Page 78 of Sweet Obsession
Few minutes passed. My father’s compound loomed ahead, its marble walls gleaming under the rain.
The convoy rolled through the gates, the Bratva soldiers fanning out like shadows, their weapons glinting as they secured every entrance, every exit. My father stood on the steps, flanked by my two uncles , Mateo and Carlos, their faces pale, their hands empty.
They’d surrendered without a fight, their men standing down at the sight of Misha’s army. Cowards. All of them. I’d spent my life fighting their battles, and now they’d let a monster walk into our home without so much as a whisper of resistance.
Misha stepped out of the SUV, his movements precise, predatory, and I followed, my heels clicking against the wet stone. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the air was thick with tension, the kind that preceded a storm far worse than the one overhead. My father started forward, his voice trembling as he spoke. “Misha, we can discuss...”
“Out,” Misha cut him off, his voice a blade, sharp and final. He didn’t look at my father, his eyes scanning the compound like a king surveying his spoils. “You, your brothers, your men. Leave. Now.”
Mateo’s jaw tightened, his hand twitching toward his waistband, but Carlos grabbed his arm, shaking his head. They knew better than to challenge Misha, not with hundreds of Bratva soldiers at his back, not with the reaper’s reputation carved in blood.
My father hesitated, his eyes darting to me, a flicker of guilt in his gaze, but he said nothing. He turned, gesturing to his men, and they filed out, their footsteps echoing in the courtyard, leaving the compound eerily silent.
Misha’s gaze shifted to me, a dark promise in his eyes, and I knew what was coming. He wanted to break me, to ensure I’d never run again, and he’d start by dismantling everything I held dear. He turned to Nikolai, his voice low but unyielding. “Bring the family portraits,” he ordered. “The ones in the hall.”
My stomach dropped. The portraits, generations of Rojas history, my mother’s face among them, her smile the only warmth I’d ever known in this house.
Nikolai returned with three massive frames, the canvases gleaming under the courtyard lights, and Misha drew a knife from his belt, the blade glinting as he approached the first portrait, my grandfather, stern and proud. With a single, deliberate slash, he carved through the canvas, the sound of tearing fabric like a scream in the silence.
He moved to the next, my father, young and arrogant, slicing through his face with a precision that made my chest tighten. And then my mother, her gentle eyes staring out at me, and I lunged forward, my voice breaking.
“Stop!” I shouted, my hands outstretched, my heart in my throat. “Misha, please. don’t touch her. Not her.” Tears burned my eyes, but I didn’t care. My mother was the only good thing in this cursed family, the only memory I had that wasn’t tainted by blood and betrayal. I couldn’t let him destroy her, too.
Misha paused, the knife hovering over her face, his gaze flicking to me. “You care about this,” he said, his voice soft, almost curious, but there was a cruelty beneath it, a predator toying with its prey. “Good.”
I lunged forward, too late. He slashed through her portrait, the canvas splitting down the middle, my mother’s smile torn in two.
I screamed, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the courtyard, my knees buckling as I fell to the ground, the wet stone biting into my skin. My hands clawed at the ground, my nails scraping against the stone, my sobs shaking my body. He’d taken Yuri. He’d taken me, taken my freedom. And now he’d taken the last piece of my mother, the last piece of me that wasn’t his to claim.
The smell of burning paint filled the air. I couldn’t breathe. That was her, her smile, her memory. Gone.”
I hated him. gods, I hated him, but the pain was too much, a weight I couldn’t carry, and I felt myself breaking, piece by piece, under his gaze.
Misha crouched in front of me, his knife still in hand, his eyes searching mine. “You’ll never run again,” he said, his voice a low growl, his breath hot against my cheek. “Because there’ll be nothing left to run to.” He stood, turning to Nikolai. “Bring the sister.”
My head snapped up, my heart seizing as I stumbled to my feet, my dress dragging through the mud. “No,” I whispered, then louder, “No!” I ran toward the steps where Nikolai had disappeared, my voice desperate, pleading. “Misha, please, don’t hurt her. Don’t touch Gabriela. I’ll do anything, anything you want, just leave her alone.” My hands shook as I reached for him, grabbing his arm, my nails digging into his skin, my tears mixing with the rain on my cheeks.
Misha turned to me, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, satisfaction, maybe, or something darker.
He didn’t pull away, didn’t shake me off, just watched me, his silence a weapon as sharp as his knife. Nikolai returned, dragging Gabriela by the arm, her white silk dress stark against the gray courtyard, her eyes wide with fear. She looked so small, so fragile, her hands trembling as she met my gaze, a silent plea in her eyes.
I tore myself from Misha, positioning myself in front of her, my arms outstretched, my body a shield between her and the monster who’d taken everything. “You want to hurt her?” I spat, my voice shaking but fierce, my defiance burning through the pain. “You’ll have to go through me first, Misha. I’ll die before I let you touch her.”
Gabriela’s hand gripped mine, her fingers cold, her voice a whisper. “Don’t fight him. Please, Luna. He’ll hurt you again.” But I didn’t move, didn’t waver, my eyes locked on Misha’s, my heart pounding with a ferocity I hadn’t felt since that day at the gas station, when I’d fought for Yuri, for myself, for the life I’d thought I could have.
Misha tilted his head, a slow, dangerous smile curling his lips. “You’d die for her,” he said, not a question but a statement, his voice laced with something I couldn’t name, admiration, maybe, or obsession. “But you’ll live for me.” He stepped closer, his hand brushing my cheek, his touch gentle in a way that made my stomach twist. “You’ll learn, Luna. You’ll learn to stay.”
Misha’s words hung in the air, a promise and a threat, and for a moment, I thought he’d hurt her, thought he’d break Gabriela just to break me. But he didn’t. He turned to Nikolai, his voice cold. “Take her to the west wing,” he ordered, nodding to Gabriela. “She stays in her room. No visitors. No calls.” Nikolai nodded, leading Gabriela away, her eyes meeting mine one lasttime, a silent thank you in her gaze before she disappeared into the house.
I exhaled, my body trembling, but the relief was short-lived. Misha’s hand closed around my wrist, pulling me toward the center of the courtyard, his grip bruising. “You think you can protect her?” he said, his voice low, his breath hot against my ear. “You can’t even protect yourself.” He released me, stepping back, his eyes dark with something that made my blood run cold.
He turned to one of his men, a wiry soldier with a scar across his throat, and gave a single command. “Burn the east wing,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “The one with her room.”
My heart stopped, my eyes widening as I lunged toward him, my hands clawing at his chest. “No!” I screamed, my voice raw, my nails digging into his skin. “Misha, no, my sketches, my jewelry, everything I’ve ever made, it’s all there! You can’t...” But he grabbed my wrists, pinning them behind my back, his body pressing against mine, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “You don’t need the past, Luna. You have me.
He ran a thumb over my jaw, slow. Possessive. Like he was memorizing the shape of me before ruining everything I loved.
The soldier returned with a can of gasoline, the smell sharp and acrid as he doused the east wing’s entrance, the flames catching with a roar that echoed through the compound.
