Page 3 of Savage Obsession

“Fine,” I say, the word dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll find a bride. Maybe Bella will do. She’s beautiful, obedient, and already well-acquainted with my bed.”

Sebastian’s expression hardens. “No. The Galanis girl isn’t an option. This isn’t just about convenience, Aithan. It’s about strategy.”

I arch a brow, my irritation flaring. “Strategy? Care to elaborate?”

“The Russians,” he says simply. “The Makarov Bratva, to be precise. An alliance with them would open doors to new markets, particularly in Eastern Europe. A marriage alliance with Makarov would ensure that.”

“A Bratva princess,” I say, my tone a mix of disbelief and disdain. “You want me to marry a Russian Mafia Princess? And burden me with liability?”

“Yes,” Sebastian says, his voice firm. “She may be a Mafia Princess, but I have heard she is also intelligent, strong-willed, and the sister of the Bratva’s new leader. This marriage would cement an alliance with them and secure your position too.”

I run a hand through my hair; the tension coiling tighter. “You’re asking me to chain myself to a spoiled, bratty princess for the sake of mafia politics?”

Sebastian doesn’t flinch. “I’m asking you to step up and do what needs to be done. You don’t have to love her, Aithan. You just have to marry her. And this will secure you and your linage rule for a long time.”

There is sense to what my father is saying. If I must marry, then I’ll make sure to milk the union for all the gains I can get.

I push to my feet; the chair scraping against the floor. My hands clench into fists at my sides as I glare at him. “I’ll marry her,” I say finally, the words burning like acid on my tongue. “But don’t expect me to play the part of a doting husband.”

Sebastian’s expression remains unreadable. “All I expect is for you to do what’s necessary.”

Without another word, I turn and stride out of the study, my mind a whirlwind of anger and frustration. The path ahead is clear, but it’s one I’m going to be walking on my terms.

That night, I sit nursing a full bottle of dark rum and allow the gate I have firmly shut for the past ten years to flood open. I lean forward, bracing my elbows on the edge of the polished oak desk in my office. My head dropping into trembling hands. My chest tightens, aching, choking with memories I’ve spent ten years burying.

They rise now, merciless and vivid. As ghosts slipping through cracks, I believed sealed forever. I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles are pale white. But the memories flood in relentlessly.

I remember her soft touch, delicate fingertips brushing my jaw as I awakened every morning, smiling into my eyes with a tenderness that whispered eternity. The scent of jasmine clinging to our sheets, to my skin, a silent promise she would always be there, warming the darkness I carried inside. A darkness only she had ever tamed.

"I love you,agapi mou." Her voice, honeyed and gentle, like velvet sliding against my soul, would breathe against my ear.Every moment together had been colored by the purity of her love.

Eva.

My beautiful wife.

My first and only love.

My chest aches sharply, my breath catching. I've avoided thinking her name for years, pushing it far away, locking it in the darkest, untouched corners of my mind. Yet tonight it claws its way back, slicing through my resolve. But worse still is the small voice that haunts me like a relentless echo, the one I have kept desperately silent through years of anguish.

"Daddy!"

I hear it so clearly. Axel's voice was pure and joyful. Bubbling with excitement as his small footsteps thundered down the marble hallway every evening. My heart used to swell at the sound, the tension from the day's cruelty and violence instantly melting away when he threw himself into my arms, small limbs wrapping tightly around my neck.

"Daddy's home!" He would say as if that was the highlight of his whole day. It used to make me feel like I hung the very stars in the sky.

The tightness intensifies, a crushing fist squeezing my heart as the memory deepens, as Axel’s voice echoes louder. His small, warm body pressed against mine, his brown eyes sparkling, a perfect replica of his mother's. His innocent smile lighting up the room.

I used to lift him high in the air, his delighted squeals filling the house with pure, bright laughter. His arms around my neck had been my sanctuary, his unconditional love a balm against the violence and ugliness of my world.

He was my hope, my reason to be better, kinder—a man worth looking up to.

I blink my eyes open; my vision blurs, and I feel tears sliding down my cheek. I hastily brush the moisture away with the back of my hand, shame burning in my gut. Grief has made me weak.

I have not cried since I buried them.

The thought of marriage again, of allowing anyone else to touch that sacred space Eva occupied, fills me with icy dread. The very idea is a betrayal of her memory. A violation to the ghost of the family I'd once dreamed of growing old with.

I see it clearly now—the image I once cherished—me and Eva sitting on the porch of our home, silver-haired, our fingers intertwined as Axel, grown and strong, laughed with his own children, filling our home once more with the promise of joy.

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