Category: Insatiable Cravings

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 114

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 ~

Blade knows something, and he won’t say a word.

The thought’s been playing on a loop in my mind for the past two minutes, a mantra of dread that refuses to stop.

Silence swallowed the room whole—heavy, suffocating, thick as poison in the air. It hung between us, oppressive and overbearing. I felt a whirlwind of emotion inside me—doubt, betrayal, but also a persistent thread of belief.

Because Blade wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

…Right?

While I was spiralling, Dominic held my gaze. His amber eyes locked on mine, silent but blisteringly loud with I told you so.

“I still don’t believe Blade would do something like that,” I said quietly, though the whisper of doubt curled itself tightly around my ribs. “He just… he can’t.”

“We’ll see, won’t we.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, his slipped making that calm, deliberate sound against the floor as he closed the distance between us, “tomorrow, I head down to the Base—and I make him talk.”

Dread bloomed in my chest, fast and sickly. Dread for Blade. I shouldn’t feel it—not when he might be the traitor. But I did. The wàr inside me between trust and suspicion was ferocious, and neither side was giving an inch.

“How exactly are you going to get him to talk?”

A stúpid question, really. I knew better. But it slipped out anyway.

Dominic’s lips twitched—barely. “Whichever way he responds to, darling.”

A chill snaked down my spine. Goosebumps ghosted across my skin, prickling like static. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it.

Like a vow.

And it did nothing to soothe the panic rising like a tide inside me. If anything, it made it worse.

★★★★

The following morning, he was gone.

I woke to silence. The kind that echoes, that gnaws. The spot beside me was cold, the warmth of his body now just a memory pressed into the sheets.

It hit harder than I’d expected. He didn’t even say goodbye.

A coffee sat on the table—long since gone cold—and next to it, a note, scribbled in that unmistakably impatient scrawl of his.

He won’t speak unless I’m there. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.

But I did worry. Of course I did.

••

The Base wasn’t built for comfort, but the people inside it had always made it feel like home. At least, that used to be true. Today, though? Today, it felt like a stranger’s skin—tight and wrong and unfamiliar.

The air was sharp, the atmosphere brittle, and the fluorescents overhead buzzed like something out of a horror film. Paranoia buzzed in every corner. Even the silence had teeth.

Everyone looked tense. No idle chatter. No quiet jokes. Not even from Sal, who always had something sarcastic to say.

I didn’t speak either.

My boots echoed as I walked, sharp taps against the concrete, every step too loud. A red light blinked above—a camera. Watching. Always watching.

And then I saw him—Dexter.

“He’s in there?” I asked quietly as I approached.

He jumped slightly, startled, then nodded, his expression heavy. Something twisted in my gut—anxiety or grief or both. Because if Blade really had betrayed us…

“He told me not to help,” Dex murmured. “Said I should stay back.”

I gave a faint smile. “Well, he didn’t say anything about me, did he?”

I pushed the door open.

Blade sat chained to the chair, locked in place like some rabid dog. His lip was cracked, a deep bruise flowering beneath one eye. But the arrogant smirk on his face remained stubbornly intact.

Dominic stood over him, hands braced on the table, shoulders taut with silent aggression. He looked like a thunderstorm waiting to break—powerful, inevitable.

“You’ve been quiet,” Dominic said, voice low and sharp as a scalpel. “Why?”

Blade smirked wider. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking. Ever thought of that?”

Dominic’s face didn’t move—but the air did. It turned frigid in an instant. I stood by the wall, heart hammmering, every nerve on edge.

“I’m not in the mood for games,” Dominic said. “You know something—and you will tell me. One way or another.”

Blade leaned forward, the metal of his chains scraping against the chair. “And if I don’t?”

Dominic’s voice was ice. “Then I’ll make you.”

It wasn’t a thréat. It wasn’t even crúel. It was just true. Cold and clean as a búllet.

For the first time, something flickered in Blade’s eyes. Brief. Almost imperceptible.

But I saw it.

Did Dominic?

There was a pause—long and tense.

Then, Blade muttered, “He said you’re weak. Said the Bratva shouldn’t be led by someone like you. They’re coming.”

Dominic tilted his head, deàdly calm. “Who’s he?”

Blade’s jaw locked tight.

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Blade spat. “It’s already begun.”

That’s when Dominic struck. The púnch was swift, brútal, efficient. It crackéd across Blade’s face, jerking the chair back even against the chains.

I flinched. But I didn’t stop him. I knew better.

Dominic stood over him, chest rising and falling with barely restrained fúry. “You’re going to tell me everything,” he said, voice pure steel. “Or I’ll find out without your help. And when I do… you’ll wish you’d spoken.”

Blade’s bloodiéd grin returned. But it was hollow now. Strained. Desperate. “You’re already too late.”

TBC📖✍️

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 108

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 ~

Turning onto my side, I cracked my eyes open just as the early morning sunlight poured through the curtains—blinding, warm, and unwelcome. I flinched, my lashes fluttering against the sting of it before I rolled back, pulling the covers up slightly to shield myself.

The soft hum of contentment still lingered in me like a melody carried over from last night.

Perhaps it was the fact I was in Dominic’s bed.

That thought alone should’ve sent me bolting from this sinfully soft mattress—his mattress. But instead, it had me sinking deeper into the cotton clouds of his duvet, letting my cheek rest against the pillow that still held the faintest trace of his scent. Earthy, clean, distinctly him.

Whatever was in that drink must’ve been stronger than I thought if I let Dominic bring me back here. Aurora. Bloódy héll, I ought to blame her.

Or thank her.

Shut up.

My body and mind were clearly at odds. My head was screaming for logic—telling me to find Dominic, to tell him that last night was a mistake, and to walk out of here with some blóody dignity intact.

But my body? My body didn’t want to move. It craved the memory of his arms around me, of the kiss that unravelled every last thread of my restraint. I loved it—every unguarded second of it. And what I adored most… was falling asleep wrapped in his arms.

I hadn’t felt peace like that in years. His arms had always been my sanctuary—cool against my skin, strong around my back. The one place on earth where everything stilled.

He kissed my hair. Just like he used to. The tiniest act, yet it split me wide open.

With a sigh, I finally sat up, sweeping the covers aside as I glanced around the room—his room. It was unchanged, really. The dark mahogany wardrobe still stood proudly by the far wall, the curtains were the same navy velvet, and the carpet felt plush beneath my bare feet.

The only difference? A desk now stood in the corner.

Curiosity prickled under my skin, compelling. I padded across the floor, each step silent but intent. I hadn’t even registered moving until I was already in front of it, fingers ghosting over the edges like the desk might búrn me.

Sketchbooks. Torn sheets. Pencils, worn down to stubs. An eraser smudged with graphite.

He’d been drawing. That in itself wasn’t surprising—but the fact he never showed me his work? That was.

He always said it wasn’t the time.

Well, my time is now.

My fingers hovered over the nearest sketchbook, itching to crack it open, just a peek. I told myself a little curiosity never hurt anyone. I told myself I’d always wanted to see what lived inside Dominic’s mind.

But just as I slipped my fingers beneath the cover, I heard him behind me.

“Snooping?”

I froze.

Why did I freeze?

Maybe my brain thought if I went perfectly still, he wouldn’t see me. Like I was a child caught nicking biscuits.

He stepped into view, holding two steaming mugs, the scent of coffee curling through the air. His gaze didn’t leave mine, not even as he placed the mugs gently on the desk.

“You were definitely snooping.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

Why I lied, I don’t know. He clearly caught me red-handed.

He gave a soft, theatrical hum. “I’m not the lawyer here, but I’m fairly certain that’s an offence.”

“Not if you’re the one who kept me here.”

“Kept?” His chuckle was warm with disbelief. “You make it sound like I locked you in.”

“Same difference.”

“No, it’s not.” He shook his head, amusement lingering in his eyes like smoke. “You’re the guilty party here.”

“Alright, fine. Maybe I was snooping.” His eyes lit up with that maddeníng, knowing glint. Whiskey brown and wicked.

“I just wanted to see them,” I added quietly.

His smile—the one he only ever gave me—spread slowly across his face as he reached for the sketchbook and flipped it open.

“Well… there you go.”

It was me.

My breath caught.

A pencil drawing. My face. Just my head, but undeniably me. The softness in my features, the smile reaching all the way to my eyes. My hair was pulled into a ponytail, two defiant strands framing my face. It was dated… two months after we first got together.

Something inside my chest pulled tight. My heart stuttered—unsure whether to race or stop altogether.

Thank God it didn’t stop.

My knees buckled slightly, and I gripped the desk to keep upright. The weight of the moment sat heavily on my chest.

Dominic turned the page.

Another sketch. Side profile. My hair down, a natural tumble of waves. I was grinning—so alive, so me. It was dated on our six-month anniversary. I remembered that day. Our dinner, the laughter, the look he gave me across the table like I was the only thing that existed.

He turned the page again. Then again. And again.

It was me on every one. Every sketch after our breakup… except one.

Then came the surprise.

It wasn’t me.

It was Dynamite.

A laugh escaped me, short and breathy. “Seriously?”

“I know, right?” Dominic grinned. “He’s adorable.”

Adorable and terrifyiñg. A fluffy múrder machine. That dog’s been trained like a blóody àssassin.

“He is—when he wants to be.”

“Exactly.” His voice was tinged with fondness. “Next one’s Dañger.” He flipped the page. “Would’ve been unfair not to draw her too.”

“You’re right. It would’ve.”

“Glad I did then.” He placed the sketchbook down. “The rest are still you. I did a couple of Rory and—”

“Why?” I cut in.

His brow furrowed. “Because I wanted to?”

I swept a few strands of hair behind my ear. “No. I mean… why are they all out?”

My gaze landed on a loose sheet. I turned it over—

And forgot how to breathe.

It was us. Unfinished. Beautiful and strange. Delicately chàotic. The kind of sketch that said more in its incompleteness than a finished one ever could.

My fingers itched to see more. I reached for another.

Another sketch. Us again. Half-formed, raw, aching.

I didn’t speak for too long. I could feel the tension pouring off him—uncertainty mingling with the need to explain.

I looked up and met his gaze. “Why are they all out?”

“I was going to—”

“What? Throw them away?” My voice cracked, traitorous.

He shook his head. “I was going to keep them away.”

Away?

“What does that even mean?”

“Away from me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re leaving,” he said plainly. “And the less I see them, the easier it’ll be to move on. This time, properly.”

The words sliced through me, sharp and cold.

Move on.

Is that what I wanted?

Did I want him to forget me? Us? Did I want him to carry on like I was never part of him?

No. Selfishly, bitterly, no.

I wanted to linger in his thoughts. I wanted my name to echo through his mind even when he wished it wouldn’t.

I wanted to be the only one he looked at like that—with fíre and devotion and wreckage all wrapped into one gaze. I wanted to be the one who unravelled him.

I wanted his love. That devastatíng, soul-scàrring kind of love.

He saw the truth before I could speak it. Stepped closer. A deliberate step into my space. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer.

Another step. “You want me to move on? Forget you? Be with someone else?”

A startled gasp tore itself from my throat the moment my back collided with the door—shut, though I hadn’t even realised it had been closed in the first place. Or perhaps it hadn’t been. There was no time to unravel the thought because Dominic was already upon me, pinning me with the full weight of his presence, eyes ablaze with every emotion I desperately wished to remain blind to.

“That woman last night’s a rather good candidate, don’t you think?”

Ràge. White-hot and unrelenting. It coursed through me, and while I would have loved to dismiss it as irrational, I knew exactly what it was.

Jealousy.

I raised my hands instinctively, wanting to push him away—needing to breathe air that wasn’t thick with his scent, heavy with his heat. My palms had only just met his chest when he caught both wrists with a single hand, forcing them above my head and pressing them to the wall.

His grip wasn’t crúel, but it was commanding. Possessive.

His eyes darkened further—burníng now, wild and húngry. And God help me, I felt every bit of it. Every raw pulse of desire that rippled off him.

I wanted his mouth on mine. His hands roaming across places I’d only ever let him touch. I wanted the low, broken grunts of pleasure he gave me when I kissed every inch of him.

Just like last night.

“What?” he murmured, voice thick with want, deep and worn at the edges. “Don’t tell me you’re cross because I want to move on. Isn’t that what you’ll do once you’re back in China?”

The infuriatingly handsome bastàrd gave me no room to respond, already pressing on.

“I am curious, though. You said something last night, just before you passed out.”

I did?

He nodded, as though he’d plucked the question right out of my mind.

“Want to know what it was?”

I said nothing—just glared, jaw clenched.

“You don’t?” he asked, mock surprise curling in his tone. Then he grinned, slow and wicked. “Well, I’ll tell you anyway.”

Impatience surged through me like a storm swelling in the distance—tension crackling through the air, and he knew it. He fed off it.

