Page 47 of Twisted Obsession
When I returned to the hotel, a simmering anger coursed through me, and it only intensified when I witnessed that insufferable man kissing Lara’s hand. A wave of fury washed over me, and to make matters worse, she had defied my explicit instructions by purchasing that flimsy excuse for a swimsuit. The moment Yuri texted me a picture of it, I knew every man in the hotel would be flocking around her like moths to a flame.
The sight of the welts on her skin was a stark reminder that I had let my anger drive me too far. My intention had been to mark her, to assert my claim over her, but in my rage, I had crossed a line. I could have caused her real harm, and that realization gnawed at me.
I walked over to the minibar, the soft clink of glass against glass soothing my frayed nerves as I poured myself a generous serving of Cuban whiskey. Originally, I had planned to take Lara out for a lavish dinner, but her defiance led me to decide we would dine on the balcony instead. It wasn’t the harshest punishment I could mete out, but I still wanted her to savor her time here.
Tomorrow, we’d be returning to the States, and I could refocus on uncovering who was pilfering my shipments. I was beginning to doubt it was the Balestrinis behind it all, but I wasn’t ready to trust Angelo’s words just yet.
I walked quietly to the bedroom, my steps barely making a sound on the carpeted floor, and slowly pushed the door open. The soft creak of the hinges revealed Lara, curled up on the bed, her face serene in sleep but stained with black streaks from her tears. Her beauty was undeniable, even in this vulnerable state, and my emotions surged unexpectedly strong for her. The thought of anyone laying a hand on her filled me with a fierce protectiveness; I could have easily killed the man who dared to harm her. She possessed a beauty so striking that any man would have to be blind not to be captivated by her.
Stepan and Yuri lingered silently in the hallway, their presence a solid reassurance. They were steadfast allies, and yet, in my anger, I had lashed out at them too. I moved toward the suite’s door, pulling it open with a determined motion. Stepping aside, I allowed them entry without needing to utter a singleword; the weight of my feelings was understood as they crossed the threshold.
I had kept my meeting with Angelo Balestrini a secret until now, but the time had come to reveal it.
"I have some information to share with you two," I began, ensuring I had their undivided attention. "Before we left for Cuba, I had a meeting with Angelo Balestrini. He’s proposed an exchange."
Stepan’s brow furrowed with curiosity. "What kind of exchange?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
"He claims to have a way to get to Andrei Zhukov. In return, he wants Lara. He promises access to Andrei if we hand her over." I paused, taking a deliberate sip from my glass of whiskey, the liquid burning a familiar path down my throat.
Stepan’s reaction was immediate, stepping forward with fists clenched, his eyes mirroring the same deep-seated hatred I harbored for the Balestrinis. "You aren’t seriously going to trust him?" he demanded.
“No,” I replied, my voice a low growl. “Lara is mine. I’m not giving her up for that piece of filth. I intend to eliminate Andrei before Angelo even has a chance to touch her.”
Stepan’s concern was palpable. “What if he’s setting you up?” he suggested, his words hanging heavy in the air.
I nodded, acknowledging the possibility. “Then not only will Andrei die, but Angelo will meet the same fate.”
Despite the gnawing reluctance to believe that Angelo could betray me, I had to brace myself for the possibility. The thought of taking down Andrei was daunting enough, but theprospect of eliminating Angelo, should he double-cross me, was even more challenging. The certainty I clung to was that the assistance of the Red Knights would be crucial. The secrecy surrounding our alliance had to remain intact. No one could know that I was a Red Knight or that we existed.
During dinner, Lara’s silence was palpable, a heavy reminder of the afternoon’s events. Her discomfort was evident in the way she shifted restlessly in her chair, seeking relief from the stinging welts I had left on her.
“How does your bottom feel?” I asked, hoping to coax a response from her.
“It’s fine. Not that you should care,” she shot back defiantly, exactly as I anticipated, her voice edged with resistance that matched the storm in her eyes.
“I care deeply about everything that happens to you.” I replied, lifting my wineglass to take a measured sip. “That’s precisely why I punish you. You must grasp the significance of listening and adhering to my instructions,kukolka.” My words were firm yet tinged with an underlying tenderness.
“I’m not a puppet, Dmitri. I’m a person,” she declared, standing abruptly and heading inside the suite. Her steps were purposeful, but before she could retreat too far, I gently caught her arm.
When she turned to face me, her eyes held a blend of defiance and vulnerability that stirred something deep within me. I stood abruptly, pulling her closer with an intensity that matched the rapid beating of my heart.
“Everything I do is for your protection. You are my wife. I will never let anyone hurt you,” I murmured, my voice a softpromise against the evening air. Lowering my head, I captured her lips with mine.
Initially, she resisted, her body tense, but then she softened, her lips parting to welcome me. Her soft moans resonated through me as our tongues danced in a rhythm as old as time. Her lips were tender, intoxicating, and I wished to savor them forever. The kiss was a heady escape, but it ended too soon as my phone buzzed insistently against the table.
“I should get that,” I said softly, my hand gently cradling her cheek.
As Lara retreated inside, her figure disappearing beyond the glass door, I answered the call. The number was unknown, but the identity of the caller was unmistakable.
“Everything is arranged. I will have two invitations delivered to your home tomorrow,” Angelo announced, his tone steady and unwavering as he spoke.
“When?” I asked, urgency threading my voice, aware of how little time I had to devise a plan to bring down Andrei.
“Three days,” he responded sharply, his words cutting through the air like a knife. “Make sure Lara wears the red mask I’m sending with the invitation.”
Three days wasn’t a generous amount of time to orchestrate a plan, but it would have to suffice. I’d need something far stronger than wine to brace myself. Striding over to the minibar, I poured myself a generous glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light like liquid gold.
Stepping back outside, I surveyed the table where our dinner lay barely touched, the plates a silent testament to ourshared turmoil. Raking my hand through my hair in frustration, I wondered aloud when exactly my life had spiraled into such chaos. It felt as if I was grasping at the frayed ends of control, my existence for the past three years reduced to running on fumes, each day blending into the next in a haze of exhaustion. When would I finally catch a fucking break?
