Insatiable Cravings - Episode 87

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings - Episode 87

Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

~ Dominic ~

The next day, I would be in Russia, but at this moment, I was there with Genevieve. I hadn’t told her yet about my plans. 

Her breaths were calm and steady, a rhythmic lull that contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside me. She rested her head against my chest, and I felt an unsettling mix of contentment and guilt wash over me. 

How could I relish her comforting presence when I was plotting to kíll her father?

“I am free for the entire day tomorrow,” she said, lifting her head slightly to meet my gaze. “What are you doing? I was thinking we could spend the whole day together.”

Oh.

“It is fine if you are busy,” she added, her voice dropping to a low whisper tinged with sadness. “It is just that it had been so long since we had a day-long date.”

I hatéd seeing her unhappy, especially when I knew I was the reason. It felt like this had become a recurring theme lately.

If this had been before I discovered that Ivan Morozov had cruélly taken my parents from me, I would have jumped at the chance to say yes. Back when I was blissfully unaware, I would have cherished every moment with the whirlwind that had swept into my heart.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t spend the day with her. I had to visit my dearest uncle.

“I...” Do I lie? Or tell the truth? “I was going on a business trip.”

A lie it was.

“A business trip?” she asked, sitting up, her expression shifting to one of concern. “Where?”

“Russia.”

“Oh.” The shock in her voice was palpable. “Would you go see your uncle?”

Uncle.

That single word ignited a tempest of fury within me. I barely had time to mask it, but Genevieve noticed the flicker of emotion that crossed my face.

“What happened?” she inquired, her brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” I lied again.

“Hmmm.” She didn’t believe me, but wisely chose not to press further. “So, Russia tomorrow? When are you coming back?”

“Soon. I won't be there for more than two days.” This was the truth, perhaps the only one I had shared with her in recent days. “It would be very quick.”

“Alright.”

I pulled her back against me, relief flooding through me when she didn’t protest. “So, you aren’t màd about me not telling you earlier?”

“Oh, I am.”

I sensed a ‘but’ lurking beneath her words, so I probed. “But?”

“No buts. I am not that mad, just a little upset. It is fine, though. When you come back home, we would have more free days to ourselves.”

A smile spread across my face, tugging at the corners of my lips. I pressed my lips to her forehead, breathing in the delicate scent of her hair. “Yeah. Yeah, we would.”

Genevieve returned my smile, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that made my heart ache. I wanted to etch this moment into my memory—the way her dazzling blue eyes shone with love, the calm beauty of her face. She was mine, but for how long?

“You are going to be fine, right?”

No, I didn’t think so.

Yet, I nodded my head. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

---

I was not fine.

Not even close.

He smiled at me, that dàmn smile, as if nothing was wrong, as if he hadn’t caused the greatest hàrm in my life.

How could he still grin so widely when he denied my sister and me the love of our parents?

“To what do I owe this visit, my son?”

“I was not your son. Your son, Cassian, was dead, just like you were about to be.” Those words danced on the tip of my tongue, but I suppressed them. I had to maintain my composure, so I smiled as if everything was normal.

“Can't I visit you anymore?”

“Of course you can.”

“Even if you said no, I would still visit. Who else would I visit if not you? You are my only family aside from Rory, and I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Dominic. I am glad you came.”

Oh, you shouldn’t.

“You are?”

“Yeah. I got to have my favorite nephew with me; why wouldn’t I be?”

“I am your only nephew, Ivan.”

He beamed at me, as if I had just told him a joke.

“By the way, uncle, I had been meaning to ask…” I paused, shoving my hands into my pockets as I inched closer. “Why did you do it?”

He feigned confusion. “Do what?”

“How many horrible things had you committed that I am unaware of?”

"Dominic," he was now alert, alarmed even. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Alright. I will give you a hint." I was no longer that little boy who lost his parents, tears brimming in my eyes. "Why did you tàke my parents' lives?"

Panic gripped his face in an instant. I could see the realization dawning on him; he knew he was at a disadvantage if I decided to pounce. His men, the ones guarding this house, worked for me.

He was helpless. Completely and hopelessly helpless.

"If you give me a good enough reason, maybe I will extend your living period," I told him, my voice steady and unyielding.

"S-son—"

In a flash, I snatched my gún from my back pocket and firéd at his leg. The sharp report of the gún shattered the tense silence, and his cry pierced through the expansive living room, soothing the ache in my heart.

