frightened. Just alert. Always reading me, dissecting me in that way that made me feel too seen.

    Then she asked for something mad—five minutes alone with Blade—and of course I agreed. Because saying no to her has never been something I’ve excelled at.

    The door hissed open. I stepped out without a word, the door slamming behind me with the finality of a coffin lid.

    Dexter was already outside, watching the feed on the iPad like a hawk. His entire frame was stiff, bristling with tension.

    “Why’d you leave her alone with him?” His voice was low but edged with fury. And worry.

    “She’s fine.”

    “But what if he does something?”

    “We’re right here.”

    “Dominic.” He looked up then, eyes sharp, troubled. “Don’t underestimate Blade. He’s one of the best assassiń here—one of yours. You trained him, remember? If he wants to húrt her, he could do it before we even blink.”

    Húrt her?

    The thought lodged like a splinter in my mind. I pushed it down, hard, and moved to stand beside him. Together, we stared at the screen.

    Genevieve didn’t look scared. Not until he called her sweetheart. The moment that word left his mouth, I saw red. My vision blurred and my hand itched to smàsh something—preferably his face.

    He’d spoken more to her in the last few minutes than he ever had to me—or Dexter, despite the mess of injuries Dexter had inflicted.

    “Do you believe him?” Dex asked.

    I scoffed. Then paused. “I don’t know.”

    And that frightened me more than anything.

    I always knew. That was my strength—my instinct, my ability to see ten moves ahead while everyone else was still figuring out the board.

    But now?

    Now I was fumbling in the dark, reaching for a thread that kept slipping through my fingers.

    “I want a list,” I said. “Everyone who’s had access to our intel in the last three months. Names. Faces. Digital footprints. No one’s above suspicion.”

    If there’s a ‘He’, I thought, the word bitter in my mind, then Blade’s not the only one he’s turned.

    “I’ll get Echo on it,” Dexter replied, quick and solid.

    I nodded once. Grateful in a way I didn’t have words for. He never hesitated. Never questioned. Just stepped with me, right into the fire.

    But I was scared.

    Scared that this wasn’t some external thréat, but rot—spreading from the inside.

    And worse? That the people closest to me might already be infected.

    Could Dexter be one of them?

    The thought made my stomach twist with shame. How could I even think that?

    He’s been with me through everything. Loyal. Steady. Unshakeable.

    Right?

    And Echo? Sal? The others I’d handpicked myself?

    The screen pulled my attention back as I heard her name tumble from Blade’s lips.

    My sister.

    The gall. I didn’t even look at him. My eyes stayed fixed on Genevieve, who—though trying to remain composed—looked like she needed an out.

    Her doubt was seeping in. I knew her tells.

    I didn’t wait. I stormed in, cutting him off mid-sentence.

    He smirked, bloody teeth on show. “Your guard dogs are here.”

    I ignored him. My gaze locked on Genevieve—the woman I’d burn the world for.

    “I’ll kíll him,” Dexter muttered behind me, not bothering to whisper. “I’ll fúcking tear him to fúcking pieces.”

    “Calm down, Dexy,” Blade sneered. “You don’t want to prove my point, do you? Acting like a rabid mutt on command?”

    “Genevieve?” I said, my tone too clipped to hide how desperate I was to leave. “Let’s get out of here.”

    But she didn’t move. She tilted her head slightly, studying him. Reading him.

    That’s always her final tactic whenever she thinks someone’s lying—she stares, trying to read the truth from their eyes. That’s exactly what she did the night I broke up with her. She tried to study me. Tried to see through the cracks. So I made dàmn sure I didn’t give her any.

    So, I waited. Gave her a moment to do her thing. A low sigh slipped past her lips, soft but unmistakable—resignation, sharp and bitter.

    “Gen—” 

    She cut in straightaway. “Fine. Let’s go.”

    ••

    We were back home, and Genevieve’s mood hadn’t lifted an inch since we’d left the Base. She hadn’t said a word. Still brooding. That slimy bastàrd had ruinéd her spirit, and I loathéd how powerless I was to fix it.

    She trusted him. Welcomed him into the fold. And he repaid her with betrayal. Us too. Even Aurora—my sister—who’d practically treated him like family.

