INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings - Episode 63
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
It’s been two weeks since Genevieve graced my arms with her presence. Two weeks of relentless torment, a cruel punishment for the careless words I let slip during our conversations about love.
These past few days have stripped me of my former self, leaving behind a hollow shell as I watch the days stretch on without her by my side, where she undeniably belongs.
This entire situation could have been avoided if she hadn’t fallen for me. That reality is one I’ll never fully comprehend. What sane woman, with a bright future ahead, would choose to see through my layers of darknéss and still desire me?
If I were her, I wouldn’t want me. My hands are tainted with the blóod of countless souls, merciléssly extinguished without a shred of regrét for their bereaved families. If given the chance, I would repeat my actions without hesitation. My soul is so deep in darknéss that it rivals the depths of a black hole. At times, I find myself feariñg the man I’ve become.
She witnessed me shoót a man in the leg that night, and not once did she flinch. She knew how brutà lly I dealt with that foól who dared to touch her in a bar, yet fear never flickered in her eyes. Genevieve remained steadfast, even when I nearly took a mà n's lÃfe for daring to put a kñife to her throat in the Maldives.
Not once have I seen trepidation in her gaze. Instead, she looks at me as if I am the only thing that matters, while the rest of the world cowers in fear. Genevieve King regards me with an affection that pierces through my darknéss, her dazzling eyes reflecting feelings that should terrÃfy her.
I don’t deserve her, yet my longing for her grows stronger by the day. I know I agreed to give her space, as was her wish, but all I truly want is to approach her and remind her that she will always be mine.
Call me selfish, but I can’t bear the thought of another man—Lima—having a place in her life. She is far too perfect for someone like me, yet she is undeniably mine. While I may not be worthy of her radiant smiles that illuminate my darkest days, her casual conversations about books I feign interest in, and the playful banter that dances between us, I can’t help but yearn for them.
God, I miss her in ways that words cannot articulate. I let her into my life for a reason, and now she has woven herself into the very fabric of my existence.
Genevieve King is cunningly intelligent, far beyond her years, having slipped into my heart without my even realizing it. Perhaps she’s cast a spell on me with those mesmerizing eyes, her infuriatingly beautiful smile, or the way she breathes my name with such ease. The way she laughs, the perfect fit of her hands against mine, the way her cheeks flush when I kiss her forehead—each moment has ensnared me deeper.
In one way or another, she has expertly wrapped me around her finger, and I would be a fóol to let such a treasure slip through my grasp.
Who cares if she’s been overly friendly with Lima? Who cares if she shares smiles meant for me with him? Who cares about the glances they exchange when their hands brush against each other?
I do. I care deeply.
Of course, it gnaws at me that Genevieve shares her joy with Lima. If it were anyone else—Julianna, Sloane, or even that Christian boy—I wouldn’t bat an eye. But Lima? He likes her.
He likes her, and she knows it. Yet she continues to engage with him. I know this; I’ve been watching her for days.
With final year students at Silverlake Academy finishing their exams, my Vixen has more free time on her hands. More opportunities to laugh and share unfunny jokes with him.
I gripped the glass in my hand so tightly that it shatters, shards digging into my skin while blóod mingles with the water pooling on my desk.
“Dominic!” My little sister’s voice cut through my dark reverie, her panic-stricken expression matching the urgency in her tone. She glanced at the mess I’ve made. “What’s wrong with you?”
I don’t know.
I’m grappling with the realization that I cannot live without Genevieve King—the very girl I once wanted to destróy.
Perhaps if I repeat this enough, my heart will finally come to an understanding with my mind. My mind urges me to be logical, while my heart rebels against all reason.
Aurora stepped beside me, taking my hands in hers to tend to the mess I had made, her expression somber. I wanted to assure her that I was fine, but I knew that would be a lie—one she wouldn’t buy for a second.
"Stop torturÃng yourself, Dominic," she said, her focus on the open wound on my palm. "It's clear you love her just as much as she loves you, if not more. I don’t understand why you're putting yourself and her through this."
"It's betrayal, Rory. Loving the daughter of the people who killéd Mom and Dad—it's a betrayal I can't bear. It’s not right; it's unfair to them."
Her honey-colored eyes, so reminiscent of Mom’s, locked onto mine, understanding swirling within them. "What's truly unfair is you húrting yourself for people who are no longer here."
"Those people were your parents, Aurora," I snapped, my anger flaring at her words.
"Yeah, the parents I can barely remember, Dominic."
"That’s why I want revenge for us both. I was ten; I had memories with them. But you... you were just a baby."
Her eyes glistened, an echo of our mother’s sorrow reflected in them. She bit her lower lip, struggling to hold back tears. "I don’t like seeing you húrt."
"I am fine," I insisted, though the words felt hollow.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she shook her head, a denial of the lie I had told. "No, you’re not," she breathed, her voice trembling. "You’re hurtiñg, and you’re hiding it from me."
"I can’t hide anything from you, Rory."
Her tears continued to cascade down her face as she met my gaze, then returned her attention to my hand.
How many more people close to me will I húrt? First Genevieve, then Dexter, then my uncle, whom I snapped at before he returned to Russia, and now it’s my sister—the one who drives me to work harder every day.
