Page 103 of Stricken

It's late when the door to the hotel suite I'm staying at crashes open, shattering the tense silence. Vlad storms in, a hurricane barely contained in human form. His eyes, usually piercing gray, now swirl with dark clouds of fury. He doesn't even glance my way as he strides across the room, each step crackling with poorly restrained violence.

I rise up from the desk where I've been working on my laptop, and watch him fume for a second, frozen, rooted to my spot, as Vlad yanks at his tie like it's choking him. The silk hisses as it slides from his collar, left hanging around his neck carelessly. He makes a beeline for the minibar, movements sharp and jagged. It seems he's trying to cut through the very air around him.

My stupid heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I've never seen him this pissed off.

The clink of glass on glass breaks my paralysis. Vlad pours himself a generous measure of whiskey, the alcohol sloshing dangerously close to the rim. He downs it in one swift motion, Adam's apple bobbing slowly while he swallows.

"Are we not going to talk at all?" I ask carefully, yet my own frustration bubbles up to the surface. I don't like to be dismissed like this. Morelli pride won't let me.

"What's there to talk about?" Vlad mutters, slamming the empty glass on the bar.

I approach cautiously, like I'm creeping up on a wounded animal. Although I don't know why. This is my room. My current residence until further notice since I'm not allowed anywhere inside the Morelli mansion.

"What's wrong,gattino?" I say softly.

He doesn't answer, just pours another drink.

My hand hovers over his shoulder, trembling slightly before I let it rest there. The muscles beneath my palm are so tight. "Come on. Talk to me." My voice is a mixture of gentle concern and firm insistence.

Vlad's shoulders tighten further under my touch. For a moment, I think he might shrug me off entirely. Instead, he turns, those storm-tossed eyes finally meeting mine. The raw pain I see there behind all that fury steals my breath away.

"Nico," he growls. "Not now."

Anxiety starts clawing its way up my throat. This isn't like him. Vlad, my Vlad, always so controlled, so put-together. To see him unraveling like this... it terrifies me more than any gun pointed at my head ever could.

"Yes, now," I insist, hardening my grip on his shoulder. "I can't stand you being like this."

A bitter laugh escapes him. "Really? You think I'm a goddamned circus clown? Ready to entertain your whims at all times."

The words are cruel, but the hopelessness in his voice chills my bones.

I step closer, eliminating the space between us. "You don't have to carry this alone, whatever it is."

For a heartbeat, I see a brief flash of vulnerability in Vlad's gaze. Then, like a steel shutter slamming, it's gone. He turns away, his movements stiff and agitated, as he wrestles out of his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a nearby chair.

When he shifts back to me, his expression has hardened into a mask of cold determination that's borderline madness. "I don't have the luxury of getting sentimental," he whispers. "I need to catch Shtyk… I'm so close, Nico. So fucking close I can taste it."

I don't know why I feel the way I feel around him—weak, heart pounding, soul reaching out. The evil phantom that's haunted him for years, the shadow lurking behind every decision he makes. I'm so tired of it. Costa is my last hope. Because if Costa can't get this man, then no one can.

"Vlad," I plead. "For once, can't you just relax? This obsession—"

"Relax?" Fire enters his gaze. "How can I relax when my mother's murderer is still out there?"

"I understand, but this... this vendetta is consuming you. It's blinding you to everything else."

"Everything else?" Vlad scoffs, his laugh hollow and bitter. "What else matters? Tell me, Nico, what could possibly be more important than bringing that bastard to justice?"

"Your life, for starters," I counter, daring another half-step in his direction despite the danger sizzling in the air between us. "Your future. You're letting this eat you alive. And for what? A piece of shit who's not worth a thought."

Vlad's eyes flash with a fury I've never seen before. In one swift motion, he grabs a bottle of whiskey from the mini-bar and hurls it at the mirror behind it. The crash is deafening, glass shattering into a thousand glittering shards that rain down onto the carpet.

Silence descends, thick and smothering. My heart pounds in my chest as Vlad swivels around to face me and moves to stand next to me, his presence an unsettling chaos at my side. The heat emanating from his body is dangerous. Like the sun on the verge of eruption.

In this quiet moment, even the tick of a distant clock seems intrusive. Each beat's echo is sharper than a knife thrown through still air.

"Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?" he snarls. "Just because we're fucking doesn't mean I need your emotional bullshit."

His words wound me deeply but I refuse to flinch. "Is that all this is to you, Vlad? Just fucking? And where the hell is this coming from?"

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