He leaned in, voice silken with cruél delight. “You, Genevieve, said that you. Love. Me.” He drew the words out, letting each syllable land like a blow. “And—” A completely unnecessary pause. “I just want to know if it’s true.”

“Of course it’s not,” I spat, struggling against his grip, which remained firm but never bruising.

“Hm. So you don’t have feelings for me?”

“My feelings for you died the night you ended us, Dominic. Now let me go.”

“No.”

My brow arched. “No?”

“Yes. I said no.”

“They’re my bloody hands, give them back.” I yanked again, with more force this time, but still got nowhere—except a breathless grunt of frustration. “Dominic, let go.”

“You know,” he said coolly, “you told me the opposite last night.”

“Who cares? I was drunk.”

“Me! I care!” The words cracked through the air, sharp and raw, his control fraying. “I blóody care.”

“You’re four years too late.”

That knocked the wind out of him. He exhaled, rough and uneven, before finally releasing my wrists. I staggered slightly, light-headed from the intensity of it all, but before I could take more than a single breath, his hands were on my face—gentle, trembling.

His touch was reverent, and his eyes… his eyes were glassy. “Then give me a chance to make it right.”

No.

“Let me fix it,” he whispered.

No.

“One more chance, and I promise—” I winced. He faltered, his voice cracking on the word promise, the memory of every promise he’d ever broken hanging between us like ghosts. “I swear I’ll make it right.”

A tear escaped him. Then another. And another. Each one fell silently, streaking down the face of the man I once thought incapable of paiñ.

“Please?”

“Dominic, I can’t—”

“Please?”

Dominic Morozov does not beg. Not in boardrooms. Not in back alleys. Not as the gentleman he pretends to be, nor as the rúthless Bràtva king he truly is.

But here he was. Begging. For me. Because of me.

And somehow, that húrt more than anything. And yet, filled me with the sick satisfaction that I got a man as powerful as that begging. 

“A week.” My voice was foreign to my own ears—low, soft, fragile. “If you don’t change my mind by then, I’ll go back to China. And I swear to God, I’ll make sure we never cross paths again, even if it kílls me too.” 

Dominic’s lips parted, but no words came. Just breath.

“Even if it takes forever,” I went on, eyes stinging, “I’ll forget every part of you. I’ll erase everything. And—”

I never got the chance to finish.

His lips crashed onto mine, silencing me in the only way he knew how. 

His kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate.

A collision of mouths and memories. Of heartbreak and heat.

He kissed me like a man unravelling, as if this was his last tether to something good in the world, and he was clinging for dear life. His hands were still on my face, trembling slightly, thumbs brushing my cheeks, his mouth moving against mine with an urgency that stole the breath straight from my lungs.

I should’ve pushed him away.

I should’ve turned my face, said something cutting, reminded him that he doesn’t have the right to do that. Not yet, at least. 

But I didn’t.

I kissed him back.

Because for all the húrt and heartbreak, for all the years we’d spent apart pretending the other didn’t exist—this was still him. My Dominic. The man who used to make me laugh until my stomach ached. The man whose demóns never scared me. 

His lips parted mine, his tongue sweeping in, coaxing, claiming, and I let him.

The kiss turned slower, deeper. One of those ruinous kinds that left you dizzy, disarmed, and utterly undone. My hands, once free, slid into his hair, fingers curling there as I pulled him closer—because if we were going to fall apart all over again, then by God, I wanted to fall hard.

His body pressed flush against mine now, heat pouring from him in waves, as though the years hadn’t cooled a dàmn thing between us. His scent clung to the air—spiced cologne and something dàrker underneath, something distinctly him, embedded in the very bones of this room that hadn’t changed in four blóody years.

It still looked exactly the same. Same books on the shelf. Same stúpid grey throw at the end of the bed. Same shadows clinging to the corners where we used to talk in the dark, voices soft and limbs tangled. And the same dàmn sheets where he had once whispered he loved me.

I pulled away just enough to breathe, our foreheads resting together, both of us panting like we’d run a marathon. My lips were swollen, heart thundering so loud I could feel the echo of it in my fingertips.

My heart ached. God, it ached so much I nearly buckled beneath it. But I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I watched him. Watched every muscle in his face war between hope and devastation. Watched the man I love look at me like he loves me too. 

TBC📖✍️

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 94

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 ~

The expression on her face had been a riddle wrapped in shadows, yet the unmistakable glow of boredom flickered in her eyes, as if she would rather have been anywhere but here—here with me.  

It infuriated me that she was not the Genevieve I once knew. Back then, I could decipher her thoughts with a mere glance. Now, no matter how deeply I searched her eyes, all I found was that same tired disinterest, a chilling nonchalance that sliced through me.  

It had been exhaustingly paínful, and it had only been two days.  

I shifted my gaze from the heavy door my sister had just gone through to Genevieve, only to find her rolling her eyes and reaching for her tablet.  

“I apologize on her behalf for touching your…”  

She whipped her head up, cutting me off. “It’s fine.” The words came out almost like a snap. Then, with an effort, she plastered a smile onto her face. “It’s totally fine.”  

Yeah, by her strained, forced tone, she didn’t sound fine at all. She had never been known to fake her feelings, but now she was doing it for me—all in the name of professionalism.  

F+ck professionalism.  

I slowly nodded and decided to speak the next words that came to my mind. “She is my…”  

“Mr. Morozov,” she interjected, her tone firm yet surprisingly calm. “I don’t care about what goes on in your life. So, with all due respect, don’t. I’d prefer being spared the details.”  

I could have pretended her first twelve words didn’t húrt, as if they hadn’t shót straight into my heart like an arrow, leaving a gaping hole for the melancholic mónster to dwell within. I could have concealed the expression that crept onto my face, perhaps masked my emotions long enough for her not to notice. But it was too late—I had already shown my pàin, and she had seen it.  

And she didn’t give a dàmn, because her eyes betrayed not a hint of concern, nor did her expression flicker with any sign of empathy. And I couldn’t really blame her.  

“I think there is a misunderstanding.”  

The way she had seen Aurora and me was misleading to someone unaware of our relationship. She just happened to fall into the category of those who didn’t know I had a sister.  

Except, in truth, I suspected she already did.  

Genevieve tilted her head, feigning interest that was obviously insincere. “You do?”  

Even though I recognized her curiosity was fabricated, a fóolish part of me still wanted her to understand me, just this once, even if I didn’t deserve it.  

I was willing to play the dévil in her story, but not if it meant misunderstandings would cloud her judgment of me.  

“Yeah. You’re misunderstanding me,” I replied, instinctively stepping two paces closer.  

She noticed my movement and paused, her silence stretching between us. Perhaps the distance still felt too significant, or maybe she just didn’t care.  

“Am I?”  

Even a five-month-old baby could discern the heavy sarcasm in her tone.  

“Yes.”  

“Hmm, really?”  

She did it again.  

“Can you stop?”  

For an instant, Genevieve appeared utterly confused, and then, to my surprise, she laughed—a sound that rang with unmistakable mockery. “Stop what?”  

I couldn’t fathom why I was surprised; I knew exactly who I was dealing with. The woman standing before me wasn’t my Vixen, my Love, or Baby; she was Genevieve King.  

And she had chosen to tortúre me with her relentless coldness and indifference.  

Annoyance, which I knew I shouldn’t feel, began to pulse through my veins. My trembling fingers instinctively raked through my hair before they found their way into my pockets—all ten of them. “That,” I blurted out, frustration leaking from my voice.  

Well done, Dominic. Just rúin it further.  

She remained unimpressed, visibly bored by my presence. A tired sigh escaped my lips, and I spoke again, calmer this time. “Stop giving me two-word replies. And stop being like that.”  

A thought flickered in my mind: Would she make another snarky retort? However, to my astonishment, she responded with words even more húrtful.  

“You’re not in a position to request that of me.”  

They say to be careful what you wish for. Well, I had learned my lesson.  

Her slender fingers brushed through her long, silky hair before she added, “And the only thing I am being is professional. Unlike you, I don’t have multiple lovers in my workplace.”  

Dumbfounded, I repeated her words as if they hadn’t quite registered. “Lovers?” I scoffed. “You think they are my lovers?”  

It didn’t matter that I had kissed Lovelyn that one time; the thought of being in a romantic relationship with her was utterly nauseating. As for Aurora, she was my biological sister—quite the opposite of lover.  

I understood this, they understood this, but the one person I wished to grasp the truth was completely in the dark and didn’t want to be illuminated.  

If I said, “That is the reason she’s behaving cold and somewhat rude to Love,” would I sound insàne? 

“Like I said before, I have no interest in your life,” she replied.  

“You sure seem like you do.”  

“I don’t envy your high levels of delusion.”  

My brows furrowed, and my tongue felt heavy, rendering me unable to utter another word in her direction. “Have a great rest of your day, Mr. Morozov. I will take my leave.”  Her voice was clipped, final. A dismissal.

But when she turned toward the door, my body acted before my mind could catch up. My hand shot out, fingers locking around her wrist. The second my skin touched hers, she wrenched herself free as if my touch burned, recoiling with such force one would think it physically húrt her.

She spun to face me, and the moment our eyes met, the air in the room changed. Her gaze—icy, bottomless, and as rúthless as the Atlantic on a stormy night—clashed against mine. It was bone-chillingly glacial, yet it seared where it landed, branding me in its silent fury.

“This will be the last time you touch me.”

A warning. A promise.

I had no idea why I ever believed I could endure Genevieve’s presence—so close, yet untouchable. The sheer indifference in her posture, the way she carried herself as though I were no more than a stranger in her world, was uncanny. Unfairly paiñful.

I can’t do this.

I won’t be able to resist the pull, the instinct to reach for her, to close the impossible distance between us for an entire month. I’d rather be waterboardéd.

Héll, it feels like I am.

I was drowning beneath her stare, suffócating in the weight of everything unspoken between us. My lungs burnéd with the effort to draw breath, yet air refused to come.

“Is that clear, Mr. Morozov?”

Her voice—hard, controlled—was laced with something I couldn’t name. Resentment? Exhaustion? A test of my willpower?

Silence was my only answer, and she didn’t like that.

“I know for a fact I didn’t just speak in a foreign language,” she pressed, her tone sharpening. “So be kind enough to indicate that my warning was heard, understood, and will not fall on deaf ears.”

She was saying everything but what I wanted to hear. And yet, I wished she would stop. Wished she knew what she was doing to me.

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

It was barely a whisper, my voice raw, unrecognizable even to myself.

And I didn’t know which I was apologizing for—touching her without permission, or being the reason we were here in the first place.

“I don’t need your apology,” she countered, her expression unmoved. “I need you not to do it again.”

“Understood.”

Genevieve’s eyes flickered with doubt. Her raised brows told me she didn’t believe me.

“I promise.”

A scoff.

A slow, humorless smirk.

“Of course you do.”

The sarcasm was deliberate, slicing clean through my chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means”—she stepped forward, her gaze nailing me in place—”I’m curious how long it will take you to break this one.”

Forty-nine seconds.

That was how long it took for the meaning of her words to fully register.

And when it did, it felt like a live wire had been pressed against my ribs, a sharp bolt of electricity streaking straight through my heart.

I was left stunned, rooted in place as she shook her head at me, then turned and walked out of my office without looking back.

She hàtes me for breaking the promises I made to her.

I hàte myself for giving her a reason to.

Because that was the very thing I was afraid of.

And yet, I can’t help but wonder—how much deeper will that hatréd run when she discovers the one truth I never want her to know?

                                  ✷✷✷✷

Three days.

Three days of trying to get Genevieve to acknowledge me. Three days of attempting to talk to her, only to be met with sharp retorts about professionalism. Three days of searching for something—anything—to remind her that we once meant something to each other.

Three days of failing. Miserably.

She hàtes me. And she lóathes working for me even more.

I can’t seem to do anything right anymore.

The moment she stepped back into my life, my sanity unraveled, slipping through my fingers like sand.

I can’t think straight.

My eyes track her every movement, desperate for a flicker of recognition, while she avoids mine as if I don’t exist beyond the necessities of our work.

She only speaks to me when she needs an answer about the project, only looks at me when seeking approval.

That’s all.

And in those brief moments when our eyes lock, hers remain vacant. A blank canvas. Unreadable. Indifferent.

It’s killìng me.

Slowly. Painfùlly.

They say words are like kníves, capable of cutting deep and leaving scars.

But no one ever warns you about the agóny of being invisible to the person your heart still bleéds for. No one tells you how it feels to be looked at like you don’t matter.

Like you never did.

And God, does it húrt.

It’s the kind of pàin that crushes your chest, shatters your ribs, and leaves your heart to be trampled underfoot—only to be shoved back into place, still beating, still aching.

And somehow, I know this is just the beginning. 

