Page 56 of Twisted Obsession
“Dmitri,” a voice shouted my name, cutting through the air like a knife as I hurried toward the exit door. “Dmitri. Stop.”
I halted abruptly, my footsteps echoing in the hallway, and turned to face the source of the interruption. Angelo stood before me, his presence commanding, with Giovanni standing resolutely by his side.
“Where is Lara?” Angelo demanded, closing the gap between us with a determined stride. “I thought we had a deal.”
“Lara is my wife. Did you honestly think I would give her to you?” I retorted sharply; my voice laced with anger and conviction as I noticed Stepan approaching from behind them.
“She is my sister. Don’t you think she has a right to know who her family is?” Angelo pointed between himself and Giovanni, his gesture emphasizing the familial bond they claimed.
The truth of his words sank in, heavy and undeniable. After discovering that it was my father who had orchestrated the raid that led to the death of my mother and sister, I realized he was right. How could I deny Lara the knowledge of her family, of the truth?
“Under one condition,” I conceded, my voice firm yet yielding to reason.
“What condition?” Giovanni inquired, his eyes fixed on me with a mix of curiosity and determination.
“You will only see her at my home, under my protection,” I advised, drawing the line firmly, ensuring Lara’s safety while acknowledging the ties that bound us all.
“Deal.”
Angelo and Giovanni followed closely at my heels as we exited the grand museum. We stood on the wide stone steps, the cool breeze rustling the leaves of the nearby trees, as we awaited Stepan to bring the sleek, black limousine around. The air was thick with anticipation, and I could feel the weight of the secret I had yet to reveal to Lara. I hadn’t yet divulged the true identities of Angelo and Giovanni. My heart was heavy with the fear that once I told her she was a Balestrini, not a Zhukov, she would despise me even more. The thought gnawed at me as I watched the limo glide smoothly to a stop in front of us.
~***~
Upon arriving at the mansion, I directed Stepan to escort Angelo and Giovanni to my study while I headed upstairs in search of Lara. I was certain that our bedroom would be the only sanctuary she might retreat to. Questions swirled in my mind about her sudden departure from the fundraiser and how she managed to slip away unnoticed.
As soon as I crossed the threshold into our bedroom, an unsettling feeling gripped my heart. A sense of dread loomed,yet I resisted, accepting the gnawing fear that she might be gone. I urgently made my way to the bathroom and swung open the door, only to find it empty. I then moved to the closet, pulling the door wide, but again, no sign of Lara. Desperation mounting, I reached for my cell phone and activated the app that tracked her location. The screen insisted she was here, right in front of me.
Panic surged through me as the grim realization of her actions set in. I tore through her side of the closet, flinging garments aside in a frantic search for the small tracker meant to ensure her safety. My worst suspicions were confirmed when I discovered it nestled within the pocket of one of her dresses, accompanied by a letter opener.
“Lara, what have you done?” I cried out in anguish, collapsing to my knees, the agony of her absence cutting so deep it felt like my very soul was being ripped apart.
Consumed by my torment, I hadn’t noticed Stepan’s quiet approach behind me. “Dmitri,” he spoke softly.
“She’s gone,” I choked out, displaying the small device before clenching it desperately in my hand.
“Dmitri, you can still find her,” he assured me, helping me to my feet with a firm hand. “I wouldn’t be a good friend andBrigadierif I didn’t have a backup plan.”
Confusion clouded my thoughts as I watched him retrieve his cell.
“When you asked me to collect Lara’s engagement ring from the jeweler, I took the liberty of having a tracker discreetly embedded between the stone and the mounting. As long as she’s still wearing it, we can pinpoint her location,” he explained, offering a glimmer of hope.
I had never kissed a man before, aside from the innocent pecks shared with my father as a child and then again upon his death, but at that moment, a surge of emotion drove me to press my lips against Stepan’s. The warmth of the unexpected connection lingered as we both focused our attention on his phone. On the screen, an ominous red dot blinked steadily on the app, marking her location with a foreboding sense of urgency.
We swiftly exited the bedroom, our footsteps echoing down the wooden staircase, and made our way to the study. There, Angelo and Giovanni awaited our arrival, their expressions as tense as the situation demanded. It was clear that rescuing her was a mission that required the combined effort of all of us. My mind seethed with anger as I thought of the one responsible—my own fucking uncle, the man who had betrayed me from the beginning.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lara
My eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by an impenetrable darkness. A relentless pounding in my head served as a harsh reminder of the chaotic events at the art museum. Disoriented, I had no sense of my location. The only certainty was the bed beneath me, its soft sheets caressing my skin. A sudden realization hit me—was I naked? Attempting to lift the sheets, I discovered my hands were too heavy, too weak to comply. They had been restrained to the bed at my sides.
Summoning my strength, I bent my knees and pressed a shaky palm against the mattress to push myself into a sitting position. As the sheet slipped away, relief washed over me. The cool silk brushed against my skin, sliding down my waist. I must have been divested of my dress, but at least I retained some semblance of modesty A quick mental check assured me there were no indications of assault from when I was drugged; apartfrom the throbbing headache, my body felt mercifully free of pain.
Desperation clawed at me as I wished I could see my surroundings. More than that, I cursed myself for not running the moment I heard that voice—the voice that had haunted my dreams for the past three years.
What I wouldn’t give for a glass of water. My mouth was as dry as cotton, and every swallow felt like dragging sandpaper across my throat.
I couldn’t say how long I’d been in this room, but I guessed it was only a couple of hours, maybe three or four at most.
