Page 32 of Twisted Obsession
Marta placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of me, her eyes flickering with unspoken words she seemed to swallow back. Her silence was a reminder of the tension that permeated the house. Just like with Dmitri, trust was scarce. She was the reason I had endured ten grueling days in that cell, nearly starving, as punishment for refusing Dmitri’s marriage proposal.
Before I could lift the fork to take my first bite, Dmitri strode into the kitchen. He exuded the air of a mafia king, dressed impeccably in a tailored Armani suit and a blue silk tie, every strand of his hair perfectly in place as if defying the laws of nature.
“Good morning, Mr. Antonov,” Marta addressed him, her voice smooth as she poured him a cup of coffee with practiced precision.
“Marta,” he acknowledged her with a curt nod, not bothering to lift his gaze as he took a sip of the freshly brewed coffee.
His cold indifference cut through the room; he hadn’t even glanced in my direction. It was as if I was invisible, a mere ghost in his presence. His demeanor shifted unpredictably—one moment, he commanded my every move, and the next, he dismissed my existence entirely.
I could be ignored elsewhere. Pushing my barely touched plate away, I rose from my chair, the legs scraping softly against the tiled floor. “Thank you for the breakfast, Marta. It was lovely,” I said, my voice steady as I prepared to leave the tension-filled kitchen behind.
The remark dripped with sarcasm, intended not for Marta but for Dmitri. Before I could slip past him, his arm shot out with swift precision, his fingers encircling my wrist like a vise.
“Sit,” he commanded, his eyes piercing into mine like sharp, glinting silver knives, each word a cold blade.
Reluctantly, I pivoted on my heels and sank back into my chair beside him. He slid my plate closer, the porcelain scraping softly against the marble surface, and handed me my fork with a gesture that brooked no argument. “Eat.”
I loathed his curt, imperious commands—each word clipped like the snap of a whip. Eat. Sit. Strip. Kneel. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d ordered me to heel or fetch, as if I were no more than a trained pet.
Grudgingly, I accepted the fork and began prodding the scrambled eggs, their soft folds shifting and rearranging under the tines as I absently moved them about. Unbeknownst to me, Dmitri’s gaze was fixed upon me, scrutinizing every hesitant motion.
“Something on your mind,kukolka?” Dmitri inquired, his voice laced with a subtle disdain that cut deeper than any blade.
There was indeed much weighing on my mind, a tangled web of thoughts I had no intention of unraveling for him. So, I lied, weaving a simple distraction. “Just the wedding.”
“Ah… yes. The wedding,” he echoed, a smug assurance coloring his tone. “I have taken care of everything. There is nothing for you to worry that pretty little head of yours about.”
Rising from his chair with a sense of finality, Dmitri cast a scrutinizing glance at my untouched plate before turning to Marta. “Don’t let her leave until she finishes her breakfast. If she refuses, let me know.”
“Yes, sir.” Marta’s smile was sly, an expression that seemed to relish the possibility of my defiance.
Damn both of them. At least now I was certain that Marta was not to be trusted either.
~***~
After forcing the last bite of breakfast down, my stomach protested with a dull ache, yet a sense of satisfaction lingered. Dmitri had vanished to some unknown part of the house, but his whereabouts held no importance to me. All I craved was the fresh embrace of open air. I entered the conservatory, its glass panels casting gentle glows of morning light, and pushed open the double doors that led to the expansive gardens. A cool breeze greeted me, caressing my face as I inhaled deeply. The garden was a masterpiece of nature’s beauty, almost enough to make me forget my status as a captive. Almost, if not for the watchful eyes of the guards patrolling the grounds.
Choosing to ignore their presence, I strolled along the winding path, surrounded by vibrant blooms that released intoxicating floral aromas. As I paused to admire one of the ornate fountains, its water dancing in the sunlight, Dmitri’s voice drifted through the air. He was speaking to someone on hiscell, oblivious to my presence since his back faced me. Curiosity piqued, I quietly slipped behind the shelter of a nearby tree, edging closer to eavesdrop.
“Tell me what you were able to find out about Giovanni Balestrini,” Dmitri’s voice carried a commanding tone as he addressed the person on the other end of the line.
“Another son. Fuck. I thought Carmine Balestrini was the last one.” His words were laced with frustration and disbelief.
What on earth was he talking about?
“Nazar, gather the Red Knights at the cathedral. We need to find out more about this Angelo Balestrini,” Dmitri paused, running his fingers through his hair in thought, the tension evident in his stance. “We can’t have another Balestrini walk this earth.”
There was a prolonged silence, during which I assumed this Nazar character was responding. I wished Dmitri had put his phone on speaker so I could catch every word of the exchange.
“Lara can never know she had any brothers. As far as she knows, Andrei Zhukov was her father. I would like to keep it that way for now. We need find the truth about Giovanni Balestrini and locate his son, Angelo. If Giovanni is alive and in New York, Lara is the only one we can use to draw him out.” Dmitri’s grip tightened on his phone before he started to walk further away from the tree, leaving me with a racing heart and a swirl of new questions.
I lingered for a few minutes, waiting until Dmitri disappeared completely from view before I turned and made my way back to the sprawling mansion. A whirlwind of thoughts accompanied each hurried step I took, while I tried to processthe shocking revelations I had just heard. I had brothers—perhaps still do. The Red Knights had taken the life of my brother Carmine, and now Angelo was in their crosshairs. What fueled Dmitri and the Red Knights’ relentless pursuit to eliminate the Balestrinis?
Upon entering the mansion, I headed straight for the kitchen, a familiar refuge, to grab a bottle of water from the stainless-steel fridge. The sound of Marta’s off-key humming floated through the air from the pantry, where she busied herself with her weekly inventory, her tune meandering like a lost melody. Twisting off the cap of the chilled bottle, I prepared to leave the kitchen when something caught my eye—a cell phone lying unguarded on the countertop. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced around the room, half-expecting to find eyes watching me, convinced this was some kind of trap. Surely, Marta wouldn’t be careless enough to leave her phone out in the open like this.
The kitchen stood empty, the only sound Marta’s distant humming, oblivious to my presence. The opportunity was too tempting, perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime chance to access a lifeline. It was now or never. I swiftly snatched up the phone, its cool surface slipping easily into the pocket of my skirt, and made my way purposefully toward the gardens outside.
Once in the open air, under the watchful gaze of the garden’s lush greenery, I stealthily glanced around, ensuring no one was taking notice of my actions. The guards, accustomed to my frequent visits to the gardens, paid little mind to my presence. Settling on a secluded bench, I discreetly retrieved the phone from my pocket, keeping it pressed to my side to avoid drawing attention. I wasn’t certain I could unlock the device when I first seized it, but the gamble seemed worth the risk. AsI powered it on, the screen flickered to life, revealing the home screen with a picture of a little boy, likely Marta’s grandson or perhaps another relative. The urgency of my situation weighed heavily on me; I couldn’t afford to be caught using the phone. Resolving to find a more secluded spot, I decided to move further away, ensuring my actions remained hidden.