But whatever happened, happened. It would be her decision to make—whatever unfolded in this tangled, complicated mess of a relationship.

Genevieve was downstairs, overseeing the renovation with the same sharp focus I remembered so well. Her team moved quickly, almost effortlessly, under her direction. Efficiency at its finest. I had to admit, Rory had been right when she recommended Genora Designs. They were the best at what they did.

I understood why my sister had done it—why she had insisted on this company. What I didn’t understand was why now.

Genevieve King was happy. At least, that was the story she told. She didn’t need me. She didn’t want me.

My sister, however, refused to believe that. She was convinced Genevieve was putting on a show, that her so-called happiness was nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion.

I didn’t buy it. 

Not when she was here every day. Not when she avoided my gaze with calculated coldness. Not when her presence lingered in my space, deliberate yet distant.

I exhaled a slow, controlled breath, rising to my feet. My body moved on instinct, drawn toward her like a starving man chasing the scent of something he’d never taste again.

And then I saw her.

She stood there in a deep red turtleneck, the color hugging her like an unspoken promise. Black fitted jeans molded to her frame, boots anchoring her to the ground in a way I no longer could.

God, I missed seeing her like this.

A smile tugged at my lips—hesitant, fleeting. A moment of stolen warmth.

Until my gaze shifted.

To him.

Liam.

Fuckíng Liam.

A wildfiré of ràge ignited in my veins, scorching through me with brutàl intensity. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. It did nothing to ground me.

Her laughter.

It echoed—light, genuine, carefree—twisting like a blàde between my ribs. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t polite. It was real.

She was laughing with him.

Why?

How the héll could she smile like that, so big, so effortlessly, while I stood there suffocatíng under the weight of everything we had been?

And why did it feel like my chest was caving in?

Then Liam looked up. Green eyes met mine, sharp and knowing.

The first flicker of emotion? Anger.

Then—indifference.

And then, just before the final blow—a victorious gleam.

And a goddamnéd smirk.

Genevieve noticed. She turned, her gaze snapping to me like she already knew what she would see. And just like that, her smile vanished.

Gone.

Wiped from her face as if I had never had the right to witness it in the first place.

Exactly how much did she hàte me?

TBC📖✍️

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 93

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 ~

Oh, this is undoubtedly a dréadful, hórrific idea. I shall have a word with Cora when I return to China for sending me on this perilóus mission. 

“It will be fine,” she declared. Fine, my foot. This situation is anything but fine. However, panicking is overrated, so I steadied myself and attempted to appear composed in the lift when all I truly wished for at that moment was to give him a sharp slap for nearly ruiníng my life and simultaneously run my fingers through his now long hair. 

I know; it’s complicated. 

I was managing well until I laid eyes on her—the girl he kissed four years ago. I wouldn’t have recognised her if not for the sound of her voice. 

“Dominic,” she shrieked, her tone reminiscent of an excitable teenager. 

It was infuriating to witness the soft smile that unfurled on his face upon seeing her. It was as if she were the very axis upon which his world spun. 

She, too, wore an equally bright smile—until she spotted me. Her grin vanished in an instant, and perhaps it was just my imagination, but I detected a fleeting flicker of recognition in her eyes. 

Being here, so close to him, was already a thorn in my side. Now, I would have to endure a month of watching these two exchange smiles and glances. 

And no, this is not me being bitter. 

I am simply bored. If only I could vanish right now, I would be most grateful. 

“Love,” I froze at that moment, returning my gaze to him, utterly astonished that he had just addressed her thus. “This is Genevieve.” He paused, then continued moments later, “She’s going to be in charge of the renovations.” 

He didn’t even bother to introduce her to me. Not that I wished for the introduction; it’s just common courtesy. 

There was a brief silence, and that was because ‘Love’ was taking her time to scan me from top to bottom. I think she had her fill, as she soon beamed a smile so phoney it could be seen from a hundred feet away. “Oh. That Genevieve.” 

I was tempted to ask, “Which Genevieve?” but decided it was futile to prolong this exchange, particularly when I needed it to conclude before I exploded with ràge. 

“Hey.” She added, a disingenuous sweetness lacing her tone. 

“Hi,” I replied, hoping the politeness in my voice would be convincing enough to make her believe I was oblivious to how artificial her smile truly was. 

“See you later, Love,” he muttered under his breath, as though he intended only for her to hear, and strode into his office. 

The same office where we shared so many cherished memories—or at least, I thought they were cherished. I didn’t allow my gaze to wander around the familiar corners of the room; I needed to shield my heart from the onslaught of nostalgia. 

It wasn’t easy. 

I spent an excruciatingly long time—far too long for my liking—in his presence. Although it was less than ten minutes, it felt like an eternity, and I détested it with a passion that could ignite a firé within me. 

At last, I managed to leave, only for ‘Love’ to clear her throat as I attempted to walk past her. I didn’t want to stop, but my feet seemed to have a mind of their own. 

“I never thought I’d see you in person,” she said, her tone laden with implications I would rather remain ignorant of. 

I allowed my lips to stretch into a deceítful smile and turned to face her. “I don’t recall ever seeing you, either directly or indirectly, nor being mentioned in any conversation.” 

She laughed. 

Yes, you heard correctly. 

She actually laughed as if I had just delivered a brilliant jest. “It’s quite the opposite for me.” 

“Is it?” 

I couldn’t help but wonder what he had shared with her. Did he mention how terríble a jérk he had been for breaking up with me in such a callous manner? Did he tell her how utterly heartless it was for him to toy with my emotions for all those years, or perhaps about the file containing my family’s details on his laptop? 

Or maybe he regaled her with tales of how I had been foólish enough to fall for it all and how much he relished playing games with my heart. 

“You were spoken of so often that it became rather tiresome. Imagine hearing about someone who isn’t present; it’s infuriatingly annoying. It was ear-biting.” 

It truly was, you know, listening to her prattle on. 

“Am…” I feigned confusion, adding a slight stutter for effect. “Am I supposed to, I don’t know, apologise?” 

“An apology would do no good,” she replied, her tone dismissive, as if the matter were beneath her.

“Then, I wonder why you keep persisting with this conversation,” I retorted, feeling the irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. 

A flicker of something crossed her eyes—perhaps a hint of annoyance, or maybe it was just my imagination. I didn’t linger long enough to decipher it; I simply wanted to escape this encounter. “Ah, apologies. I didn’t realise I was monopolising your time,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. 

“Glad you’ve come to that realisation,” I responded, forcing a bright smile as I turned to make my exit, when suddenly a thought struck me. “Oh, shít.” A low mutter escaped my lips as I pivoted back towards his office. 

I hadn’t gathered his preferences for the designs. I had simply shown him my previous works. 

How unprofessional is that, on a scale of one to ten? 

He looked half surprised and half amused when I strode back in. “Did you forget something?” 

Yes, my ability to think straight. 

However, I kept that to myself. Instead, I nodded and said, “Your preferences—I didn’t take them. Are you free at the moment?” 

My patience was wearing thin, draining faster than I had anticipated. He glanced down at his laptop, and I rolled my eyes in exasperation. When he looked back up at me, he nodded. 

“Yes.” 

Splendid! 

It was sarcasm, of course; there’s no rule against being sardonic in my head. 

We proceeded to discuss everything needed—his likes and dislikes, how he envisioned the renovations. It lasted two entire hours. 

Yes, I spent over two hours, in addition to the earlier seven or eight minutes, with my ex; thanks a lot, Cora. 

However long it was, I was immensely relieved that he maintained a semblance of professionalism throughout. Although, I noticed far more surprise and shock on his face than any understanding. 

We did it, though, and I was ready to go. I rose, elated to leave this place that held so many hauntéd memories I would rather not revisit. 

Memories that made my heart ache had no place in my head. 

“So, that is all,” I said, forcing a smile that I wore only because of the one and only Cora Song, the person I once thought liked me. “Goodbye.” 

His expression fell, turning pale in an instant. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but then he changed his mind. 

•• 

The rest of the day passed in a blur—a rather eventful blur, if I may add. I went over to Jules’ place, and there, I didn’t have to fake my smiles. 

It had been almost two years since we had seen each other face-to-face, and I missed her so, so, so very much. 

My best friend, Jules, who now lived with her fiancé, Alessio, squealed loud enough to echo in the hallway when she saw me at the door. Then she proceeded to squeeze the living daylights out of me in a hug that I wholeheartedly returned. 

With her, my smiles were genuine. There was absolutely nothing I would hide from her; even if I felt sadness creeping in, she wouldn’t allow it. 

“I can’t believe you came back without telling me,” she said, giving me a playful slap on the shoulder after ushering me inside. 

“Hello, that’s why it’s called a surprise, Mrs Knight.” Her cheeks flushed a delightful crimson. “What? You’d best get used to it.” 

Then, we talked and talked about everything under the moon until Alessio came home. He looked pleasantly surprised to see me, so mission accomplished. 

We couldn’t chat much because it was apparently his turn to make dinner, so he disappeared into the kitchen after giving Jules a soft peck on the cheek. 

They were the cutest couple ever, I swear. 

They insisted I have dinner with them while we chatted about everything under the sun. It was delightful, but I had to leave because I hadn’t planned on sleeping over. 

My next stop was Adrianna’s place, where I did plan on staying the night because she was the one I missed the most. 

The guards at the estate gate didn’t stop me from driving in, because, well, I am Genevieve King. It might also have something to do with the fact that my sister lives there, but whatever. 

After pulling over in their driveway, I practically dashed to the door and pressed my index finger on the doorbell. 

My brother-in-law, Xavier, opened the door and immediately enveloped me in a warm embrace. “Look at how big you’ve gotten!” He beamed, but I gently pushed away from his grasp with a playful frown. 

“What?” 

“You saw me last month.” 

“And?” 

“I didn’t grow big between then and now.” 

“You didn’t?” By now, I knew he was pulling my leg, as usual. 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Hmmm.” He drew it out so long that I smacked him on the shoulder, and he chuckled. “I missed you, little one.” 

I faked a gag. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?” 

“Many times,” he replied through laughter. “That’s why I continue.” 

I frowned, though I secretly adored his nickname for me. 

“Let my sister in, you jerk!” My sister’s voice boomed from inside the house, probably from the living room. 

I chuckled. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing, just pregnancy mood swings.” 

“Hey, I heard that!” Adrianna snapped. 

“Sorry, darling!” he exclaimed, his head turning towards the inside of the house. Then he faced me again, whispering, “She can be such a baby sometimes.” 

“You’re to blame,” I said, shaking my head. 

“Hey, not you too!” 

“Yes, me too.” 

I pushed my way in and rushed to my sister, who stood up to hug me. My lovely sister, who called me every day to check if I was alright, kissed me on the forehead and asked, “How are you doing?” 

“Great,” I beamed. “And the baby?” 

“The baby is doing splendidly, now that his aunt is here.” 

“Oh, I’m glad.” 

Then, we talked and laughed the night away. I didn’t tell her that I had returned to work on Dominic’s company because I knew she would freàk out, and freakíng out was the last thing she needed in her condition. 

Hearing and seeing her laugh, I realised how happy I was to be back home. 

                                 ✷✷✷✷

I was enjoying my beauty sleep when my alarm rang, reminding me of the dreadful day that lay ahead. 

I can’t wait. 

I showered, brushed my teeth, and applied lotion, taking my sweet time, hoping to delay the inevitable of going back there. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to calm my rising panic before getting dressed. Today, I wore a floral dress—one of the lovely pieces Jules had persuaded me to buy. 

It was black with tiny red roses, thin straps resting delicately on my shoulders, and I paired it with my straightened hair from the night before and a pair of black heels that added just the right touch. 

Glancing in the mirror, I almost applauded myself for looking so gorgeous, but time wasn’t on my side. So, I dashed out without eating breakfast. 

••

You know that feeling you get when you forgo something you wanted to do just to get somewhere, only to find out you are ridiculously early? 

If so, then you can understand how I felt when I stepped out of the lift to find Dominic and ‘Love’ laughing together, their mirth echoing down the corridor. And, bloódy héll, I wasn’t even early! 

Unsurprisingly, she was the first to notice me standing there, watching them like a fóol while he was too engrossed in his laughter to take his eyes off her. A smile graced her face as she glanced in my direction, and only then did he finally notice me. 

“I can come back later if you’re busy,” I said, the words tasting heavy and bitter on my tongue, piercing my heart. 

“No,” he replied sharply. I narrowed my brows at him. “I mean, no.” His voice softened. “I’m not busy.” 

Yay! 

We proceeded into his office without exchanging another word. This time, we discussed the prices I had researched the night before for everything he wanted regarding the renovations. I asked him if he would like to make any changes before my team arrived.

His answer was a firm no, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me; any slight alteration would require another round of research, and I couldn’t face that with a smile.