I wanted to give her the life she deserves, a life fit for a princess. But now... now, I’m the one making my princess cry.
"Why can’t you let it go?"
Let it go?
Let it go?!
"Because I was there. I was there, hiding like a coward while Mom and Dad were shót. I watched lifé drain from their eyes. I saw them bleéd to deà th, gasping for air, and I could do nothing. They diéd before me, the very parents who raised me with endless love." I barked out a mirthless laugh, wiping away the tears that betrayed my composure. "How can I let it go? I heard the killérs call him Boss. How can you possibly ask me to let that go?"
The more I spoke, the more my soul fractured. Reliving those haunting memories felt like a kñife twisting in my heart.
"I was ten, Rory—just ten when I witnessed that. I understand that it's not uncommon for children to lose their parents in tragic ways, but then the nightmares began. Each night, as I closed my eyes, I was hauntéd by a singular image: the bloód—the blóod, Rory, the blóod of my parents staining the floor of the house filled with the echoes of my childhood. I couldn’t recall the joyful moments, only the one I desperately wished to erase. I would have given anything to purge that memory from my ten-year-old mind. Sleep eluded me for nights on end, and insomnia consumed me, forcing me into therapy for a year—all while I juggled school and the responsibility of taking care of you. So tell me, Aurora, how can I let go without making the person responsible suffer?"
"Because it's hurtiñg you!" Aurora exclaimed, angér flashing in her eyes. "It's doing serious damage, and God forbid I let my brother spiral into darkness simply because he's blinded by revénge. You love Genevieve."
"I don't. I don’t love Genevieve," I shot back, though her words struck a painful chord within me. "I can’t love Genevieve as long as she’s Kyle Walker’s daughter. I can’t."
"Who killéd our parents?" I met her gaze, a challenge hanging in the air. She raised an eyebrow, urging me to respond. "Come on, answer me. Who. Killéd. Our. Parents?"
"Kyle," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. "Kyle Walker."
"Oh, really? So why then are you punishing yourself and Genevieve? Her father did it, not her. She’s innocent; she was just a baby at the time, Dominic." I shook my head, ready to retort, but she pressed on. "If you lose her, you will never forgive yourself for letting her go. It’s been a little over two weeks since this all began. I may not know Genevieve as well as you do, but she’s far too confident to wait around for you."
What the héll does that mean?
"Remember, Dominic, it was her father who killéd our parents, not her. I’ve never seen you as happy as when she was with you. You smile more often, chuckle at your phone, spend hours facetiming her late into the night, and most importantly, you actually sleep peacefully now." A sad smile graced my sister's lips. "She’s good for you, Nic. Don’t lose her."
I lacked the fortitude to voice a single word after that moment. Instead, I found myself dwelling on her words, allowing them to linger far longer than they should have.
Aurora rose gracefully to her feet, her gaze fixed on me with an enigmatic smile, as if she could read the turmoil swirling in my mind. "Prom is tonight, by the way. As my brother and one of the primary donors to the school, you're invited. Will you be attending?"
The thought of attending felt burdensome; I longed for the solace of home, even if it meant stealing just a few moments of sleep—fifteen, maybe twenty minutes of peace.
Then, like an unwelcome intruder, guilt crept into my heart, settling there with a persistent weight. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Aurora interrupted my thoughts with a soft hum.
Then, like an unwelcome intruder, guilt crept into my heart, settling there with a persistent weight. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Aurora interrupted my thoughts with a soft hum.
"Genevieve will be there." She turned her phone toward me, revealing a picture that ignited a fierce blaze within. "Aren't they cute?"
I shot her a glare, frustration boiling beneath the surface. I couldn't blame her entirely; the Morozov blóod ran strong, often leading us to utter thoughts we should keep hidden. But why, in God's name, would she describe a photo of my Genevieve standing so close to Lima—her radiant smile lighting up the frame—as cute?
She appeared so serene, so at ease among her friends, yet there he was, that insufferable boy I couldn't stand. Why couldn’t she have stood beside her best friend, Julianna, instead of him?
As if the situation couldn’t worsen, there were comments beneath the photo, shipping them together. Can you believe that? Shipping my Genevieve with him?!
My Genevieve. She belongs to me. If there’s anyone she should be paired with, it’s me—only me. I have no inclination to share what is rightfully mine, and Genevieve King is unequivocally mine.
"I am going to be there," I declared, determination and fury intertwining in my chest.
"But I thought you didn’t want to go," she replied, her voice laced with surprise.
"I never said that."
"Yeah, your face did."
"Rory, do me a favor, will you?" Her eyes lit up with curiosity as she nodded eagerly. "Get me a three-piece suit. The ones I have just won’t do."
The suits hanging in my closet, both worn and unworn, fell short of my standards for tonight. I would be in the presence of someone exceptionally significant to me, and I wouldn’t be Dominic Morozov if I didn’t command her attention, making her gaze linger on me as it always did when we shared a space.
"You don’t like them? Or is there a certain someone you want to impress?" A teasing glint danced in her eyes, accompanied by that infuriatingly knowing smile.
I averted my gaze, determined to deny her insinuations. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."
TBC
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