INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 110
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
“Let me get this straight,” Adrianna said, her voice taut with disbelief, though she was clearly trying her best to remain composed. The sound of her words floated through the room as I crunched lazily on a crisp. “So, you’re telling me that after dating Dominic for nearly two years, somehow never discovering he had a sister—who, mind you, wasn’t exactly tucked away in hiding—and then having your heart absolutely shattéred by him, which led to you fleeing the blóody continent… and after four whole years, you’re back and actually considering getting back together with him? Because what? He apologised?”
I nodded, tossing another crisp into my mouth with a small shrug. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Well, that’s stupíd,” Everett chimed in, snatching the bag of crisps from my lap like a petulant child. “You don’t deserve this.”
“Thank you!” Adrianna threw in, clearly backing him.
I rolled my eyes and shifted upright on her sofa, folding my legs up and hugging my knees to my chest. “Look, I know it sounds daft. It’s completely meñtal, yeah? That I’d even consider getting back with Dominic after everything. But I love him. And unfortunately, there isn’t some magic switch I can flick to shut it off. I would if I could.” My voice softened. “I really like him.”
My gaze drifted between my two older siblings, both now watching me with those gentle, frustratingly understanding eyes. My lips trembled slightly, emotion catching me off-guard. “Like… properly like him. And if he’s genuinely trying to change, then why shouldn’t I give him another chance?”
It was rhetorical, obviously. But Everett clearly missed that memo.
“Because he’s a knobheàd?” he replied matter-of-factly, tipping his head to one side. The dísdain in his blue eyes hadn’t lessened in the slightest since I mentioned Dominic’s name. “Because he doesn’t deserve happiness—especially not when it comes in the form of you? Because he broke it off and should have to live with the consequences?” He ran his fingers through his tousled blond hair, which fell right back into place like it had a personal vendetta against staying ruffled. “Shall I carry on?”
Right. Message received loud and clear: Everett Walker-King absolutely despíses my boyfriend.
Oh—did I say boyfriend?
It’s been two and a bit weeks—eight days since I gave Dominic a one-week trial. And, unsurprisingly, he convinced me.
His efforts were… sweet. Obnoxiously so. A massive bouquet of red roses, two separate dinner dates—one here in England and the other in Edinburgh, Scotland. We flew there in his helicopter.
God, that Scottish dinner was everything. A rainy evening, the glow of candlelight dancing against the windows, the quiet patter of rain outside, and me across the table from the most heartbreakingly gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. And love, unfortunately. It was… perfect.
There were other things, of course. Things I will absolutely not mention, unless I grin like an ídiot in front of my siblings.
“Look,” I tried again. “I know he can be a bit of a pràt, but he’s a good man.”
It felt like my siblings had built a blóody fortress around their hearts—one labelled anti-Dominic only. The level of passionate hatréd they reserved for him was baffling, especially considering how generally law-abiding and sensible they both were.
“He loves me. And God knows how much I love him too.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Adrianna asked, her voice softening just a touch.
“One hundred percent.” I nodded with conviction, then turned to my brother. “Ever?”
“No, Dove. I don’t like him. And I honestly haven’t a clue what you see in him.”
I blinked, stung. “The same thing whoever you’re seeing sees in you.”
Didn’t mean to snap. The words tumbled out before I could stop them. He scoffed, shaking his head like I’d just kicked his cat. Disappointment—or maybe disapproval—etched into his features. God, I hoped it was the latter.
“I’m sorry, okay? But you do understand how all-consuming love can be. How intoxicàting it is, loving someone and being loved back. You can’t just—”
“I’m sorry, but can someone please tell me who this mystery girl is?” Adrianna cut in, raising her hand like a schoolchild in class, her tone a theatrical blend of mock patience and curiosity. “You,” she pointedly looked at Everett, who met her gaze with the same unreadable expression he always wore, “have been acting incredibly odd these past few months, yet every time I ask about the suspicious glow on your face, you brush it off.”
“That’s because he broke up with Diane and is now seeing someone else,” I chimed in matter-of-factly, leaning back against the plush cushions, the warmth of the room doing little to ease the rising tension.
He knows I know. I know he knows I know. Now all that’s left is to figure out who the lucky girl actually is.
“Do you know who she is?” Adrianna asked, leaning in slightly, her brows furrowed in intrigue.
“Not yet,” I said with a shrug, my tone casual but determined. “But I will find out.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Everett asked, his voice tinged with challenge, one brow raised as if daring me to try.
I crossed my arms, a smug grin creeping across my face. “I’ll have you know I’ve got a brother-in-law in the FBI,” I said proudly. “And a boyfriend who just… knows things.”
Yes, vague. Very MI6 of me, thank you.
“Is it just me, or did she make the arsehóle sound even more arseholé-y and mysterious?” Everett quipped before lobbing a throw pillow at my head. It smacked me square in the face.
The sound of Ria and Everett erupting into laughter filled the room—light, bright, familiar. Like home.
“Nice catch,” Everett added, still grinning.
“Git,” I muttered, grinning despite myself.
This—this was what made life bearable. The messy, loud joy of being with the people who know you inside out, even if they do occasionally assàult you with soft furnishings.