“Alright. I will…” My sentence was abruptly cut off by the shrill ringing of my phone. “Excuse me.” 

I picked up my phone, stepped out of his office, and headed towards the ladies’ bathroom, although I didn’t actually enter. 

“Hi,” I stretched the one word out, my tone brimming with enthusiasm. “What’s up?” 

“What’s up is that you’re back home and haven’t come to see your own brother,” Everett replied, a slight edge of annoyance in his voice.

“I’m sorry, Ever. I planned to pop over to your place after work.” 

“You did?” 

My brother is a renowned microbiologist who had been based in South Korea and had come down to London three years ago to teach at a university. 

I nodded, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “Yes,” I replied, a smile creeping onto my face. “I won’t lie to you.” 

“Alright. Can’t wait to see you.” 

“Me too,” I chimed back. “I love you.” 

“I love you more, Dove.” The grin on my face grew so wide that it warmed my heart and refused to fade. “Go on, get back to work. I wouldn’t want to hold you up.” 

“You could never hold me up. Anyway, see you later.” 

You know that smile I mentioned that refused to fall? Well, it did. 

The moment I stepped back into his office, it vanished completely. 

He wasn’t alone. 

There was the pink-obsessed girl, whom I unfortunately knew too well, and his lips were pressed against her forehead. 

And she was holding my bloódy tablet! 

After all these years, I thought it wouldn’t hurt this much to see him with another girl. But the only sensation I could feel right now was paín—so much paín that I thought my lungs were closing up again. 

I blinked away any emotions that threàtened to spill from my eyes and cleared my throat. 

They jumped apart as if their skin had burnéd upon contact. I didn’t even have time to roll my eyes before a grin spread across Aurora’s face. 

Aurora was her name, the pink-obsessed girl. 

“Hi,” she said, her smile far too wide to be genuine. 

“Hey,” I forced out, my voice strained. 

“It’s been so long…” 

“Has it? I don’t recall.” 

“Right,” Aurora drawled, clearly picking up on my reluctance to exchange pleasantries. “Lovely to see you again, though.” 

A gust of wind blew strands of hair across my face, and I brushed them aside, murmuring, “Thanks.” It was drenched in sarcasm and as dry as the Sahara. 

She sensed it; her furrowed brows told me so, and I wanted to slap myself for sounding like a jealous ex-girlfriend unable to move on. 

Aurora returned to Dominic, who hadn’t taken his gaze off me since I entered. She leaned into him, her lips close to his ear. Whatever she whispered earned a small nod from him before she planted a quick peck on his cheek and exited the office without sparing me a glance. 

“How was your call?” His attempt to break the tension was utterly pathetic. 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business. But thanks for asking; it was splendid.” 

TBC📖✍️

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 86

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 ~

Guess what? 

I’ve been blatantly lied to my entire life by the one person I trusted not to vanish after the tràgic démise of my beloved parents.

It was him all along, and I remained oblivious. He played the part because he found me foólish and gullible, perhaps. I nearly took the life of an innocent man—the father of the woman I love.

God! 

How could I have been so stúpid, so foólish, so iñsane all these years, believing it was Kyle Walker who snatched my parents away from me? 

Why did I even concoct that notion? I can’t seem to recall right now. The only name echoing in my mind is Ivan Morozov.

He erréd in taking my parents from me far too early in life. But his gravest mistake was training me to become the man I am today—the man who will relish the moment when the light dims from his eyes as the cold hands of deàth tightly embrace him.

Ivan Morozov clearly underestimates me, even after all my progress in the underworld of crime. He has no idea what I am capable of, especially not after carrying this mission in my head for over a decade.

No, seriously, it’s been twenty years since that fateful day—the day I watched bulléts tear through my parents’ bodies, blóod gushing like a crimson river. If I don’t give Ivan Morozov the same harrowing experience, then I am not Dominic Morozov, the son of Dennis Morozov.

I will kíll him, but first… I need to apologize to my girlfriend for yelling at her when she was simply concerned about me.

Do I deserve that after plotting to kíll her father? No, of course not. 

I don’t, and it eats away at me just thinking about it. It torménts me to know that my actions have caused her paín.

She’s ignoring my calls and texts, and I feel sick about it, even though I initiated the conflict.

I needed help, but unfortunately, the one person who is tolerable wasn’t reachable. That left me with the only option—someone utterly intolerable.

“What do you want?” Adrianna’s voice cut through the line, sharp and immediate.

“Wow, hello to you too,” I said, forcing a grin she knows all too well to be fake. “How are you? It’s so nice of you to ask first.”

“Hahaha, look at you being funny. I don’t like that.” 

“I’m not surprised. You don’t like many things.” 

I could practically see her rolling her eyes in exasperation before she asked, firmer and meaner this time, “What do you want, Dominic?” 

“Genevieve is upset with me and isn’t speaking to me,” I tried to explain, but she cut me off rudely.

“Oh, I am so, so surprised.” Her sarcasm was like a sharp needle, pricking my already fragile state. “What did you do?” 

“Why did you just assume I’m at fault?” 

“Because if Vie was in the wrong, she’d apologize. And you wouldn’t be calling.” She replied, her tone dripping with disdain. “Oh, and you’re a díck.”

Right. 

How could I ever forget that she tells me that every time we see each other? 

I exhaled slowly, holding back the annoyance that threatened to bubble over. “Can you help me?” 

“It depends.” Adrianna retorted. “What did you do?” 

I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth—she wouldn’t help me if I did. So, I cleared my throat, searching for a lie.

“Dominic, don’t conjure up a lie because you know I won’t fall for your lame excuses.” She added, her voice harsh and piercing. “You know what? I don’t care; just tell me what you need.” 

A relieved smile graced my face at her willingness. “Great, thanks. Tell Genevieve to meet you somewhere, and I’ll be there instead of you.” 

“Where?” 

“I’ll text you.” 

Adrianna groaned, then feigned cheer. “Yay.” The falseness of it was blindingly obvious. “Remember what I told you, Dominic?” 

I can’t forget. 

Almost two years ago, Adrianna Carrington looked me straight in the eyes and said, “If you break my sister’s heart, I will come for you.” 

If she weren’t my Vixen’s sister, I would have put a bullét in her head right there. I don’t do well with threàts; I prefer to be the one giving them, not receiving. But I didn’t pull the trígger because I’m not ready to dié just yet. 

And yes, I am scared of my girlfriend. You better believe it.

So, I reserved an entire restaurant for Genevieve and me to meet. The atmosphere was carefully crafted—soft, ambient lighting casting a warm glow over the elegantly set tables, the air filled with the rich aroma of gourmet dishes simmering in the kitchen. I could already envision the evening unfolding, hoping it would mend the rift between us.

Adrianna texted me that Genevieve was ten minutes away. I sat at a secluded table, the plush fabric of the chair cradling me, but I felt anything but comfortable. Each tick of the clock echoed in my ears, amplifying my anxiety as I waited. 

Then, precisely ten minutes later, she walked in, exuding an aura that demanded attention. Genevieve entered like she owned the place, her dazzling blue eyes scanning the room before locking onto mine. The moment our gazes met, she rolled her eyes, a gesture that sent a pang of regret through me.

I expelled a shaky breath, shoving my worries into the darkest corners of my mind for the moment. Right now, I needed to focus on the one thing that seemed to be slipping through my fingers—the woman standing before me, radiating a mix of angér and defiance.

I moved toward her, my heart racing with each step. Thankfully, she didn’t back away, though the spark of rebellion in her eyes suggested she wanted to. I reached her, offering my best attempt at a smile, desperate to convey sincerity.

“What are…” 

“Can we sit first?” I interrupted, my voice calmer than the storm brewing inside me. She frowned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, a barrier between us. “Please?”

“I don’t want to sit. What are you doing?” Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the tasteful decorations and the soft music that played in the background, a stark contrast to the tension that hung between us. “What is this?”

“An apology,” I replied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“For?” Genevieve asked, her tone laced with annoyance yet oddly calm. “Which part exactly are you sorry for?”

She was looking at me, expecting an answer, her gaze serious and piercing. Her head tilted slightly, waiting for my response, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

I knew her too well; this was a rhetorical question.

“Is it the part where you snapped at me at the Base? Or the other part where you ignored me for three days? Or the part where you said you don’t want this relationship anymore?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the tension in the air like a kñife. “Huh? Which one?”

I could sense the weight of her unvoiced thoughts, the things she held back that could shatter us both. But how could I make her understand that it was too late for such reflections? 

I was already a broken man. My uncle—my father’s brother—was the one responsible for my parents’ deàths, and I held the evidence in my hands. Soon, I would drag her down with me, if I hadn’t already.

“Everything. I am apologizing for everything. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

“Sorry?” Now her anger flared like a wildfire. “If I said, ‘I hàte you and I wish you had never come into my life,’ and then told you sorry, would you accept that?”

I was left speechless, utterly taken aback. Out of everything I had anticipated her to say, that was the least expected. 

“Dominic, you said you don’t want this anymore, and you think sorry can fix it?”

“What can I do then?” My voice came out strained, a plea wrapped in desperation.

“Tell me what is bothering you.” Her eyes were fierce, demanding the truth.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”

Both!

I couldn’t tell her that my only family that she knows was linked to the very man who had takén my parents from me. Infact, he is the very reason. She may have been polite with him, but deep down, her heart and soul rejected him. 

Yes, she maintained a friendly façade, but that was all it was.

I also feared revealing the truth because one revelation would lead to another, and she would discover that her father was my target. She would never forgive me for that.

She would hàte me.

“Genevieve, please, let’s sit.”

She stepped back, her frustration palpable. “I said I don’t want to sit.” I blinked, surprised. “What is so difficult for you to tell me? Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is?” When I remained silent, she snapped, “Dominic.”

“Baby, please, let’s just sit and have dinner.” My voice was laced with desperation.

“No. I don’t want to sit, and I don’t want to have dinner with someone who hides things from me and doesn’t trust me.” Genevieve’s expression was resolute, her displeasure evident.

“I trust you.” I exhaled, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. “Of course, I trust you. I just… you know what, why don’t I tell you later?”

“Later?” I nodded, hoping my resolve would hold. “So, you will tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

Knowing I was lying, I nodded again. “Promise.” The deceit felt like a dagger to my heart. “Now, dinner?”

Genevieve studied me, her gaze lingering as if she were attempting to decipher my unspoken fears. Her eyes brimmed with questions—questions I knew I couldn’t answer.

“Please, Vixen. I am sorry. Won’t you forgive me?” 

“Fine.” Her response was simple but heavy with unspoken weight.

“Fine?”

She shrugged, the gesture almost dismissive. “Yeah.” Then she sighed, a sound full of worry. “You know, I was really scared when you said that. I… I thought… I thought that…”

I cupped her face in my hands, my voice dropping to a soothing whisper, a desperate attempt to convince both of us that everything would be alright. “I really love you, like a lot a lot, so whatever you are thinking isn’t going to happen. We are stuck together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Her reply was small, uncertain. “And I love you too.”

TBC

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 86

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 ~

Guess what? 

I’ve been blatantly lied to my entire life by the one person I trusted not to vanish after the tràgic démise of my beloved parents.

It was him all along, and I remained oblivious. He played the part because he found me foólish and gullible, perhaps. I nearly took the life of an innocent man—the father of the woman I love.

God! 

How could I have been so stúpid, so foólish, so iñsane all these years, believing it was Kyle Walker who snatched my parents away from me? 

Why did I even concoct that notion? I can’t seem to recall right now. The only name echoing in my mind is Ivan Morozov.

He erréd in taking my parents from me far too early in life. But his gravest mistake was training me to become the man I am today—the man who will relish the moment when the light dims from his eyes as the cold hands of deàth tightly embrace him.

Ivan Morozov clearly underestimates me, even after all my progress in the underworld of crime. He has no idea what I am capable of, especially not after carrying this mission in my head for over a decade.

No, seriously, it’s been twenty years since that fateful day—the day I watched bulléts tear through my parents’ bodies, blóod gushing like a crimson river. If I don’t give Ivan Morozov the same harrowing experience, then I am not Dominic Morozov, the son of Dennis Morozov.

I will kíll him, but first… I need to apologize to my girlfriend for yelling at her when she was simply concerned about me.

Do I deserve that after plotting to kíll her father? No, of course not. 

I don’t, and it eats away at me just thinking about it. It torménts me to know that my actions have caused her paín.

She’s ignoring my calls and texts, and I feel sick about it, even though I initiated the conflict.

I needed help, but unfortunately, the one person who is tolerable wasn’t reachable. That left me with the only option—someone utterly intolerable.

“What do you want?” Adrianna’s voice cut through the line, sharp and immediate.

“Wow, hello to you too,” I said, forcing a grin she knows all too well to be fake. “How are you? It’s so nice of you to ask first.”

“Hahaha, look at you being funny. I don’t like that.” 

