Page 83 of Darkest Oblivion
“They made him kneel on jagged stones for endless hours until his knees bled, chained him in freezing water through thenights until his body went numb, and burned his hands with hot coals until he screamed for mercy. For years, he endured this hell without anyone to save him.”
“And...” he paused. “He endured countless sexual violations and abuses.”
“They hated him because he was the one destined to inherit their empire once either of his foster parents reached sixty—that was the law of Lake Como. Leadership automatically passed to the firstborn son at sixty, unless he was under fifteen.”
“His foster parents intended for one of his three foster brothers—Nikolai, Alexis, or Viktor, their own blood—to inherit their empire. They had poured years of work and expectation into them. So they made Dmitri’s life a living hell, punishing him relentlessly to break him, to ensure he would never claim what was rightfully his.”
My chest caved, horror and pity tangling in my stomach.
Tears pricked my eyes.
The boy I had loved—the shy, gentle boy—had endured horrors I couldn’t even imagine. It hit me then: every time he returned from holiday to live next door, he wasn’t coming home to safety—he had just escaped another round of torment from his foster parents. And every time he went back to Italy after a semester, he was marching straight into hell.
Why hadn’t he ever told me this? Not during our secret meetings, not when he smiled, joked, or carved stars into my memory. Why keep such pain locked away while letting me believe... what? That he had nothing to fear?
And he was sexually assaulted too? A part of me ached for him, for the innocence stolen, for the trust shattered before he even knew how to protect it.
But my defiance burned stronger. “Then why... why does he despise us? How did we wrong him? If he killed his fosterparents for the torment they inflicted, that’s one thing... but what did we do to earn his grudge?”
My hands clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms as my voice shook with both anger and desperation.
My father’s hands trembled as he reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a neatly folded paper.
He handed it to me, but before he could continue explaining, the night shattered.
A helicopter roared overhead, its blades slicing through the air.
My heart leapt.
A deafening roar split the night as something slammed into the helicopter, sending it spiraling into flames across the courtyard. Explosions shattered the air, the shockwave hurling me against the balcony wall. Pain lanced through my ribs as shards of debris rained down, the world dissolving into fire and chaos around me.
My father’s hand gripped my arm, holding me close, his eyes wide with shock, the paper still clutched in my shaking hands.
Chapter 22
PENELOPE
The balcony was a haze of smoke and ash, the acrid stench of burning metal clawing at my lungs as I lay pressed against the cold stone, pain radiating through my ribs from the explosion’s impact.
The remains of the helicopter hung grotesquely over the railing.
My ears rang, the chaos disorienting, until a familiar voice cut through it.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” Giovanni’s scarred face appeared above me, his eyes sharp, but beneath it a flicker of concern as he extended a steady hand.
I swallowed, my throat raw. “I... I’m fine.” My voice was hoarse.
I let him pull me to my feet, his grip firm but detached, the kind of touch that reminded me who held the power.
He pivoted sharply to my father, who struggled to regain his balance, suit singed and face pale.
Giovanni’s voice was a venomous edge. “Marco, didn’t we warn you not to make any foolish moves? Thought you could sneak a chopper and take her out of our territory? Such reckless audacity.”
Before I could even respond, the shadow of a man loomed—Dmitri.
His towering frame cut through the smoke like a predator through fog. I froze, my chest tightening as his icy blue eyes locked on me, scanning every inch with an intensity that made my stomach twist. It wasn’t just anger I saw—there was fear too.
He moved swiftly, closing the distance between us, hands gentle but demanding as they checked my arms, my face, lingering just long enough for me to feel the weight of his obsession.
