Page 133 of Sweet Obsession
And if they took her...
No. I wouldn’t let it happen.
I poured vodka with a shaking hand. Downed it in one brutal swallow.
I would go to the banquet at Volgograd.
I would stand before the Bratva and claim the seat I was born for.
And if Chernov touched my father... if one hair on Luna’s head was harmed...
I would burn his family’s empire down, stone by fucking stone.
And I would make them all watch.
Chapter 19
LUNA
After the mess I’d made in the studio. art or accident, I still wasn’t sure, I headed back to my room. My shoes left tiny smudges of dried paint down the hallway as I crossed into the west wing. Misha and I lived in the same section of the estate, but in different rooms. That was the balance—closeness without caging.
I pushed my door open. Stopped cold.
The room was empty.
Not empty like cleaned. Empty like cleared out.
My luggage, my sketchbooks, the sweater I always draped over the armchair, gone. I blinked, as if that would summon everything back. Then I started opening drawers, checking the closet, pacing the space like I’d missed something.
That’s when Sofia walked in, arms folded, looking far too calm for the chaos in my chest.
“He had your things moved,” she said. “To his room.”
I stared at her. “I... what?”
“Misha,” she clarified, like there was any other he. “Said you’d be safer there.”
“He should’ve asked me first,” I snapped, already brushing past her, fury burning hotter than the crimson paint still clinging to my shirt.
I stormed across the hallway and pushed open his door.
Misha stood near the window, silhouetted against dusk, a glass of something dark in one hand, the other braced onthe ledge. He looked heavier than usual—like whatever he was carrying had settled in his bones.
“You moved my stuff?” I demanded.
His head turned slightly. He didn’t look surprised to see me. “Yes.”
“You couldn’t have told me first?”
“I didn’t think you’d argue if you understood why.”
“You didn’t let me understand anything, Misha. You just... decided.”
He finally turned to face me. His face was carved from stone. But his eyes... his eyes looked like they hadn’t rested in days.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I needed you close. Where I can control every entry point, every angle of exposure. You think I don’t know how this feels? I do. But safety comes first.”
His voice wasn’t harsh. It was weighted. Fractured.
