Page 40 of Savage Obsession

I cannot allow her to stay.

I will not allow her to stay.

This is war, and I have never lost a battle.

With a slow exhale, I reach for my phone and dial a secure number. The line clicks, and a deep voice answers, waiting for my command.

"Someone is in my path, and needs to die," I say calmly, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "Make it slow and painful."

There is a brief silence, then an understanding grunt.

"As you wish."

I end the call, setting the phone down with a sense of satisfaction.

Aithan took the position that belonged to me and gave it to the Russians.

Now, I will take from him.

And this time, I will make sure he never rises again.

20

Aithan

It’s been weeks since Leon and I started investigating our inside men, and we still do not have a concrete lead. I ignore the pang of failure and frustration to focus on this evening’s event.

The evening air carries the subtle bite of fall, but inside the luxury limousine, heat rolls off Yelena in waves. She is a vision—no, a temptation—wrapped in midnight blue silk that clings to her curves like a second skin. The gown cascades down her body, pooling at her feet like liquid moonlight. Delicate embroidery of silver thread lines the bodice, shimmering under the dim interior lights. The plunging neckline is tastefully cut, revealing just enough to tempt, but the real showstopper is the way the deep blue fabric complements her porcelain skin, making her electric blue eyes shine even brighter. Her raven waves tumble down her back in soft curls, glossy and decadent.

She is breathtaking. And she is mine.

I drag my gaze from her bare shoulder to her lips, painted in a sultry shade of red that is daring me to ruin them. “You look devastatingly beautiful,agápi mou.”

She smiles, catching the hunger in my gaze. “And you look dangerously handsome,” she quips, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle on my tuxedo lapel. “But keep your hands to yourself, Vasilios. I spent an hour on my makeup.”

I groan, my fingers twitching as I resist the urge to drag her onto my lap. “A damn shame.”

She laughs, batting away my hand when I graze my fingers up her thigh. “No. You’re going to mess up my dress.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I murmur, recalling how this same body trembled under mine just hours ago. My blood thickens at the memory, but Yelena raises a brow in warning.

“If you touch me, Aithan, I swear I’ll—”

I lean in, my breath warm against her ear. “You’ll what?”

She lets out a huff, crossing her arms, but the flicker of amusement in her eyes tells me she enjoys teasing me. This woman will drive me to madness.

The limo slows, and I glance out the window as the grand estate comes into view. The venue is one of the most lavish properties my family owns—golden chandeliers glowing through towering glass windows, a red carpet rolled out for the evening’s esteemed guests. The wolves of the Greek underworld are gathered here tonight.

The driver steps out and opens our door. I exit first, then extend a hand to Yelena. When she places her fingers in mine, I grip them tightly, possessively.

We walk into the event arm in arm, and immediately, the room stills. Heads turn. Conversations lull. The presence of Yelena Vasilios commands attention, and I see it in their eyes—the appreciation, the approval, the envy. She belongs here.

But just as quickly, my father sweeps in, pulling Yelena from my grasp.

Sabastian beams, introducing his new daughter-in-law to his associates with undisguised pride. It is undeniable—the Russian Bratva’s princess is a prized acquisition to the Vasilios empire.

“Ah, my dear Yelena,” my father says, leading her toward a group of high-ranking men. “Allow me to introduce you properly.”

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