Page 21 of Twisted Addiction
He went quiet, the question strangling any answer.
The return of Seraphina was more than an embarrassment; it was an infection—timed disastrously with my brothers’ reappearance and Penelope’s vulnerability.
Mercy here would be weakness.
Violence would be spectacle.
Neither choice sat clean.
I folded my hands, forcing my breath even. Decisions like this weren’t made on impulse. They were carved out of calculation.
Chapter 6
DMITRI VOLKOV
Giovanni’s voice faded into the background as my thoughts drifted—back to the beginning, to the blood and smoke that built everything I stood on.
Lake Como’s underworld had always been a fragile web of alliances, stitched together with greed and betrayal, ruled by four ancient families who thought themselves untouchable. I shattered that illusion the night I took what was never meant to be mine.
I ruled the Volkovs now—my throne bought in blood, my foster parents’ corpses the price of my ascension. No witnesses. No loose ends.
But power alone wasn’t enough. Not in a world that whispered I was an intruder, a fostered stray pretending to wear a crown. To silence them—to make my rule unquestionable—I needed more than fear. I needed legitimacy.
Marriage—or at least the illusion of it—was the key to silencing the dissenters, to stitching my name into the fabric of legitimacy that blood alone couldn’t buy.
That’s where Seraphina entered the picture.
The eldest daughter of the Orlovs—one of the two ruling families that still dared to challenge me—she was never more than a pawn, though she fancied herself a queen. Her family offered what I needed: political sway, underground muscle, and enough dirty capital to drown any legal opposition.
In return, they wanted an alliance sealed in gold and ink—a marriage that would tie the Volkovs and Orlovs by name, if not by heart. I obliged. I slipped a diamond on her trembling finger, smiled for the cameras, and made the world believe I loved her.
But it was never love. It was strategy. A transaction wrapped in silk and deceit.
The truth was, I could stomach almost anything—betrayal, rivalry, even bloodshed—but not weakness. And Seraphina’s flaw was exactly that. She mistook politics for passion. She wanted devotion when all I’d ever promised was dominion.
But I dragged my feet on the wedding, postponing it with excuses that grew thinner by the month.
Deep down, I knew the truth: I could marry only one woman in this lifetime, and it was Penelope. No one else.
Politics be damned.
The Orlovs’ support had propelled me to the head of the Volkov family, but Seraphina? She’d have to go eventually. When news of her “suicide” reached me, I felt nothing but relief—a clean end to a complication. Or so I thought.
I’d have killed her myself if it came to that, rather than let her stand between me and the only woman who truly mattered.
“Technically,” Giovanni said, his voice low in the hall as if the walls themselves might overhear, “she’s still engaged to you. It was never formally ended. And now that you’re married...” His words trailed off into the dark.
I met his gaze, our minds aligning in that silent, deadly understanding. In the mafia, loose ends weren’t tolerated.
Other women—ghosts from the past—had no place in my world with Penelope.
They’d only poison what I’d built, what I’d claimed.
“Make her disappear. No spectacle. Make it clean and final.” I ordered, my voice a blade in the quiet.
He nodded, unflinching. “Understood.”
I exhaled, the decision’s weight settling like lead in my chest.
