Page 23 of Twisted Obsession
“Do we know who?” I pushed open the door to my study and went for the decanter sitting at the edge of my desk.
“There were six of them,” Stepan began, closing the door behind him. “They were all wearing masks, so none of the men were able to get a good look at them.”
“Fuck. We can’t afford to keep losing our merchandise,” I cursed. Borrowing from Peter to pay Paul wasn’t going to last forever. “Have Gisela tap into the CCTV cameras. Maybe these men got sloppy.”
Stepan left my study and the glass of vodka I had been gripping ended up across the room, shattered in a million pieces. Everything I had worked so hard to build was coming down. Someone was after me and I had no fucking clue who it was. Even Drago’s stupid riddle ‘There is a bad grape among the vines,’ didn’t help. There was a traitor among my men, but who? I couldn’t kill every last one of them. They had families.
“Dmitri, how are you ever going to become a man if you don’t recognize your enemies?” My father’s voice was stern, a gravelly undercurrent of expectation woven through each word.
“I understand, Papa, but this man stood by your side for many years. Isn’t he deserving of another chance?” I replied, my voice tinged with a hint of youthful hope.
“My dear boy,” he began, his eyes darkening with the weight of experience. “Life isn’t about second chances. It’s about demonstrating unwavering loyalty. In this line of work, you’ll learn to trust no one. Not even your own family.” He turned away, methodically examining the table behind him, his fingers brushing over each item with practiced familiarity. “The choice is yours. Gun, knife, or injection.”
Papa had been molding me for this moment since I was merely six years old. I had become proficient in wielding all three instruments of death. At the tender age of eight, I had claimed the life of our first adversary. My father had discovered him pilfering profits from the underground fighting rings he operated. As punishment, the man’s fingers were severed one by one, each slice echoing through the chamber. The metallic scent of blood from the last victim still permeated the air, a testament to the room’s grim purpose—a devil’s domain in every sense.
The man before me was no different from the thief who had betrayed my father seven years prior. This traitor had been caught double-crossing, divulging the identity of our top distributor to a rival. Though Papa intercepted him before a deal could be struck, his betrayal of the Antonov Bratva was unforgivable.
I hefted the gun in my hand, feeling its cold weight settle into my palm as I turned to face the man. He hung like a slaughtered beast, suspended from a horizontal bar that stretched across the ceiling. Blood drenched his body, the aftermath of an earlier brutal beating. His breaths wereshallow, each one a struggle, and ending his suffering seemed almost merciful. I leveled the gun, aligning my aim with precision, and pulled the trigger. The bullet found its mark, striking him squarely between the eyes. The gun fell limply to my side as I watched the man’s head loll backward, then slump forward in death.
“Well done, my son,” my father praised, a rare glimmer of pride in his eyes. “One day, you will make a greatPakhan.”
Turning over another crystal glass on my desk, I poured another glass of vodka. Before I could bring it to my lips, a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” I growled, my mood gone to shit.
When the door opened, Lara stood in the doorway like she was waiting for permission to enter. Her arms were crossed just below her perfect breasts, accentuating them even more. She still had the look of defiance in her eyes, making her even more desirable.
“You said there was something I needed to sign.” Lara confidently walked inside my study, closing the door behind her. “Well, here I am.”
“My lawyer should be here…” Another knock on the door sounded. “Right about now.”
Pushing from my desk, I walked over to the door. When I pulled it open, Gavin Hart standing in a tailored suit which I was certain I had paid for, with a $10,000 Rolex on his wrist which I was also certain I had paid for, looking every bit the part of a high-end lawyer.
“I have the documents you requested,” he said as he held up his briefcase to his chest and tapped it with his other hand.
I stepped to the side and allowed him to enter my study. Gavin studied Larissa for a moment, and it was starting to piss me off. If he didn’t take his eyes off her soon, I was going to make sure he would never be able to see again.
“Gavin,” I cleared my voice, getting his attention.
He looked over my shoulder before placing his briefcase on my desk and pulling out the paperwork we had discussed having him draw up. Hidden in the paperwork to settle the deed on her father’s house, which was losing value daily while sitting empty, he also included the marriage license and a contract guaranteeing me three sons. In exchange, I would ensure her protection and provision should anything happen to me. I didn’t care how many times she had to get pregnant; I needed three sons. At any time, I could lose any of them, and I had to be assured that the Antonov name would carry on.
“I’m ready for you to sign the documents,” Gavin said as he looked over his shoulder at Larissa.
“What am I signing?” Lara asked as she approached him.
“Your parents’ house is rotting away and needs to be sold. I have asked Gavin to draw up the paperwork to sell the home. The profits from the sale will be deposited into a special account for you,” I explained as best as I could, hoping she wouldn’t argue with my decision.
“I can’t sell my home. I grew up there,” she replied, tears only a moment away from spilling.
“Lara.” I stepped up to her, turning her to face me. “I know it was your home, but why would you want to keep it? There are so many bad memories there. The longer you keep it, the more it will rot away. Soon, nothing will remain of it. Let another family enjoy it.”
She paused for a moment and looked at me. She really looked at me, trying to find deceit, betrayal. Anything that would tell her otherwise. Selling her parents’ home was a good move, and there was no motive other than to get something out of it before it was too late. The only lie—the man and woman who she thought were her parents, weren’t.
She nodded her head and turned toward the document. I wanted to jump for joy that she had finally obeyed me, but deep down, I felt her pain. There was no reason to celebrate.
Gavin gathered the signed documents and left my study. Before he left, he took one last hard look at Lara. There was something he wasn’t telling me, but it would have to wait for another day.
Since we were officially married—or would be in just a few hours once the license was officially recorded—it was only fitting that my wife had a wedding ring fit for a queen. The anticipation in the air was palpable as I opened the top drawer of my mahogany desk, the wood smooth and polished to a shine. I retrieved the small black velvet box nestled inside and approached Larissa with a sense of purpose.
