Page 80 of Dark Obsession

Before I can press him, he heads back into the bedroom. I watch him go, trying to put my finger on what’s got him acting so strange. But it’s Grigori and he’s a vault. I give up trying to figure it out and slip my phone in my pocket just as he returns, his face giving nothing away. Without a word, he rests his hand on the small of my back, guiding me out the door and down the stairs.

As we descend, warm, familiar scents fill the air—eggs, bacon, something sweet. My stomach growls.

“Smells like an American breakfast. Which means—”

“Family’s back,” I finish, grinning. It’s rare these days to have everyone in one place, and the idea of it lights me up inside.

We head into the kitchen. Luk and Lev are leaning against the counter, deep in conversation over coffee, while Yuri and Alexeiset the table. Luk’s wife, Maura, stands at the stove, flipping pancakes like it’s a sport, all while wrangling their son, Michael, who’s busy sneaking strawberries from a bowl. Across from her is Lev’s wife, Dalia, attempting to keep their twin girls, Emma and Laurel, from starting World War III over who gets the bigger pancake.

The noise, the familiar faces, the smell of food… it all hits me at once. I wasn’t expecting this little reunion to pull at me the way it does, but here we are. These people are chaos and comfort and history all rolled into one, and right now, it feels perfect.

Grigori’s hand finds mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to.

We settle in at the table, and before I can even blink, Maura’s setting down plates piled high with eggs, bacon, and pancakes, still managing to keep a sharp eye on her little one, Michael, who’s attempting to sneak another handful of strawberries from the bowl.

Lev passes me a mug of coffee, steaming and rich, and I take it with a grateful nod, savoring all of us finally being together again.

“So,” I say, leaning back as I turn to Maura. “How was LA? I’m guessing the weather was a little less moody than here.”

Dalia, perched beside her husband, grins wide, jumping in before Maura can answer. “It was perfect. The kids loved it; we practically had to drag them to the airport when it was time to leave. Emma keeps asking when we can move there forever, don’t you, Em?”

Emma, all of four years old, looks up with a defiant expression that’s half her mother, half her father. “I liked the pool,”she announces, as if this detail should seal the deal on their permanent relocation.

Leaning in, I can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve got good taste, kiddo. Sun and swimming beat this cold any day.”

Maura laughs, pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee. “We all nearly melted under that sun but she’s right. Poolside life is something else.” She gives me a knowing look as her eyes flick to Grigori’s hand resting on mine. “It looks like others enjoyed some cozy time back home while we were gone, hmm?”

Dalia gasps, clapping her hands together like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, I knew this would happen someday! You two were always so… ugh, what’s the word? Combustible?”

I roll my eyes, trying to brush it off. Grigori just raises an eyebrow, clearly amused as he sips his coffee. Across the table, Michael claps a sticky hand on his mother’s arm, no doubt trying to steal the spotlight with a grin full of syrup.

The chatter rolls on, the kids piping up here and there with their chaotic commentary, everyone sharing stories and laughing. And for a moment, I just sit back, soaking it all in. The conversation, the warmth, the noise—every part of it feels like a dream I don’t want to wake up from.

For the first time in a long time, there’s a peace in the air, a sense that maybe we’re finally moving past all the bloody shadows of the cartel.

I glance over at Grigori, noticing he’s quieter than usual. His smile is there, but his eyes hold something else, a shadow I can’t quite place. I lean over, lowering my voice so only he can hear. “Hey, you alright?”

He looks at me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and squeezes my hand. “Better than ever,” he whispers. “Actually,” he raises his voice slightly, drawing everyone’s attention. “If you don’t mind, I have something I need to say.”

The room quiets instantly, all eyes turning toward him. Even the kids sense something’s up, looking around with big, curious eyes.

Grigori stands, a touch of stiffness in his movements, betraying his attempt at trying to hide the pain I know he still feels. I catch it immediately, the slight wince he tries to mask, and I feel a rush of determination. He needs more care, more love, and I’m going to make sure he gets it.

He clears his throat and glances around the table, clearly gathering himself before speaking. “I’m not much for speeches,” he begins, a little awkwardly.

Alexei jumps in with a grin. “Oh, right. The famously loquacious Grigori,” he quips, earning a round of laughter from everyone.

Grigori chuckles, too, the tension in the room easing a little as he relaxes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But this is important.” He glances at me, and there’s something raw and unguarded in his gaze that I’ve never seen before. “Being part of this family has meant more to me than any of you could ever know. You welcomed me in, treated me like one of your own. And I’ve had chances to pay that kindness back, to prove myself. But…” He pauses, looking directly at me, and I feel my heart race, a swell of emotion tightening my throat.

“But the truth is, as you all now know, I’ve been living a lie, keeping my true feelings about Elena, about how much I love her, a secret.”

The entire table goes still, his words making my heart beat faster. I can feel the warmth rising to my cheeks as everyone turns to look at me, eyes bright and knowing.

Grigori’s gaze softens. “The truth is, she’s been everything to me for a long time, whether I wanted to admit it or not. This morning I watched her as she stood at the window, the sunlight shining on her, and I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.” He reaches into his pocket, his eyes locked on mine. “I knew I had to make her my wife.”

The room blurs a bit as he drops to one knee, his eyes shining with something fierce and tender. He opens a small, velvet box, revealing a ring that glints just as bright as his gaze. “Elena,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “will you marry me?”

A rush of pure joy overtakes me, and before I can think, I shout, “Yes!”

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