“I’m not surprised. You don’t like many things.” 

I could practically see her rolling her eyes in exasperation before she asked, firmer and meaner this time, “What do you want, Dominic?” 

“Genevieve is upset with me and isn’t speaking to me,” I tried to explain, but she cut me off rudely.

“Oh, I am so, so surprised.” Her sarcasm was like a sharp needle, pricking my already fragile state. “What did you do?” 

“Why did you just assume I’m at fault?” 

“Because if Vie was in the wrong, she’d apologize. And you wouldn’t be calling.” She replied, her tone dripping with disdain. “Oh, and you’re a díck.”

Right. 

How could I ever forget that she tells me that every time we see each other? 

I exhaled slowly, holding back the annoyance that threatened to bubble over. “Can you help me?” 

“It depends.” Adrianna retorted. “What did you do?” 

I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth—she wouldn’t help me if I did. So, I cleared my throat, searching for a lie.

“Dominic, don’t conjure up a lie because you know I won’t fall for your lame excuses.” She added, her voice harsh and piercing. “You know what? I don’t care; just tell me what you need.” 

A relieved smile graced my face at her willingness. “Great, thanks. Tell Genevieve to meet you somewhere, and I’ll be there instead of you.” 

“Where?” 

“I’ll text you.” 

Adrianna groaned, then feigned cheer. “Yay.” The falseness of it was blindingly obvious. “Remember what I told you, Dominic?” 

I can’t forget. 

Almost two years ago, Adrianna Carrington looked me straight in the eyes and said, “If you break my sister’s heart, I will come for you.” 

If she weren’t my Vixen’s sister, I would have put a bullét in her head right there. I don’t do well with threàts; I prefer to be the one giving them, not receiving. But I didn’t pull the trígger because I’m not ready to dié just yet. 

And yes, I am scared of my girlfriend. You better believe it.

So, I reserved an entire restaurant for Genevieve and me to meet. The atmosphere was carefully crafted—soft, ambient lighting casting a warm glow over the elegantly set tables, the air filled with the rich aroma of gourmet dishes simmering in the kitchen. I could already envision the evening unfolding, hoping it would mend the rift between us.

Adrianna texted me that Genevieve was ten minutes away. I sat at a secluded table, the plush fabric of the chair cradling me, but I felt anything but comfortable. Each tick of the clock echoed in my ears, amplifying my anxiety as I waited. 

Then, precisely ten minutes later, she walked in, exuding an aura that demanded attention. Genevieve entered like she owned the place, her dazzling blue eyes scanning the room before locking onto mine. The moment our gazes met, she rolled her eyes, a gesture that sent a pang of regret through me.

I expelled a shaky breath, shoving my worries into the darkest corners of my mind for the moment. Right now, I needed to focus on the one thing that seemed to be slipping through my fingers—the woman standing before me, radiating a mix of angér and defiance.

I moved toward her, my heart racing with each step. Thankfully, she didn’t back away, though the spark of rebellion in her eyes suggested she wanted to. I reached her, offering my best attempt at a smile, desperate to convey sincerity.

“What are…” 

“Can we sit first?” I interrupted, my voice calmer than the storm brewing inside me. She frowned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, a barrier between us. “Please?”

“I don’t want to sit. What are you doing?” Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the tasteful decorations and the soft music that played in the background, a stark contrast to the tension that hung between us. “What is this?”

“An apology,” I replied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“For?” Genevieve asked, her tone laced with annoyance yet oddly calm. “Which part exactly are you sorry for?”

She was looking at me, expecting an answer, her gaze serious and piercing. Her head tilted slightly, waiting for my response, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

I knew her too well; this was a rhetorical question.

“Is it the part where you snapped at me at the Base? Or the other part where you ignored me for three days? Or the part where you said you don’t want this relationship anymore?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the tension in the air like a kñife. “Huh? Which one?”

I could sense the weight of her unvoiced thoughts, the things she held back that could shatter us both. But how could I make her understand that it was too late for such reflections? 

I was already a broken man. My uncle—my father’s brother—was the one responsible for my parents’ deàths, and I held the evidence in my hands. Soon, I would drag her down with me, if I hadn’t already.

“Everything. I am apologizing for everything. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

“Sorry?” Now her anger flared like a wildfire. “If I said, ‘I hàte you and I wish you had never come into my life,’ and then told you sorry, would you accept that?”

I was left speechless, utterly taken aback. Out of everything I had anticipated her to say, that was the least expected. 

“Dominic, you said you don’t want this anymore, and you think sorry can fix it?”

“What can I do then?” My voice came out strained, a plea wrapped in desperation.

“Tell me what is bothering you.” Her eyes were fierce, demanding the truth.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”

Both!

I couldn’t tell her that my only family that she knows was linked to the very man who had takén my parents from me. Infact, he is the very reason. She may have been polite with him, but deep down, her heart and soul rejected him. 

Yes, she maintained a friendly façade, but that was all it was.

I also feared revealing the truth because one revelation would lead to another, and she would discover that her father was my target. She would never forgive me for that.

She would hàte me.

“Genevieve, please, let’s sit.”

She stepped back, her frustration palpable. “I said I don’t want to sit.” I blinked, surprised. “What is so difficult for you to tell me? Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is?” When I remained silent, she snapped, “Dominic.”

“Baby, please, let’s just sit and have dinner.” My voice was laced with desperation.

“No. I don’t want to sit, and I don’t want to have dinner with someone who hides things from me and doesn’t trust me.” Genevieve’s expression was resolute, her displeasure evident.

“I trust you.” I exhaled, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. “Of course, I trust you. I just… you know what, why don’t I tell you later?”

“Later?” I nodded, hoping my resolve would hold. “So, you will tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

Knowing I was lying, I nodded again. “Promise.” The deceit felt like a dagger to my heart. “Now, dinner?”

Genevieve studied me, her gaze lingering as if she were attempting to decipher my unspoken fears. Her eyes brimmed with questions—questions I knew I couldn’t answer.

“Please, Vixen. I am sorry. Won’t you forgive me?” 

“Fine.” Her response was simple but heavy with unspoken weight.

“Fine?”

She shrugged, the gesture almost dismissive. “Yeah.” Then she sighed, a sound full of worry. “You know, I was really scared when you said that. I… I thought… I thought that…”

I cupped her face in my hands, my voice dropping to a soothing whisper, a desperate attempt to convince both of us that everything would be alright. “I really love you, like a lot a lot, so whatever you are thinking isn’t going to happen. We are stuck together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Her reply was small, uncertain. “And I love you too.”

TBC

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 86

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 ~

Guess what? 

I’ve been blatantly lied to my entire life by the one person I trusted not to vanish after the tràgic démise of my beloved parents.

It was him all along, and I remained oblivious. He played the part because he found me foólish and gullible, perhaps. I nearly took the life of an innocent man—the father of the woman I love.

God! 

How could I have been so stúpid, so foólish, so iñsane all these years, believing it was Kyle Walker who snatched my parents away from me? 

Why did I even concoct that notion? I can’t seem to recall right now. The only name echoing in my mind is Ivan Morozov.

He erréd in taking my parents from me far too early in life. But his gravest mistake was training me to become the man I am today—the man who will relish the moment when the light dims from his eyes as the cold hands of deàth tightly embrace him.

Ivan Morozov clearly underestimates me, even after all my progress in the underworld of crime. He has no idea what I am capable of, especially not after carrying this mission in my head for over a decade.

No, seriously, it’s been twenty years since that fateful day—the day I watched bulléts tear through my parents’ bodies, blóod gushing like a crimson river. If I don’t give Ivan Morozov the same harrowing experience, then I am not Dominic Morozov, the son of Dennis Morozov.

I will kíll him, but first… I need to apologize to my girlfriend for yelling at her when she was simply concerned about me.

Do I deserve that after plotting to kíll her father? No, of course not. 

I don’t, and it eats away at me just thinking about it. It torménts me to know that my actions have caused her paín.

She’s ignoring my calls and texts, and I feel sick about it, even though I initiated the conflict.

I needed help, but unfortunately, the one person who is tolerable wasn’t reachable. That left me with the only option—someone utterly intolerable.

“What do you want?” Adrianna’s voice cut through the line, sharp and immediate.

“Wow, hello to you too,” I said, forcing a grin she knows all too well to be fake. “How are you? It’s so nice of you to ask first.”

“Hahaha, look at you being funny. I don’t like that.” 

“I’m not surprised. You don’t like many things.” 

I could practically see her rolling her eyes in exasperation before she asked, firmer and meaner this time, “What do you want, Dominic?” 

“Genevieve is upset with me and isn’t speaking to me,” I tried to explain, but she cut me off rudely.

“Oh, I am so, so surprised.” Her sarcasm was like a sharp needle, pricking my already fragile state. “What did you do?” 

“Why did you just assume I’m at fault?” 

“Because if Vie was in the wrong, she’d apologize. And you wouldn’t be calling.” She replied, her tone dripping with disdain. “Oh, and you’re a díck.”

Right. 

How could I ever forget that she tells me that every time we see each other? 

I exhaled slowly, holding back the annoyance that threatened to bubble over. “Can you help me?” 

“It depends.” Adrianna retorted. “What did you do?” 

I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth—she wouldn’t help me if I did. So, I cleared my throat, searching for a lie.

“Dominic, don’t conjure up a lie because you know I won’t fall for your lame excuses.” She added, her voice harsh and piercing. “You know what? I don’t care; just tell me what you need.” 

A relieved smile graced my face at her willingness. “Great, thanks. Tell Genevieve to meet you somewhere, and I’ll be there instead of you.” 

“Where?” 

“I’ll text you.” 

Adrianna groaned, then feigned cheer. “Yay.” The falseness of it was blindingly obvious. “Remember what I told you, Dominic?” 

I can’t forget. 

Almost two years ago, Adrianna Carrington looked me straight in the eyes and said, “If you break my sister’s heart, I will come for you.” 

If she weren’t my Vixen’s sister, I would have put a bullét in her head right there. I don’t do well with threàts; I prefer to be the one giving them, not receiving. But I didn’t pull the trígger because I’m not ready to dié just yet. 

And yes, I am scared of my girlfriend. You better believe it.

So, I reserved an entire restaurant for Genevieve and me to meet. The atmosphere was carefully crafted—soft, ambient lighting casting a warm glow over the elegantly set tables, the air filled with the rich aroma of gourmet dishes simmering in the kitchen. I could already envision the evening unfolding, hoping it would mend the rift between us.

Adrianna texted me that Genevieve was ten minutes away. I sat at a secluded table, the plush fabric of the chair cradling me, but I felt anything but comfortable. Each tick of the clock echoed in my ears, amplifying my anxiety as I waited. 

Then, precisely ten minutes later, she walked in, exuding an aura that demanded attention. Genevieve entered like she owned the place, her dazzling blue eyes scanning the room before locking onto mine. The moment our gazes met, she rolled her eyes, a gesture that sent a pang of regret through me.

I expelled a shaky breath, shoving my worries into the darkest corners of my mind for the moment. Right now, I needed to focus on the one thing that seemed to be slipping through my fingers—the woman standing before me, radiating a mix of angér and defiance.

I moved toward her, my heart racing with each step. Thankfully, she didn’t back away, though the spark of rebellion in her eyes suggested she wanted to. I reached her, offering my best attempt at a smile, desperate to convey sincerity.

“What are…” 

“Can we sit first?” I interrupted, my voice calmer than the storm brewing inside me. She frowned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, a barrier between us. “Please?”

“I don’t want to sit. What are you doing?” Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the tasteful decorations and the soft music that played in the background, a stark contrast to the tension that hung between us. “What is this?”

“An apology,” I replied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“For?” Genevieve asked, her tone laced with annoyance yet oddly calm. “Which part exactly are you sorry for?”

She was looking at me, expecting an answer, her gaze serious and piercing. Her head tilted slightly, waiting for my response, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

I knew her too well; this was a rhetorical question.

“Is it the part where you snapped at me at the Base? Or the other part where you ignored me for three days? Or the part where you said you don’t want this relationship anymore?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the tension in the air like a kñife. “Huh? Which one?”

I could sense the weight of her unvoiced thoughts, the things she held back that could shatter us both. But how could I make her understand that it was too late for such reflections? 

I was already a broken man. My uncle—my father’s brother—was the one responsible for my parents’ deàths, and I held the evidence in my hands. Soon, I would drag her down with me, if I hadn’t already.

“Everything. I am apologizing for everything. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

“Sorry?” Now her anger flared like a wildfire. “If I said, ‘I hàte you and I wish you had never come into my life,’ and then told you sorry, would you accept that?”

I was left speechless, utterly taken aback. Out of everything I had anticipated her to say, that was the least expected. 

“Dominic, you said you don’t want this anymore, and you think sorry can fix it?”