✷✷✷✷
“Who’s got you smiling like that?” was the first thing out of my mouth as I stepped into the studio and spotted Aurora, nose buried in her phone, cheeks flushed the kind of pink you only get from texting someone who makes your heart skip.
That unmistakable blush—the kind you get from one too many flirty messages—was really blooming across her cheeks.
She glanced up, her grin turning sly. “You’d be surprised,” she said, pocketing her phone and brushing the topic away with a casual flick of her hand. “Hey. You alright?”
“Yeah, not bad. You?”
“All good. Just vibing. Here… in the studio.”
“You’re being weird again.”
“Weird? Me? Never,” Rory denied with theatrical innocence. She sauntered over to a paint-splattered table cluttered with half-used brushes, acrylic pots, and stained palettes, plucking a brush with exaggerated care. “What I am is busy.”
A scoff-laced chuckle slipped from me as I made my way over. She was absolutely pretending—fidgeting with things she had no intention of using—when her phone buzzed again with a notification.
“Is that your boyfriend?” I asked, more nosy than I usually allow myself to be. “And if so, why the secrecy? Does Dom even know about him?”
“Blóody héll, Genny, someone might think you’re my mum with the way you’re grilling me,” she said, all playful exasperation. “And he isn’t a he, okay? It’s just a friend. And that friend is definitely a she.”
Do I look like I’ve got the word gulliblé tattóoed across my forehead?
I shrugged, more than willing to humour her. “So, you’re into girls? That’s cool. I’ve got loads of friends who are queer, actually. Maybe I could set you up—”
Aurora’s eyes widened with slow horror as I rambled on, gleefully attempting to set her up with half my contact list.
“Should I stop?” I asked, lips twitching into a smirk.
She nodded so fast her ponytail bounced like it had a mind of its own.
“Alright, alright. I’ll stop torturiñg you. For now.”
I let her be, and we chatted about other things—her brother included—while I waited for Dominic to return. At one point, Rory even tried to teach me how to paint, bless her, but gave up fairly quickly after discovering I was an absolute lost cause in that department. She muttered something like, “You two are freakishly alike,” as she set the brush down with an exaggerated sigh.
Who the second person in that you two was, I had no flaming idea. And I couldn’t ask—not when she looked at me with that cheeky little smile of hers. It’s really quite adorable, and so contagious I ended up smiling back without thinking.
So, as Aurora painted, I watched her with rapt attention, genuinely in awe of her talent. The canvas came alive beneath her brushstrokes—what looked like a storm brewing at sea began to take shape. Rolling waves, dark and menacing, built slowly but steadily, each stroke layering the tension. The room was quiet save for the occasional scrape of brush against canvas, but it was the good kind of quiet—companionable, comfortable.
We kept up a bit of idle chitchat about nothing in particular, and even in silence, it felt light-hearted and warm. By the time the sun had begun to sink, casting an amber hue across the walls, I ordered Chinese and we ate on the floor, giggling like teenagers. It was… lovely. Ridicúlously lovely.
Looking at her then, with a smear of blue paint on her cheek and her eyes sparkling with laughter, it hit me. We could’ve had this—I could’ve had this—ages ago, if it weren’t for Dominic. And also, if I hadn’t been such a blóody idíot. How the héll didn’t I see it sooner?
Another half hour slipped by, and worry began to gnaw at the edges of my thoughts. And just as it was about to tip into full-blown panic, the source of my anxiety strolled in like he owned the place.
Which—yes, alright—technically he does. But you get my point.
“Hey!” Rory piped up first, her voice bright as usual. But her smile faltered the moment she caught sight of his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping towards him with concern etched across her features.
Perhaps there was reason to worry. Maybe more than one.
I’d already been chewing on unease with how late he was, but the look on his face practically confirmed it. He looked absolutely knackered—drained to the bone. His gaze flicked from Rory to me, and something tight coiled in my chest.
“Dominic?” she prompted again, curling her fingers around his arm. “What happened?”
The tension in the room surged like a sudden tide, thick and stifling. My thoughts started spiralling—what could have possibly gone so wrong?
He broke the silence with a single sentence that dropped like a bómb: “One of our ships was blówn up.”
My stomach dropped.
“When you say ‘blówn up’… do you mean explodéd?” Rory asked, eyes wide.
He gave a small nod.
“Who?” she breathed, the word barely audible.
“That’s just it—I don’t know.” His voice was frayed, raw. “Echo’s been combing through everything she can for the past five hours—” He tipped his head back with a rough exhale, then hissed through his teeth in frustration. “She hasn’t found a dàmn thing. Whoever did this knew about the latest shipment and made blóody sure to stop it.”
My voice finally found its way past the lump in my throat. “Do you think there’s an insider? Someone feeding information to whoever is behind this?” Both Morozov siblings turned to me at once. “Only someone on the inside would’ve known the transport details,” I added, glancing between the two of them. “Right?”
“You’re right,” Dominic said quietly.
Rory gave a thoughtful hum, worry dancing in her eyes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her mind clearly racing. “But who?” she asked, her voice soft but heavy. The question lingered in the room like smóke. “Who’s the traitor?”
TBC
