Page 76 of Endless Obsession

By the time the yacht docks again, I’m well and truly drunk. I know my father and Lev have probably noticed, but I’m beyond giving a shit. I drag myself off of the ship and down to the waiting car, falling into the backseat as it takes me back to my penthouse.

For the second time in a row after seeing my father, I end up sitting on the floor of my shower, letting the hot water beat down on me. The cold feeling hasn’t left me, icy fingers wrapped around my heart as I think about the fact that my brothers know about Charlotte.

In all my games with her, I foolishly thought they were the one thing I could protect her from. I couldn’t protect her from eventually uncovering my lies, or the truth of who I am, or how violent my world is. I couldn’t stop either of us from getting hurt, eventually, because of this obsession I’ve fostered. But I thought I could keep her safe from them.

I should warn her. I should tell her to get away. I should come clean and tell her the danger that she’s in, but I’m not sure she’d believe me. The world that I live in, one full of Bratva and mafia, criminals, and kingpins, isn’t one that everyone knows about. She might think I’m making it up to justify my lies. She might never speak to me again, but stay put, leaving herself wide open for my family to use her against me.

I could take her away myself. I could make her go with me, until she understands.

I run my hands through my wet hair at the thought, my eyes shut tight. Until she understands what, exactly? That I’m falling in love with her? That I want to keep her, even though I have no right to her? That she can trust me to protect her, even though I’ve only ever told her half the truth at best?

I could keep her captive, but she’d hate me for it. Still, if it’s the only way?—

I know it’s wrong to even consider it. But my imagination is out of control, trying to fathom some way out of this where I don’t lose her.

I can’t let her go. Not now, and maybe not ever. And I refuse to let my family take her from me.

—

In the morning, my head is pounding, and I don’t feel any more at ease. The anxiety has settled into a ball of ice in my stomach, and I get up despite my headache and nausea, leaving my penthouse to watch Charlotte go to work. The sight of her walking into the building, happy and unbothered, eases the feeling a little, but not enough. She’s safe for now, but only until my family decides they need to leverage something against me. And then?—

I need her. I need to be close to her, to feel her in my arms, to remember that she’s real and safe and mine. I’m tempted to fall back on the old staple of meeting her at her spot for lunch, but it doesn’t feel like enough. With my heart slamming against my ribs, I pull my phone out, texting her.

Ivan: I know it’s a work night, but meet me for dinner? I want to see you.

Charlotte: It’s been less than a day and a half since we saw each other.

Ivan: Is this too much? I miss you. I shouldn’t say that, but I do.

Charlotte: No, it’s sweet. Dinner it is.

I pick her up at six that evening in the Mustang. Instead of going anywhere fancy, I take her to a little place I know of just outside the city, a bistro that has a quiet, rustic vibe, but serves food as good as anything I’ve had downtown. Logically, I know that if Lev or any of my brothers are following me, just getting outside the city limits won’t stop them from watching where I’m going. But it feels better, safer, and that’s what I need right now.

“Are you alright?” Charlotte asks as we sit down, looking at me with concern in her eyes. “You seem off. Worried about something.”

I shrug, glancing down at the menu. Everything here is good, but nothing sounds particularly appetizing. “Work stress.” It’s not entirely a lie. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Just a lot on my mind, I guess.”

She tilts her head slightly. “And coming out to have dinner with me makes you feel better?” There’s a hint of surprise in her voice, as if that idea seems foreign to her. As if she’s never had a boyfriend tell her that his night was made better by having her there.

“Of course it does.” I look at her, wanting her to believe this, at least, even if she eventually stops believing anything else I’ve ever said. “Every time I see you, Charlotte, my day lights up. You are, without a doubt, the best person I’ve ever known. And when I’m with you, the rest of it—it feels unimportant.”

Her eyes widen, and she sets her fork down, looking as if she’s struggling with what to say. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she finally says, softly. “You’re a very sweet man, Ivan Vasili.”

I want to laugh, then, because no one on earth has ever described me as a sweet man. I don’t know a single person who ever could, except for, apparently, Charlotte Williams. But that urge dies away on the heels of hearing her say the false name I gave her, the cover that I set up from the very beginning to keep her from knowing who I really am.

“I’m not sure that’s true,” I tell her instead, reaching across the table to touch her hand. “But I’m glad that you think it is.”

For all that she was willing to make small talk over dinner, telling me about her friends and what she’s been doing at work, asking me about my hobbies—most of which I can’t tell her—she’s unusually quiet on the drive back to her apartment. I look over at her when I pull up to the curb, reaching out to rest a hand on her knee.

The tension is thick in the car, but it isn’t only the desire that I always feel when I’m near her. It’s the weight of all the lies I’ve woven around us, the weight of my family’s threat, and even though Charlotte knows none of that, I have a suspicion that she can feel it, too.

“Charlotte?” I murmur her name, and she turns to look at me, her green eyes luminous in the dim glow filtering in from the streetlights.

“I want you to come up,” she says softly. “I know you said you wanted to take it slow, but, Ivan?—”

I’ve already put the car in gear, pulling away from the curb and towards the entrance to the underground lot where I can park. I might have wanted to take things slow the last time I saw her, but that was before my father’s threat, before Lev leaned close to my ear and whispered the things he would do to Charlotte if he got ahold of her.

The emotions warring inside of me are too many and too complex to unravel them all. It’s not only possessiveness and jealousy and anger and fear, but others, too—and somewhere in the mix of all of it is the undeniable fact that I care for Charlotte more than I ever meant to. More than I ever should have.

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