“What can I do then?” My voice came out strained, a plea wrapped in desperation.

“Tell me what is bothering you.” Her eyes were fierce, demanding the truth.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”

Both!

I couldn’t tell her that my only family that she knows was linked to the very man who had takén my parents from me. Infact, he is the very reason. She may have been polite with him, but deep down, her heart and soul rejected him. 

Yes, she maintained a friendly façade, but that was all it was.

I also feared revealing the truth because one revelation would lead to another, and she would discover that her father was my target. She would never forgive me for that.

She would hàte me.

“Genevieve, please, let’s sit.”

She stepped back, her frustration palpable. “I said I don’t want to sit.” I blinked, surprised. “What is so difficult for you to tell me? Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is?” When I remained silent, she snapped, “Dominic.”

“Baby, please, let’s just sit and have dinner.” My voice was laced with desperation.

“No. I don’t want to sit, and I don’t want to have dinner with someone who hides things from me and doesn’t trust me.” Genevieve’s expression was resolute, her displeasure evident.

“I trust you.” I exhaled, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. “Of course, I trust you. I just… you know what, why don’t I tell you later?”

“Later?” I nodded, hoping my resolve would hold. “So, you will tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

Knowing I was lying, I nodded again. “Promise.” The deceit felt like a dagger to my heart. “Now, dinner?”

Genevieve studied me, her gaze lingering as if she were attempting to decipher my unspoken fears. Her eyes brimmed with questions—questions I knew I couldn’t answer.

“Please, Vixen. I am sorry. Won’t you forgive me?” 

“Fine.” Her response was simple but heavy with unspoken weight.

“Fine?”

She shrugged, the gesture almost dismissive. “Yeah.” Then she sighed, a sound full of worry. “You know, I was really scared when you said that. I… I thought… I thought that…”

I cupped her face in my hands, my voice dropping to a soothing whisper, a desperate attempt to convince both of us that everything would be alright. “I really love you, like a lot a lot, so whatever you are thinking isn’t going to happen. We are stuck together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Her reply was small, uncertain. “And I love you too.”

TBC

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 80

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 ~

Alone amidst the clamor of laughter and clinking glasses, I found myself contemplating an escape from this farce they called an event. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the insincerity of self-proclaimed elites, all feigning sophistication while hovering like vultures over their intrigues. 

Just as I was about to slip away unnoticed, a small but unmistakable voice pulled me back to reality. “Can I have a word with you?” The voice pierced through the ambient noise like a sharp blade, and instinctively, I turned. It sounded just like Genevieve’s sister, and I was certain it was directed at me.

And there she stood, her eyes glaring at me with a fury that could rival a storm. The expression on her face was akin to that of someone who had just discovered I had cruélly harméd her beloved pet. I couldn’t help but feel a mix of surprise and wariness; normally, she couldn’t stand me. 

Her gaze softened slightly as she saw the confusion on my face. “It will just be a few minutes,” she added, almost as if trying to reassure me. 

Did I want to follow her anywhere to talk? Absolutely not.

Yet, here I was—compelled to comply. If Adrianna King wanted to speak with me, it likely meant she had something significant to discuss, perhaps regarding the fact that I had offered her sister, Genevieve, a glass of water just an hour ago. 

She led me through a narrow hallway adorned with extravagant paintings, each worth a fortune, and vases that gleamed under the soft lighting like jewels on display. I trailed behind her, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps, until she came to a halt at a door.

“Ladies first,” I said, plastering on my biggest, most insincere smile, the kind I reserved for public appearances. She merely stared at me, unimpressed. 

“Oh, quit it. I am not a fan of your pretend game,” Adrianna shot back, her practiced smile faltering, revealing the strain behind it. “You are not a gentleman, so don’t act like one.”

“Oh,” I murmured, barely able to contain my amusement. 

The intensity of her stare was palpable, and I met it with one of my own, neither of us willing to back down. There was a fierce audacity in her eyes, a spark that reminded me unsettlingly of Genevieve’s own defiance. 

Where is my Vixen? I thought, an unexpected surge of longing washing over me. I missed her more than I’d care to admit. 

Shifting my gaze from her to the door and back again, I shrugged. “Alright. Well, thank you for your kind gesture,” I said, stepping inside. 

“Do you know why I called you here?”

Woah, she wasted no time getting to the point. Quite impressive. 

“I suppose you’ll enlighten me in a moment or so.” 

“Hahaha, aren’t you just funny?” Her sarcasm was almost delightful. 

A wicked smirk crept onto my face as I leaned in slightly. “What do you want, Ms. King?” 

“It’s Mrs. Carrington,” she corrected, her voice icy. 

“And I want you to leave my sister.” 

Ah, yes. She had shed her maiden name.

“No can do, Mrs. Carrington. I rather like my current arrangement.” 

“Leave her.” 

“No.” 

“Mr. Morozov.” 

“Ms. King—oh, sorry, Mrs. Carrington.” 

A frown etched itself onto her features, and I couldn’t help but relish the sight of it. “Why won’t you leave my sister?” 

“Because I love her.” 

“I seriously doubt that. You look like you’re incapable of feeling anything close to love.” 

“Are you judging?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“What if I am?” Her voice dripped with defiance, as if daring me to challenge her. 

I could see where Genevieve got her boldness from; it clearly ran in the family.

“Well, I’d like to disappoint you and tell you that you are wrong. I do feel, and I love your sister. I won’t let you break us apart.”

“She is a kid.” 

“She is not a kid.”

“Would you let your sister date a man your age?” 

“Well, that depends on who the man is.”

“What if he’s an arrogant, overconfident man who thinks the world revolves around him?” she asked, an obvious jab aimed at me. “Would you let her date him?” 

“My sister is smart. I’m sure she won’t make a mistake in choosing the right person. And there’s nothing wrong with being overconfident.” 

“Says the overconfident man,” Adrianna shot back sharply. 

“Or maybe you’re just underconfident, hmm?” I countered. “There’s nothing to worry about. In life, there are winners and there are… well, you know, people like you. Being bitter won’t help you beat me or convince me to leave Genevieve.” 

“I’m not bitter. This is an elder sister worried for her little sister.” 

“Did Mariah give birth? Because my Genevieve is definitely not little.”

“I hàte you, and even if I didn’t, I still wouldn’t like you for my sister. You’re not worthy of her.” 

“And how are you so certain?” I leaned against the doorframe, my confidence unwavering.

“Because someone who wasn’t raised by a woman wouldn’t know how to love and respect one,” Adrianna replied, a devílish smirk stretching across her face as if she knew she had struck a nerve. 

Don’t do it.

She is Genevieve’s sister; she loves her.

Do not do it.

Calm down!

I exhaled a breath intended to quell the rising tide of anger within me, but it only seemed to stoke the flames. I found myself closing the distance between us, my presence looming, hands shoved deep into my pockets, yet she didn’t flinch or shy away from my gaze. 

“You’re right; I wasn’t raised by a woman. So you should know the hôrrible, hôrrible things a man without a mother’s love can grow to do. Would you like to be my test subject?” I could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as I pushed the boundaries of our conversation. 

Just then, the door swung open with a force that made the hinges creak in protest, and a booming voice filled the space. “You will not speak to my wife in such a tone, Dominic Morozov.”

The unmistakable presence of Xavier Carrington, Adrianna’s husband, filled the doorway, his posture radiating authority. The atmosphere shifted instantly, the air vibrating with unspoken challenges.

“Perhaps your wife should learn to speak with a bit more caution.” 

I could see the tension in Xavier as he bristled at my words, seemingly ready to defend her once more. But before he could muster a response, she interjected, a proud smile unfurling across his face like a banner. “Or maybe you should learn to be a gentleman instead of merely pretending to be one. Honestly, it doesn’t suit you. 

“I hear no complaints from anyone else but you two,” I replied, my voice steady, even as I felt the heat rising beneath my skin. 

“That’s because you’ve got them all wrapped around your lying, pretentious fingers,” Adrianna snapped, her tone sharp enough to slice through the thick air. 

Isn’t it amusing? I call them pretentious, and they return the favor.

“Leave Genevieve, or else—” 

“Or else what?” My voice was low, simmering with barely contained rage.

It’s one thing to murmur incessantly within earshot, another entirely to thréaten me. I despíse being threàtened; I relish the act of threateñing others, the thrill of executing those threàts is far more exhilarating. 

I stepped closer, ready to demand what she thought she could do, but Xavier intervened, planting himself between us like a bulwark. He stood tall, his stature imposing, but I was no stranger to intimidation at six foot four myself. Yet, his defiance was unwavering. 

He didn’t flinch when my heated glare bore down on him; instead, he returned it with a steely resolve. We were equal in height, and he seemed undeterred, as though my presence was nothing more than a passing shadow. 

“Trying to put your hands on a lady?” Carrington’s voice dripped with disbelief and mockery, shaking his head in reprimand. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Morozov. You weren’t raised by a brúte, were you?” 

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.” I shrugged, feigning indifference, though my pulse quickened. “But mark my words: the next sentence that escapes her lips will land her in serióus tróuble. 

“That sounds like a threàt,” Adrianna said, her voice steady yet tinged with an edge of defiance. 

“Because it is, Adrianna. Don’t mess with me,” I replied, the tension simmering like heat waves on asphalt. 

“Dominic,” Genevieve’s voice broke through the charged air, drawing all our heads toward the door. She stood at the threshold, her fist wrapped tightly around the doorknob, a picture of resolve. 

A beat hung in the air before she stepped into the room, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing against the polished floor, each stride purposeful and elegant, demanding attention. 

“Is this the type of man you want to be with? The kind of man who threaténs your sister?” Adrianna snapped, adding fuel to the fíre of my unsettled añger. 

Genevieve’s gaze swung to me, and in that moment, her eyes spoke volumes—she was far from pleased with what had just transpired, her disappointment palpable. 

“What? She started it,” I defended, the words spilling out with an edge of frustration. 

If she hadn’t been yapping on and on, I wouldn’t have felt the need to issue a threàt that lingered dangeróusly close to reality. 

“He is sorry,” Adrianna interjected. 

“No, I am not,” I retorted, my glare locked onto hers as she shot daggers in my direction. 

“Dominic,” my girlfriend, who should have been on my side, whined, her tone laced with exasperation. 

“Baby, I love you, but there’s no way I’d apologize to her for a comment about my upbringing,” I said, the words dripping with indignation. 

“You said that?” Genevieve exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief as her sister rolled her eyes in response. “That isn’t right, and you know it, Adrianna.”

“What isn’t right is what’s happening between you two. You’re not good for each other, and sooner or later, whatever…” She waved her hands between Genevieve and me, her expression a canvas of displeasure, “this is, is going to come to an end, and the aftermath won’t be pretty.” 

That was Adrianna Carrington’s way of saying this relationship would rúin us. It was clear she cared more for her sister than for me. She didn’t want me to rúin Genevieve—but did she realize it was her sister who was slowly ruiníng me?!

“Look, Ria, I understand you’re upset, and we can talk about this, but not here. Not when Mom or Dad could walk in at any moment. Let’s meet tomorrow to sort this out,” Genevieve proposed, her voice steady, trying to diffuse the mounting tension. 

Her sister hesitated, her reluctance evident, the thought of me being close to her clearly irking her. But a single glance at her husband had her nodding in agreement. Whatever silent communication passed between them was a mystery to me. 

“Great. Where can we meet?” My Vixen asked. 

“My penthouse,” Adrianna replied, eyeing me as if I had committed a grave sín. “I’d say I don’t want him desecrating my house, but he’s done that already. So, we can just meet there tomorrow at noon.” Her tone was sharp, a far cry from the pleasantries she usually offered in public. 

I couldn’t help but recall the first time I had stepped into her house—the moment Genevieve and I had met face-to-face for the first time. I had been struck by the chaótic beauty of the blue in her eyes, a color that had captivated me from that moment on. 

“Not going to ask if I have plans for that noon, are you, sister-in-law?” I blurted out, regretting it the moment the words left my lips. 

All heads turned to me, each face a mix of disbelief and judgment. Xavier Carrington stared at me, incredulous, as if I were a peasant daring to address royalty. Adrianna, meanwhile, glared at me as though the very thought of me becoming her brother-in-law was an affront to her existence. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under, buried alongside my parents.

Genevieve, however, stared at me in a way that was both surprising and endearing—like she couldn’t believe what I had just said, but it was the good kind of disbelief, the kind that made her cheeks flush with color. 

Before any further conversation could unfold, the door swung open once more, ushering in another presence. 

Mariah King entered the room with an elegance that rivaled her daughters, her movements confident and commanding. She scanned the room, her gaze settling on each of us with a discerning eye. 

“Dominic Morozov,” she cooed, her voice smooth and inviting, the soft smile on her lips almost genuine, as if she were welcoming an old friend. 