"Do not call me that." My voice boomed, loud and furious. "I am not your son!"

He was bleéding. Ivan Morozov, my one and only uncle, was bleéding, and it was such a wonderful yet paínful sight.

Wonderful because the man who had killéd my parents was experiencing pàin, and paínful because that same killér was my uncle—the very man who had raised me.

F+ckíng dàmn it!

"Go on, tell me. I am really curious why you did it. Maybe if you tell me, then I can reconsider finishing these bulléts in your body."

"Dom..."

I snapped, "Start talking!"

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

He was daring me.

He wasn't talking.

He was silent, so silent it enraged me even more. I firéd again, this time into his arm.

"I trusted you. I trusted you with my life. If you had told me to hand over my life to you, I would have done it without a word because you are..." I paused, the weight of my words settling heavily in the air. "You were my uncle. Now, you are nothing, nobody."

"I raised you."

"After taking my parents to their early gravés."

"It's not like they didn't deserve it. They deserved it and more. I would have preferred it even more if I had been the one to do it instead of sending amateurs."

Here it came—the confession.

"Life is a bítch, especially when you have a motherfúcker as a brother. He is the youngest, so he got more of our parents' love, and that was fine. I didn't mind it much. Then he got Laura's love too, and it didn't matter that I told him I loved her, that I wanted her. He didn't listen, and he got her."

Unbelievable.

I couldn't believe my ears.

"And I thought, 'It is fine, they will break up sooner or later.' But they didn't. Their relationship grew stronger, and then boom—they were engaged. I was not fine. Dennis ruinéd my life; he completely destroyéd it, and I was not fine. He even made me his best man—the fuckíng bàstard."

I firéd the third bullét into his other arm, enraged that he dared to bàdmouth my father in my presence.

Ivan groaned, red liquid oozing from the bullét holes. He was on his knees, exactly where he belonged after his síns.

"Come on, continue. I know you are not done yet." He gritted his teeth in añger, and I chuckled mirthlessly. "What are you going to do, uncle? Kíll me? Like you did to my parents, huh?"

"What else do you want to hear?" Ivan yelled at the top of his voice. "Your Dad got your Mom." He snapped. "I wasn't okay with it, but I let it go. Then I moved on. I had my son and was raising him to be the Don, but then that Donovan bàstard killéd him."

Donovan bàstard?

I remembered the name. Jeremiah or Jeremy Donovan. He had worked for the opposing màfia before Ivan killéd him and his wife on a bridge.

"You know, I thought my brother would stay with me to móurn the lóss of my son—his goddàmn nephew. But all he was interested in was going on a vacation."

A vacation that had been scheduled three months in advance and was already delayed by a week because of Cassian's déath. 

"You were asked to come."

"Out of pity! They didn't want me there."

"They actually did. My mum begged you to come with us, to take your mind off Cassian's déath. My Dad also pleaded with you. He cried for two days because he lost his nephew."

"Lies!" My soon-to-be déad uncle snapped. "They were just pretending to care when all they wanted was their silly little vacation. So I sent them on a permanent one."

How... what?!

"You were lucky. I wanted to wípe out all of you, but of course, your Dad—who refused to have anything to do with the Bràtva—knew better than to not have a secret room in his house."

Okay, that was it. I firéd the fourth bullét into his stomach.

"I bet you weren't expecting his son to be the one to end you."

The fifth bullét found its mark in his chest. He was losing a lot of blóod now, writhing on the ground, his breaths becoming shallow and ragged.

"You need a vacation of your own after all your hard work. I mean, you raised the person who arranged to be killéd and made him the Dón—nice work, uncle." I smirked, the satisfaction coursing through me like a potent drúg. "Want a vacation right now?"

The last bullét boomed in his head, and I watched as his body slumped lifeléssly to the floor. A profound silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the heavy thud of his final breath escaping his lips.

"Say hi to Cassian for me," I muttered, tucking the gún back in my pocket. The weight of the weàpon felt strangely light now, as if the burden I had carried for years had finally been lifted. 

The lavish living room, adorned with opulent furnishings and extravagant decor, felt hollow in the aftermath of my actions. I could still hear the echoes of his confessions reverberating in my mind, a cacophony of betrayal and paín. 

As I stepped away from the scene, a sense of clarity washed over me. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blóod, mingling with the faint fragrance of aged whiskey that lingered in the room. It was a scent that would forever be etched in my memories. 

TBC

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