Page 23 of Crimson Curse
Whether she’s guilty or simply knows more than she should, I’ll find out. And when I do, she’ll learn that in my world, betrayal is not something you live to repeat.
9
NAOMI
The phone feels heavier in my hand than it should, as if it knows the magnitude of the conversation I am about to have. Charlotte's name glows on the screen, a ghost of a whole other life I used to have before Daniil's world swallowed me whole. I have rehearsed this call in my head more than once since Daniil brought me back here. Every version ended differently, but all of them began the same way with my throat tightening and my heart pounding like a trapped bird against my ribs.
I press the call button before I can talk myself out of it. It rings twice before her voice bursts through, full of relief that hits me like a homecoming. “Naomi? Oh my God. Do you have any idea how worried I've been?”
The familiar sound of her voice makes my chest tighten with emotion I wasn't expecting. I almost smile, even though my chest aches with the knowledge of everything that's changed between us, and everything I can't tell her. “Hi, Charlotte.”
“Don't ‘Hi, Charlotte’ me.” Her tone is a whip crack, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “You disappeared. Vanished.No texts, no calls. I was two seconds away from filing a missing person report and calling every hospital in the city.”
The guilt hits me harder than I anticipated. Charlotte has always been my lifeline to normalcy, the one person who could make me laugh even when everything felt like it was falling apart. When my father died, she was the one who showed up with ice cream and terrible romantic comedies, refusing to leave until I smiled. When I couldn't afford groceries during my internship, she'd mysteriously leave leftovers in our fridge without ever mentioning it. She's been my constant, and I've left her in the dark.
“I know,” I whisper. “I'm sorry. Things… got complicated.”
There's a pause that stretches between us, filled with unspoken questions and the static of distance. I can picture her pacing the living room in whatever oversized hoodie she grabbed from her closet this morning, her free hand gesturing wildly as if I can see her through the phone. She always moves when she's anxious, like staying still might let the worry consume her completely.
“Complicated how?” The question comes out carefully like she's afraid of the answer but needs to hear it anyway.
I take a breath, tasting the sour tang of nerves on my tongue. The words feel foreign as I prepare to voice them, and make Viktor's actions real in a way that speaking them aloud will cement. “Viktor took me.”
The silence that follows is so complete that I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. But from Charlotte's end of the line, nothing.
When she finally responds, her voice is quieter but laced with a hard edge, the same tone she used when confronting theprofessor who tried to fail me for missing class after my father's funeral. “Viktor…as in Daniil's cousin?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, Naomi.” Her words tumble out in a rush now, each one fueled with the fear she's been carrying. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Where are you now? Are you safe?”
The rapid-fire questions make my head spin, but underneath them I can hear the love, and the desperate need to know that I'm whole and breathing and still myself.
“No, I’m not hurt,” I respond quickly. “Not physically.” My mind flashes unbidden to the memory of his hand on my breast, the possessive grip on my arm that left fingerprint bruises, and the way his voice curled around my name like a threat dipped in honey. The way he looked at me like I was something to be owned, consumed, and broken. I push those images away, shoving them into the dark corner of my mind where I keep all the things I'm not ready to examine. “Daniil found me. He got me out.”
She exhales, long and shaky, and I can almost feel her relief through the phone. “And you didn't think to call me the second you were safe? Naomi, I've been going out of my mind. I called the museum, I called the motel, I even called that coffee shop you love to see if anyone had seen you.”
The knowledge that she's been searching for me and worried enough to reach out to people she barely knows makes my throat rough with unshed tears. “I couldn't. It wasn't safe. Everything was moving too fast.” I trail off because there's no way to explain how danger threads itself into every moment of Daniil's lifewithout dragging her into it even more, and without making her a target by association. “I'm okay now. That's what matters.”
“That's not all that matters,” she replies, her tone adjusting into the quiet firmness I know too well, the voice she uses when she's about to push me to be honest about something I'm trying to hide. “What aren't you telling me?”
I close my eyes, pressing my free hand against my stomach where my baby grows beneath my palm. “He knows.”
I hear a small gasp, but she doesn’t respond.
The words stick in my throat until I let out a deep breath. “That I'm pregnant.”
I can almost hear her processing the information and running through all the implications,
“Naomi,” she breathes, my name thick with wonder and worry equally. “You told him?”
“I had to.” The admission comes out raw and honest. “After everything that happened with Viktor, I couldn't keep hiding it. And Charlotte, he didn't freak out.” I swallow hard, remembering the way Daniil's face changed when I told him, and protective fire blazed to life in his ice-gray eyes. “He didn't push me away. He didn't demand I get rid of it or disappear. He took it better than I expected, better than I dared to hope.”
Charlotte's voice is gentle now, but I can hear the wariness underneath, and the concern of someone who loves me enough to see past my hopeful words to the reality beneath. “Better doesn't mean good. This is Daniil we're talking about. The man who runs a Bratva empire. The man whose cousin just kidnapped you because of your connection to him.”
Her words hit harder because they're true, and because she's voicing every fear I've tried to push down since this all began. But they also spark something defensive in me that rises up to protect what Daniil and I have built together.
“I know exactly who he is,” I respond, a little too sharply. I quickly feel bad, but I can’t help it. I've seen Daniil's gentleness and his capacity for tenderness that exist alongside his ruthlessness. I've felt his hands shake when he thought he'd lost me and seen the way he looks at me like he’ll protect me at any cost. I force my tone to become softer, but the conviction remains. “I know his world is dangerous. I'm not pretending otherwise. But I also know I love him. And I want this baby. I want…us.”