“The one and only,” I mirrored her smile, extending my hand toward her. Her grip was firm, and as she accepted my handshake, her grin widened, revealing a warmth that contrasted sharply with the tension in the room. “Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. King.”

“Oh, call me Mariah,” she replied, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. 

Oh, please, get me out of here. 

“Sure thing, Mariah.” I withdrew my hand, tucking it into my pocket, the heat of the moment still lingering. “The pictures don’t do justice to how beautiful you look.”

Was that too cheesy? 

Adrianna rolled her eyes, the gesture dripping with exasperation. Or maybe she was simply repulsed by my attempt at charm. 

Whatever the reason, I noticed Mariah beam at my compliment, her smile radiating a genuine warmth that momentarily eased the tension in the air. 

“Thank you. So, the rumors were true,” she said, her tone teasing.

“It depends. What are these said rumors?” I asked, feigning innocence, my curiosity piqued. 

“That you have a sweet mouth,” she replied, her voice playful, the glimmer in her eye revealing her enjoyment of the banter. 

The next words threatened to spill from my mouth: “Your daughter can agree with that.” But I quickly stifled the thought, fully aware that neither Genevieve nor her mother would appreciate such a comment. 

“I’m sure your girlfriend can’t get enough sweetness from you,” Mariah continued, her smile widening. 

I couldn’t resist the urge to flash my signature smirk, casting a glance at Genevieve, who was doing her utmost to avoid my gaze. “Oh, she sure can’t,” I said, my tone laced with playful confidence.

Before Mariah could respond, the door swung open once again, admitting another figure into the room

Kyle Walker, her husband—the man who had takén my parents from me—entered with an air of casual authority. He strode in and placed a quick, affectionate peck on Mariah’s temple, an image of domestic bliss that made my gut twist. 

“Oh, hey.” Kyle stretched out his hand, his demeanor casual, as if I would willingly engage with him, when the only thing I wanted to do was reach for a gún—or better yet, a kñife. A really sharp kñife. “Kyle Walker.”

I took his hand anyway, maintaining the facade of a gentleman, forcing a polite smile onto my lips. “Dominic. Dominic Morozov.” 

“Oh, I know. I saw you when you were nine, I think.” The moment those words left his mouth, my smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating glare. His own smile stretched wider, a grotésque mask of feigned nostalgia. “I was devastated when I heard the news.” 

Of course he was. 

“Yeah?” I muttered, my voice low, barely above a whisper, the weight of his words pressing uncomfortably against my chest.

“Yes. Your father and I were on the way to becoming good friends when that happened.”

That? He was referring to the déath of my parents as “that”?!

He couldn’t even utter the words “my parents’ déath.” How utterly hypocritical of him!

“Enough about the past.” Mariah King attempted to lighten the mood, her voice a melody of forced cheerfulness; it fell flat in the charged atmosphere. Anger simmered beneath my skin, and I felt the urge to escape before I lost control. “Why don’t we all have dinner together?”

Genevieve and Adrianna’s voices collided in a chorus of surprise, both exclaiming, “What?”

Dinner with the Kings? The very thought sent a shiver down my spine, a mixture of dréad and disbelief washing over me. How utterly delightful. 

This was exactly how I envisioned my evening going—sitting at the same table as the man who had orchestrated my parents’ démise, sharing a meal with him and his family. The thought was positively spectacular, wasn’t it?!

TBC

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 78

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 ~

Four months—four whole bloody months—have passed since Dominic and I made it official. Those four months have been some of the most incredible of my entire existence. 

Sometimes, it feels like a dream how far we’ve come, how strong and intense our love for each other is growing—fierce and unrelenting. 

Our relationship grows stronger and wilder with each passing day, and I absolutely adore it. I love how obsessed Dominic is with me, as I find myself equally entranced by him. Not a single day goes by without us seeing each other, and if we can’t manage that, we make sure to have a good natter on the phone. 

For my first foray into romance, I reckon I’ve done rather well in choosing the right man. He’s older, more mature, utterly charming, understanding, and let’s not forget devilíshly handsome. He’s extremely handsome. 

Goodness, I still catch myself drooling over him, and he’s my boyfriend! I know, it’s hard to believe, but it’s Dominic Morozov—just him, and he’s hot as héll. 

Ah, I nearly forgot to mention how splendid university is going. Surprisingly, I’m having a rather lovely time at uni, more than I ever anticipated. I’ve made friends that I’m eager to see where they might lead, and I’m proud of the progress I’ve made. Life is treating me splendidly at the moment. 

Everything is going perfectly, and when I say everything, I mean every single thing. Even my mother, Mariah King, isn’t bothering me anymore. This may be because of how rarely we see each other due to our busy lives, or perhaps because I’m purposefully avoiding her to maintain my peace. 

However, tonight is different; I can’t hide from her any longer. A party is being hosted by the second wealthiest conglomerate in the United Kingdom, and we Kings have been specially invited. And as long as my last name remains King, I simply must attend; it’s non-negotiable, or so she insists. 

Ugh!

On the bright side, Dominic will be there as the Morozovs also happen to be on the guest list, along with Julianna, so yay for me, I suppose. 

A sigh escaped my lips just as my phone lit up with a ring. I let it ring for a moment, captivated by my reflection in the mirror. 

I’m clad in a long, black sequin dress that hugs my body in all the right places, making me smirk at the mere thought of Dominic seeing me. I can just picture his breath hitching, lips parting before that slow smile spreads across his face. 

My cheeks flushed a deep crimson, my eyes sparkling with the genuine love I feel for Dominic. He’ll be the end of me if I’m not careful. 

My phone rang again, and I groaned before picking it up from the bed. My eyes widened at the contact ID, and a smile quickly followed. 

“Well, well, well, look who finally remembered he has a little sister,” I said, lacing my voice with as much sass as I could muster—trust me, it’s quite a lot. “What’s happened? Has the sky turned red in Korea?”

“That’s no way to greet your big brother after months of silence,” Everett retorted, matching my sass with his own, which made me smile despite my resolve to frown. “Have you forgotten your manners, young lady?”

“Argh, you sound just like your mother.”

“She’s yours too, Dovey. Don’t forget that.” 

“Oh, trust me, I can’t. She reminds me at every opportunity. So, what’s going on? Why did you call?”

“Nothing much, just missed my baby sisters.” 

My lips broke into a wide smile, “Have you spoken to Adrianna?” 

“Yes. I heard the news secondhand from her about her marriage to Xavier Carrington.” 

Of course, it was secondhand. When the news broke to the media, there was a veritable uproar, with everyone looking forward to what they dubbed the wedding of the century. That was two months ago, though; now she’s a Carrington. 

Xavier is a decent bloke, but I can’t stand the fact that their marriage was arranged. Ugh, who even does that these days?!

“When are you coming back, Ever? I really miss you,” I whined, my tone carrying a hint of truth. 

I genuinely miss him, and it’s not as if I can just pop over to see him. I have no idea of his schedule, and he refuses to share it when I ask. 

“Soon, Dovey, soon.” 

It’s never soon!

“You always say that, but you never come.” My voice cracked, tears misting my eyes, my chest aching. “Everett, I feel like you’re distancing yourself from me, and I hàte it.”

My elder brother sighed deeply, the sound sending a shiver through me. “Genevieve,”

Argh, I loathe it when he uses my full name. It always means he’s about to deliver some sort of lecture or impart some elder wisdom that I listen to because, quite frankly, I adore him far too much to hang up 

“Fine, fine, I get it.” 

I don’t. 

I really don’t. But I’m not in the mood for a lecture tonight. 

“Just take care of yourself, alright? And don’t forget to take care of the soon-to-be Mrs. King, okay?”

Yes, Everett Walker King is in a serious relationship with his high school sweetheart, who he insists will lead to marriage. It’s not that I dislike her; it’s just that she’s too good—almost too good to be true.

A bit too good for my liking, which makes me wary. No one can be as perfect as she seems. Well, except for my Julianna, but even she sees and acknowledges the problems in life. His girlfriend, on the other hand, seems to think that life is nothing but sunshine and roses, and I can’t help but hope she gets pricked by a thorn for a bit of reality. 

Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold on a moment, Genevieve. Remember, we like her, and we don’t judge. 

I could almost hear him chuckling on the other end of the line. “You’re still my little sister, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, and I’ll always be your little sister, even if you’re a million miles away.” 

“Just remember, I’m always here for you, Dovey. You’re never alone.” 

His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, and I felt a little lighter. “Thanks, Ever. Just… don’t take too long to come back, alright?”

“Promise. Now, go and look stunning tonight, will you? I want all of the boys feening over you to be speechless.” 

“Trust me, they will be,” I replied with a teasing grin, picturing his expression when he sees me.

We said our goodbyes, and I placed the phone down, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within me. I took a deep breath, collecting myself. Tonight might be a challenge, but at least I’d have Dominic and Julianna by my side.

Focusing on my reflection one last time, I adjusted the straps of my dress, allowing the sequins to shimmer in the light. I was ready for whatever the evening had in store, and with Dominic at my side, I felt as if I could conquer anything.

With a renewed sense of excitement, I grabbed my clutch and slipped on my heels, giving myself one last look in the mirror. “Let’s do this,” I whispered, stepping out into the world, ready to embrace the night ahead. 

                                   ☆☆☆☆

As per usual, the venue was brimming with the well-to-do, a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. There are few things I despise more in this world, and one of them are people. 

People simply aren’t my cup of tea. The act of socialising, of “peopling,” is particularly irksome, so you can imagine how difficult it is for me to maintain a polite smile that I have no desire to wear whenever someone’s gaze meets mine. 

I would rather… well, never mind, that’s rather uncharitable. 

“Your smile isn’t reaching your eyes, Genevieve,” my sister remarked beside me, her voice low yet audible enough to penetrate the din. 

I rolled my eyes in response, letting out a sigh that clearly conveyed my reluctance to be here, and turned my head to face her. “Neither is yours.” 

My gaze shifted from her to the man at her side, his arms wrapped possessively around her waist. They were the epitome of a perfect couple. Both impeccable in the way they dress, their attire exuding elegance, and their conversation that drips with sophistication. On the surface, they were flawless, but I saw through it all. 

They maintained the facade of civility, yet I could see the tension simmering beneath. Adrianna’s glare was sharp enough to cut glass, while he wore a smirk that suggested he relished provoking her. I noticed how she tensed at his touch, as if she were caught off guard, as if she resented his proximity. 

They couldn’t deceive me with whatever charade they were attempting. I was nineteen, hardly a child. 

“At least I can wear mine convincingly,” she shot back before striding away. 

“Did you two have a row?” I turned sharply to find my best friend standing with her boyfriend. 

She wore a lovely blue floral dress—simple yet striking, the kind that captures attention without trying too hard. Her golden hair tumbled over her shoulders, cascading down her back like a shimmering waterfall. 

“You could say that,” I muttered, the heaviness of my mood weighing on my shoulders. 

••

I found myself seated next to Adrianna and her husband. It was either that or endure the company of our parents, and I was determined to protect my mood tonight. 

The party was a curious amalgamation of opera, theatre, and all manners of respectable entertainment that, if I were honest, bored me to the brink of tedium. That was until Dominic Morozov settled into the seat beside me. 

Our eyes locked, and goodness, I couldn’t suppress the smile that blossomed on my face. His gaze roamed over me, and even though he couldn’t fully appreciate the details of my dress, there was a glimmer in his eyes that made me blush—at least I hoped it was subtle. 

“You look stunning,” he mouthed, his lips curling into a charming smile. 

“You’re not looking too shabby yourself,” I replied with a silent gesture, earning a roguish smirk in return. 

“Not looking too shabby” was an understatement of epic proportions. Dominic was clad in a striking ocean-blue tuxedo, his shoes gleaming as though polished to perfection, and his hair styled with such meticulous care that I felt an overwhelming urge to run my fingers through it, just to tousle it a bit. He looked utterly irresistible, so captivating that nearly every woman in the room—married or single—couldn’t seem to tear their eyes away from him. 

All I wanted at that moment was to leap into his arms, to wrap myself around him and kiss him senseless. To show everyone here who he belonged to, who made him weak in the knees, who claimed him for my own. But I knew better than to sully the King name with scandalous tabloid fodder. 

You’d be astonished at how quickly a single tabloid can ignite a wildfire of gossip. So, I remained still, feigning interest in whatever trite spectacle unfolded on stage. 

Seconds morphed into minutes, and I had sat there long enough to feel uncomfortable and stifled. Remind me again why I was here instead of lounging in my air-conditioned room, draped over my bed. 

A sigh escaped my lips, followed by a deeper exhalation. Instead of alleviating the weight on my shoulders, it only served to scratch at my throat. I cleared it as quietly as I could, attempting not to disturb those around me, but the sensation of a cough bubbled up, refusing to be stifled. 