    It’s all blóody twisted. Messed up in ways I can’t even begin to untangle. Messed up in the way that I still don’t have a f+cking clue who “He” really is.

    F+cking hell.

    My hand was clenched so tightly around the steering wheel I hadn’t even noticed. Knuckles white, tendons straining. Neither of us moved to get out of the car, despite the stale, suffocatińg tension closing in like a noose.

    Too far in our own heads to bother. The silence thickened, clashing with the artificial chill of the air conditioning until the car felt like it might implode.

    “He said he isn’t stuck there.” Her voice cut through the quiet like a scalpel. “Even with him cuffed, even with the cameras everywhere—he looked me deàd in the eye and said he wasn’t stuck. That he’s simply biding his time to leave.”

    She turned, fixing her eyes on mine—eyes I was already watching. “What do you think it means?”

    My eyelids felt heavy as I let them fall, then opened again. The same dreaded sentence hovered on the tip of my tongue. “I don’t know.” I exhaled deeply, every inch of me weary. “I don’t know what anything means anymore.”

    “There was…” She hesitated, shaking her head slightly. “Never mind. I’m probably imagining things.”

    I was about to press—because I need every scrap of information I can get about whoever the héll “He” is—but she opened the door and slipped out before I could speak. I was on her heels, catching up, moving fast enough to block her from the front door.

    Her cool blue eyes flicked up to mine, expectant. Waiting. Maybe for an explanation.

    “What was it? The thing you think you imagined?”

    “I told you—it’s nothing.”

    “Genevieve.”

    She huffed. “It’s stúpid.”

    “Nothing you say is stúpid,” I replied firmly. “If you noticed something—especially during that conversation with Blade—it fúcking matters. So tell me.”

    “Blade is—”

    “What?” Aurora’s voice rang out behind her, sharp and irritated. “What is Blade? Go on, spit it out.”

    Genevieve turned to her, brows tightening. “Why are you taking this out on me? I’m not Blade. So don’t go venting your frustrations in my direction.”

    “Oh, should I vent them at you instead, Dominic?” Aurora’s voice was venomoús. “I bet you’re blóody thrilled right now. You got what you wanted—Blade’s guilty.”

    “I don’t understand you, Rory.”

    “What don’t you understand?!” she snapped, voice ricocheting off the walls. “Blade’s the one who bléw up the ship. He’s the traitōr. Just. Like. You. Said.” She shoved her fingers into her hair, dragging them through with a trembling hiss. “You must be fucking elated. Another name on your list. Another bódy to dispose.”

    “Aurora, don’t be stupid—”

    A new wave of fury washed over her face. “Oh,” she laughed bitterly, voice raw. “So I’m the stúpid one now? Not your girlfriend?” Her gaze swung to Genevieve. “No offence.”

    But I took offence—for both of us. I stepped forward, forcing Aurora further into the hall.

    “What the héll is wrong with you?”

    “You,” she spat.

    “Do you even realise how foólish you’re being?”

    “Oh, I’m foólish now?” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Go ahead—tell me how foólish I am being.”

    “Listen—my whole life, I’ve poured everything I have into the Bràtva. My time. My energy. My f+cking soul. Even before I became Don.” I took a step closer. “And I didn’t stop there. Why? Because of you. Because I had a sister to look after. My responsibility.”

    I could see her crumbling, but the words just kept coming.

    “I built my company from the ground up to give you the life you have now. Your fancy cars. Your endless spending. That’s all me. I gave you everything.”

    I was right in front of her now. Breathing hard.

    “Why?” My voice cracked. “Because I love you.”

    The tears came fast now, slipping down her cheeks, but I couldn’t stop.

    “So sue me, Aurora. F+cking sue me. Because I’ll dié before I let anyone take you from me. Or destróy what I’ve built with my own two hands. So f+ck Blade. And f+ck anyone who dares to cross me. I will eńd them. Without blinking.”

    Her voice broke, desperate. “How can you not care? It’s Blade, Dominic. It’s Blade for crying out loud!” She was sobbing openly now, raw and messy. “How do you just turn your feelings off like that?!”

    My hands shook as I dragged in a breath, the memories clawing up my throat like bile. 

