Page 15 of Between Power and Passion

I turn slowly to face him, cradling the book against my chest. His eyes widen as he takes in the tears spilling down my cheeks. He quickly crosses the room and snatches the book from my grasp.

"Don't go through my things," he snaps, clutching the book tightly.

I flinch at the harshness in his tone, the sting of rejection fresh. Dmitri's jaw clenches, and for a moment, regret flickers across his features. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by that impenetrable wall he so often keeps up.

I stare at Dmitri, my heart pounding as he clutches the worn book tightly. "You... you kept it?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

He doesn't respond, his jaw set in a hard line. I take a step toward him. "Dmitri... you kept the book I gave you?" I ask again, searching his eyes.

"Yes!" He shouts, startling me. "I fucking kept it, okay?" With a sudden burst of rage, he flings the book across the room. It slams against the wall with a dull thud. "It's just a useless goddamn book!"

My eyes follow the book in stunned silence. I look at Dmitri, and before he can leave, I grip his wrist.

"Tell me," I say softly, covering his hand with my free one. "Tell me what happened that night your family was killed."

When he doesn't respond, I pull Dmitri toward the bed. He resists at first but eventually relents with a frustrated sigh and sinks onto the edge of the mattress. I settle beside him, our shoulders brushing, and face his brooding profile.

"Tell me," I implore again, voice soft but insistent. "What happened that night?"

Dmitri's eyes remain fixed on some distant point, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. For a long moment, the only sound is our mingled breathing. Just when I think he'll refuse to answer, he exhales a shuddering breath and begins to speak in a low, gravelly tone.

"It started like any other night..." His fingers flex, curling into fists atop his thighs. "My sister Katya was setting the table for supper while my mum prepared the meal."

A muscle twitches in his clenched jaw as he pauses, lips pressed into a grim line. I resist the urge to reach for his hand, sensing any uninvited touch might cause him to retreat back into himself.

"Then the pounding started." Dmitri's voice drops even lower, laced with remembered terror. "Harsh knocks at the door, loud enough to rattle the windows. My father went to answer..."

He trails off, squeezing his eyes shut as if to block out the onslaught of memories. I wait with bated breath, not daring to interrupt this fragile recounting.

"They forced their way inside," Dmitri continues hoarsely, his knuckles white from the force of his clenched fists. "Six or seven of them, all brandishing guns. They..."

His throat works convulsively, but no words come. I can't stop myself this time. I place my hand over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Dmitri's eyes snap open at my touch, glittering with unshed tears. "They made me watch," he finally chokes out, anguish contorting his features. "They tied me up and made me watch as they interrogated and killed my parents. " His voice cracks. "They shot Katya right in front of me."

I gently cup Dmitri's face in my hands, forcing him to meet my steady gaze. "What did they want?" I ask softly. "What were they after that night?"

His eyes harden, the brief vulnerability replaced by a simmering rage. A bitter laugh escapes his lips. "They kept demanding some shipment, over and over." His fingers dig into his thighs. "Maybe it was a code or something, but my father insisted he didn't have what they wanted. He begged them, told them he was clueless." His jaw clenches. "It didn't matter. They executed him and my mother anyway."

My chest tightens as I imagine the horrific scene. I lean forward, resting my forehead against his. "I'm so sorry, Dmitri," I whisper, wishing I could shoulder his pain. "No one should have to go through that."

He pulls back slightly, eyes burning with determination. "It doesn't matter," he says gruffly. "What's done is done. But I will get my revenge, Valentina. I'll make them pay for what they did. Every single one of them."

I hold his intense gaze, conviction blazing in my own eyes. "I'll help you," I vow, the words tumbling out before I can think better of it. "Whatever you need, I'll help you with it."

Shock flickers across his face at my declaration. Before he can respond, I surge forward and press my lips to his. He stills, caught off guard. He grips my shoulders, trying to push me back. "Valentina, we shouldn't—"

Ignoring his protests, I snake my arms around his neck. "I'm offering myself to you, Dmitri. As a willing captive." I hold his gaze, unflinching. "I'm yours now. Do whatever you want with me." I swallow hard. "If you want to kill me... then go ahead."

Dmitri's eyes blaze with a storm of emotions—anger, longing, anguish. His fingers dig into my shoulders. "Fuck," he growls.

Then his mouth crushes against mine in a searing, desperate kiss. I gasp as his teeth graze my lip. Our bodies press together as the kiss deepens, all restraint gone. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

Dmitri's hands slide around my waist, pulling me toward him. Our lips meet again, and I feel myself falling—my heart, my body, my soul—into an abyss of desire. Reality narrows to the sensation of his lips on mine, his hands on my skin.

He breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged. He gently lowers me onto the bed. As he leans over me, he winces.

"Dmitri, your wound," I murmur, concern in my voice.

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