Before I could swallow it down, the cough erupted, and in an instant, Dominic was offering me a bottle of water, the cap unscrewed. I accepted it, not realising my misstep until I had downed nearly half. 

I felt her piercing gaze before I even turned my head. Adrianna was there, staring at me as if I were Snow White, having just taken a bite of an apple offered by a mysterious ugly, old woman. And perhaps I was, though instead of an ugly crone, I had an incredibly handsome man by my side whom she loathed. 

Dàmmit!

I am déad. 

I felt a wave of heat wash over me, a cocktail of embarrassment and guilt swirling in my chest. I had unwittingly stepped into a minefield, and I could almost hear the ticking clock counting down to my doom. Her expression was a blend of disbelief and fury, and I knew I was in for it. 

“Really, Genevieve?” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper yet sharp enough to cut through the ambient noise of the party. “Is this really necessary?”

I cringed internally, the weight of her disappointment pressing down on me. “I didn’t mean to,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, but the tremor betrayed my nerves. “He just… offered me a drink.” 

Dominic shot me an amused glance, clearly enjoying the spectacle. I shot him a warning look, silently pleading for him to keep his mouth shut. He merely raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, as if he were relishing the drama unfolding before us. 

Adrianna’s gaze flickered to him, and I could see the contempt bubbling beneath her composed exterior. “You always seem to find a way to get entangled in the mess, don’t you?” she snapped, her voice laced with irritation. “What do you think Mother would say if she knew?” 

Ah, the dreaded ‘Mother’ card. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a blush of shame creeping in. “I’m not a child, Adrianna,” I replied, trying to keep my tone measured. “I can handle myself.” 

“Clearly,” she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because nothing screams ‘I’m handling things’ like being caught with Dominic Morozov, of all people.” 

Before I could retort, Dominic leaned closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping me like a comforting blanket. “You know, I think you’re both being a bit dramatic,” he said, his voice low and smooth, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “It’s just a drink—hardly a scandal.” 

Adrianna shot him a look that could have curdled milk. “You’re one to talk, Dominic. You thrive on drama, and you know it.” 

“Touché,” he conceded with a playful grin, his charm radiating like a beacon. “But I assure you, I’m quite harmless. At least with Genevieve.” 

I felt a flutter in my stomach at his words, a mixture of excitement and apprehension. I couldn’t help but smile, despite the tension simmering between the three of us. “See? He’s harmless,” I said, trying to defuse the situation. “Just a bit of fun.” 

Adrianna rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Fun? This isn’t some high school party, Genevieve. You’re in the real world now. It’s time to grow up.” 

“Perhaps you should take your own advice, dear sister,” I shot back, the words slipping out before I could rein them in. “You’re hardly the poster child for maturity yourself.” 

The air between us crackled with unresolved tension, and I could see the hurt flicker in her eyes before she masked it with a cool façade. “I’ll be watching you,” she warned, her tone steely as she turned. “Don’t make me regret sitting here with you.” 

As she strode away, a heavy silence settled around us. I turned to Dominic, who was watching me with a bemused expression. “Well, that was fun,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.” 

“Glad you enjoyed the show,” I replied, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words. Despite the discomfort, I felt a thrill in the air, an electric connection that made my heart race. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his tone shifting to something more genuine. “Your sister can be a bit intense.” 

“I’ll survive,” I replied, attempting to brush off the encounter. “It’s just… family drama. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Family can be a right pain sometimes,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “But you’ve got to admit, it makes for some interesting evenings.” 

I chuckled softly, a smile breaking through the tension. “That it does. Though I could do without the drama.” 

Dominic leaned back, his gaze softening as he regarded me. “Life’s too short to worry about what others think, Genevieve. You’ve got to embrace the moments, even if they come with a bit of drama.” 

As the evening wore on, I tried to focus on the performances, but my mind kept drifting back to Dominic, the way he sat so effortlessly, exuding confidence and charm. It was maddening, really, to be so aware of him, and yet so acutely aware of the very real consequences of our connection.

TBC

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 77

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 ~

“So, which one do you want to try first?” I inquired, my gaze fixed on Genevieve, who was intently studying the two dishes before her, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

It took every ounce of restraint not to chuckle at her adorableness. The way she scrutinized the plates was almost comical, as if she were weighing the pros and cons of diving into the unknown. 

“Which one tastes better than it looks? Some dishes can be deceiving—looking delightful but tasting dreadful,” she mused, her brow furrowing slightly. 

“Well, my love, I can assure you that both of these meals are nothing short of divine.” Locking my eyes with hers, I gestured toward the first dish. “This is plov—a delightful medley of rice, vibrant veggies, and tender chicken. I promise, it’s worth a bite.” 

With a nod of determination, Genevieve picked up a spoon, her movements deliberate. She hovered it over the fluffy rice, then tentatively took a small bite. I watched, captivated, as her expression transitioned from cautious curiosity to sheer delight, a radiant glimmer igniting in her eyes. 

“So?” I prompted, even though her reaction already told me everything I needed to know. She responded by scooping another spoonful, relishing the flavors. “Do you like it.” 

“Hmm, it’s fine,” she replied, masking her enthusiasm with a nonchalant facade. 

“Just fine?” I pressed, amused by her playful defiance. A small shrug was her only answer. “Alright. The other dish is Pelmeni—Russia’s unofficial national dish. They call it ‘the heart of Russian cuisine.’ It’s a delicate pasta-like dough filled with savory minced meat.” I leaned in closer, a teasing smirk on my lips. “Perhaps this one will meet your lofty standards, huh, my love.” 

With an exaggerated eye roll, she picked up a fork, skewering one of the dumplings before taking a slow, deliberate bite. As she chewed, the spark returned to her eyes, and I couldn’t help but smile at the beauty before me, radiant in her enjoyment.

“You like this one?” I asked, my heart swelling with affection. 

“Hmm, it’s fine,” she repeated, her tone feigning indifference. 

I chuckled, unable to contain my amusement. “Genevieve.” 

“What?” she replied, her clueless game almost too charming to resist.

“You won’t say anything?”

“About what?” She pursed her lips, the corners twitching as she struggled to suppress the grin that threatened to bloom across her face.

I caught a glimpse of it, and she, in turn, noticed my effort to remain stoic. With a playful wink, she sent my resolve tumbling, but I fought to maintain my composure. If she can hide her smile, then so can I.

Before I could wallow in my sulking, like a drenched puppy abandoned in the rain, Genevieve took pity on me. “I love it. They are both delicious.”

I believed her, not just because she never lies to me, but because I had poured my heart into making them. It took two to four hours, the warm cadence of Genevieve’s laughter intertwining with her soft, random kisses, coaxing me through the cooking process. Trust me, I wasn’t complaining.

“Which one do you like better?”

“The Plov. I pronounced it well, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did, Vixen.”

Her smile lit up the room, and despite my distraction, I slid the bowl of Plov toward her. To my surprise, her eyes seemed to shimmer even more, radiating a warmth that enveloped me—a blend of love and bliss that was utterly intoxicatiñg.

I watched as she filled her empty stomach with food, a sight that made my heart swell. Thanks to my uncle’s appearance, she had skipped breakfast, and seeing her savor each bite felt like a small victory.

“Genevieve?” Her gaze locked onto mine, and in that instant, the world around us faded, leaving only her.

Every time our eyes met like that, it felt like a collision of stars, the force of it knocking the breath from my lungs. I struggled to draw in air, captivated by the depth of her hypnotizing gaze.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I blurted, the words slipping out like a confession.

“Thanks?” she replied, a hint of confusion lacing her voice, which only prompted a chuckle from me. “Is that why you called me?”

“No. I actually wanted to tell you something, but I got sidetracked.”

“Oh.” She nodded, her curiosity piqued. “Are you on the right track now?”

“Uh-huh. Tomorrow, I have somewhere to go. Would you like to come?”

Typically, I wouldn’t bring anyone other than Cassidy, my secretary, to work events, but I had a surprise for Genevieve that I simply couldn’t wait to unveil. Plus, there was the matter of Ivan Morozov looming in the background.

“Sure. SU is on winter holidays, so I’m free.”

“Great! We can do some sightseeing along the way. I’ll show you a lot of interesting places here in Moscow; I bet you’ll love it.”

“Bet. I love everything I do with you,” she replied, her voice a melody that resonated deep within me.

••

The following day arrived with an urgency that caught me off guard. One moment, I was enveloped in the warmth of my girlfriend, her intoxicating scent wrapping around me like a comforting shroud; the next, I was jolted from the tranquility of sleep by the insistent ring of an alarm I had definitely not set. 

Groaning, I buried my face deeper into the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet, familiar fragrance that lingered there. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she instinctively shifted closer, her body molding against mine in a way that felt both intimate and possessive. 

I revel in this. I love that she seeks me even in her dreams, a testament to how deeply I have embedded myself into her very being. It’s a bittersweet realization that I have tainted her, that I am not the hero in her story.

I know I am no good for her. If she feels like she’s drowniñg, then I have no intention of rescuiñg her; rather, I will become the very depths from which she strugglés to escàpe. I will be the anchor, holding her dówn, as long as I can keep her by my side. She is no salvation for me either. 

She embodies a dañger that whispers rather than shouts. Just one fleeting glance, a mere hint of a smile, and I am reduced to a mere puddle, a marionette dancing to the melody she plays. Yes, I may leave scàrs on her heart, but the déstruction she will wrought upon me will be beyond repair—deàdly, unsettling, and unfathomably profound. 

So here we are, teetering on the edge of drowning in our own chàos. A fitting metaphor, really. At least I have a fondness for the color blue.

Speaking of blue, it’s been nearly six hours since I last caught a glimpse of those captivating cerulean hues. I rolled over, hovering above the sleeping beauty beneath me.

She laid there, a vision of tranquility and grace, her features softened in slumber. It felt almost siñful to disturb her peace, but duty calls, especially since she’s the one who set the dàmn alarm clock.

If she weren’t Genevieve King, I would have discàrded her long ago, no second thoughts.

With a resigned sigh, I leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. She stirred, but my arms were a fortress, a cage from which there was no escape. I pressed another kiss against her mouth, eliciting a soft, barely-there groan. A smirk crept across my face as I planted yet another kiss on her cheek, and then another, and another, until I could no longer resist the pull of her skin.

I paused my playful assàult when Genevieve’s eyelids fluttered as if she might awaken, but they remained closed. I redirected my kisses to her neck, that delicate patch of skin just waiting to be explored.

My lips found her neck, slow and gentle at first, teasing and tender. The second kiss was a different story altogether; this time, I was ravenous, nibbling and sucking with a hunger that made her breath hitch.

A low m0àn escaped the depths of her slumber, and I couldn’t help but revel in the sound, smug and satisfied that I had coaxed it from her. The growing mark on her neck, a vivid bruise of red and purple, was a testament to my victory.

“This is one annoying yet exciting way to wake up,” she murmured, her eyes finally fluttering open and locking onto mine.

“Then I promise to always wake you up like this.”

“Are you sure you can keep all these promises, Dominic? It’s a lot, you know.”

“Are you doubting me?”

“Never.”

“Good girl.”

With a roll of her eyes, she pushed me off her before striding toward the bathroom. “Why did you wake me up?”

“Because you set an alarm.”

“For you!”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Don’t you know this is like a vacation for me?”

“It is?” I asked, wrapping my arms around her waist as she squeezed toothpaste onto a spare toothbrush.

She shot me a glare through the mirror, yet she didn’t pull away. I counted the seconds, waiting for her reaction.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

“Dominic!” Genevieve snapped, her gaze landing on the fresh hickéy I had left on her neck.

I struggled to suppress my laughter, knowing it might earn me a scolding. But the sight of her—toothpaste smeared and all—was simply too comical.

“Funny, am I right?”

I shook my head, backing away as she pivoted toward me. It’s absurd, I know, that a màfia Don finds himself intimidated by his own girlfriend, but I can’t help it.

When her voice drops to that low, calm tone, it’s a warning—a sign to run.

“You look so pretty this morning.”

“I didn’t look pretty yesterday?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Do I?”

Yep, definitely time to run for my life.

Or. 

“I love you.”

Stúpid? Absolutely.

But it worked, because a smile broke across her face as she stalkéd closer. That smile morphed from sweet to devílish, “How would you like it if I gave you a hickéy when you have somewhere to go?”

“I would love it,” I replied honestly. “I adore being marked by you.”

“Aww, look at you saying all the right things.”

When haven’t I always?

Do I need to remind you? That irritating voice in my head piped up. 

I’m determined to say all the right things to convince her to use the car of her choice—the one I plan to get for her, which may or may not come equipped with a tracking device by the time she starts driving it. 

You know what they say, “There’s nothing wrong with tracking your loved ones if it’s for their safety.” 

No one says that!

Shut up. 

TBC

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