    “Because I watched our parents die. I watched the bulléts tear through them. I saw them bleéding out in front of me.” My voice was thunder, filled with years of buried grief. “And what were you doing? Crying. Because you were a fúcking baby, and by the time I was ten, I had to be your parent while I was still mourning mine.”

    Silence.

    Silence, then the crash.

    I watched her face break. Shatter like glass. Her shoulders folded inward as her world caved in.

    Her voice was a whisper. Fractured. “I’m sorry… for being a burden to you.” Tears spilled, unstoppable now. “But they were my parents too.”

    And with that, she ran upstairs, her footsteps echoing like gunshots before the door slammed shut.

    What did I just do?

    The silence that followed was loud.

    Too loud.

    Genevieve didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her presence behind me was solid, grounding—like she was holding the world still just by breathing. But my own breath came shallow and jagged, and it felt like the house had shrunk. Like the walls were too tight and pressing in.

    What have I done?

    I turned my back to the stairs, dragging both hands down my face. The roughness of my palms scraped against the stubble on my jaw. My skin was burning. My lungs tight. My heart… f+ck, my heart was pounding like it was trying to get out of my chest. I wasn’t even sure if it was anger or guilt anymore—maybe both. Maybe everything all at once.

    “She hàtes me,” I muttered, voice raw, barely there.

    “No, she doesn’t,” Genevieve said softly.

    I let out a bitter laugh. “Did you hear what I said to her?”

    “She pushed you,” she replied gently. “And you pushed back.”

    “She’s my sister, Genevieve. I should’ve never—” My throat closed up. “That’s not how you speak to someone you love.”

    “No,” she said, stepping in front of me now, her hands reaching for mine, “it’s not. But it’s also not easy being you.”

    Her fingers were soft against my skin, a contrast to the tight fists I’d been clenching all evening. She opened one of my hands, lacing her fingers through mine. “You’ve carried so much for so long, Dominic. You’re bound to crack. You’re human.”

    I stared at our joined hands. Hers—cool, smooth, calming. Mine—veined, calloused, and trembling.

    “She said she was a burden,” I whispered. “Do you know how f+cking painfùl it is to hear that from someone you’ve spent your whole life protecting?”

    Genevieve nodded, her blue eyes glossy, voice gentle. “So go and tell her she’s not.”

    “I can’t. Not right now.” I shook my head, shame curling like smoke in my gut. “I’ve already made it worse.”

    “Then let it settle. Give her space. But don’t leave it like this.” She looked at me as if trying to memorise my face. “Don’t let this tear both of you apart. Sisters are for life.”

    My chest ached.

    God, she knew me too well.

    “I’ll fix it,” I promised, more to myself than to her.

    “I know you will,” she said, brushing her thumb over my knuckles.

    A beat passed.

    Then I looked at her—really looked at her—and saw it: the exhaustion behind her eyes, the tightness in her jaw, the way she was holding herself together by threads. All of this had cost her, too.

    “Come here,” I murmured, tugging her in.

    She didn’t resist. She stepped into my arms, pressing her cheek to my chest like she needed to hear my heartbeat to believe I was still real.

    I held her tighter than I probably should’ve. Buried my face in her hair. Inhaled the scent of her shampoo—lavender and something warm I couldn’t name. It grounded me. Slowed the storm in my head, even if just for a moment.

    “I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” I whispered.

    “No worries—that is what I get for dating a mafià boss” she whispered back.

    We stood there for a long time. No movement. No words. Just the sound of one fractured soul and other soothing soul trying to breathe again.

    Eventually, she pulled back slightly, looking up at me. “You should rest. Tomorrow might be worse.”

    “Is that even possible?”

    She didn’t laugh. Just gave me a look that said you know it is.

    I nodded, releasing a breath. “Alright. I will drive you home, then check on Aurora later.”

    “You sure?”

    “No,” I admitted. “But I’ll do it anyway.”

    She lingered for a moment, then pressed a kiss to my jaw—a quiet, wordless I’m here—before heading upstairs.

    And I stood there in the hallway, staring at the stairs.

    Listening.

    Waiting.

    Wishing I could take back every word that broke her—Rory.

    But knowing I couldn’t.

    Not tonight. 

    TBC📖✍️

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