INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 111
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
“What d’you mean, it blew up?” My voice thundered through the room—sharp, livid.
Dexter stood before me, dishevelled and visibly shaken. I stared him down, waiting—no, demanding—an explanation. He couldn’t just drop something like that and then fall blóody silent.
“Dexter,” I said, more forcefully this time. He finally looked up, eyes clouded with guilt and something bordering panic. “Blown up how?”
“I mean it went up in flamés, Dominic.” His voice cracked slightly as he dragged a hand through his already-mussed hair. “I was there. Right there. And it just… it went up, right in front of me. I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop it.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“But—”
“It’s. Not. Your. Fault.” I snapped each word with ice-edged clarity, a warning stitched into every syllable. Don’t argue. Don’t you dare. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
How the héll had today gone to utter shít so quickly?
It had started off well. A message from Genevieve— ‘Good morning, handsome’ — that had me smiling like a schoolboy. I rang her. We spoke for a while. Easy laughter, warm conversation, pretending for a fleeting moment that we weren’t neck-deep in the múck of this world.
My world. The one she’s now entangled in, whether I like it or not. And it had been stable—everything blóody running like clockwork— until now.
A ship didn’t just blów up on its own. Not one of ours. We’re meticulous. We take every dàmn precaution. Which means someone made it happen.
One moment I’m told the cargo’s close to docking. Next moment, it’s been reduced to flamíng wreckage—debris floating in the sea like the remnants of a nightmare.
No casualties, thank Christ. Injuries, yes. But no one díed. Small mercies.
“Any idea who might’ve done this?” I asked, my feet already moving—pacing the length of my office like a caged animàl. I couldn’t stay still. My mind raced far too fast. “And why now? Things have been… smooth. Blóody perfect even. So why now?”
Dexter shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I muttered a cúrse low under my breath, too harsh for polite company. Frustration gnawed at my ribs, fury boiling just beneath the surface. I tried to keep a lid on it, but it was like holding back a storm with nothing but bare hands.
“Get Echo on it.” The command left me coolly, but there was steel beneath it. He nodded immediately—no hesitation, no back talk. “And I want eyes on the damàges. I’m going down there.”
••
The port was eerily silent when we arrived—the kind of silence that rings in your ears and settles under your skin. Not a soul in sight, just the gentle lapping of water against the docks and the distant creak of metal under strain.
Goosebumps prickled my arms as that creeping feeling of unease threaded through me. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
The stench of burnt fuel lingered, acrid and heavy. Charred debris bobbed in the water, blackened scraps that once held value and purpose. My eyes scanned the wreckàge, the twisted remains of what used to be our lifeline.
My thoughts spun.
Why?
Who had the gall? The bloódy nerve?
And most importantly—what message were they trying to send?
Because this? This wasn’t just an attàck. It was a statement. And I was going to find out who said it. Then make them wish they never f+ckíng spoke.
The wind whipped off the sea, sharp and salt-laced, catching the edges of my coat as I stepped closer to the blackened remains. My boots crunched over shattered glass and twisted metal fragments, the sound grating—grating like the fury clawing at my chest.
A section of the dock had been scorched—scorched so completely it looked like it had been clawed at by hellfiré. The water around it was an oily smear, reflecting a sickly, distorted version of the sky above. A gull screeched overhead, but it sounded wrong. Out of place.
Dexter hovered behind me, quiet. Smart. He knew better than to speak when I was like this—when my mind was a spiral of calculations and vengéance.
I crouched near a warped container that had been dragged ashore, its metal skin peeled open like a tin can. Inside, nothing but ash. Whatever it once held—gone. Destróyed.
“How many men were injured?” I asked, my voice a low growl as I stood.
“Four,” Dexter replied, clearing his throat. “Two have already been discharged. Minor búrns. The others… they’ll need time. One took shrapnel to the leg. The other was near the explosíon point. Still unconscious.”
I nodded, jaw tight. Not because I didn’t care—but because I did. Because every injury felt personal. Because like I said, this wasn’t just an attack on property. This was a message scrawled in smoke and fire.
“Make sure their families are looked after,” I said. “Every single one of them.”
“I already have.”
Good. One less thing to worry about.
I took a slow breath, letting the salt air sting my lungs. Then I turned back to the wréckage. The twisted metal. The scorched earth.
“I want a list,” I said. “Everyone who knew about this shipment. Every bastàrd who so much as breathed near this manifest. I want names, Dexter. And I want them yesterday.”
“Yes, boss.”
Because someone did this. And I’ll find them. I’ll find them, and I’ll teàr their world apàrt piece by blóody piece.
A sharp buzz vibrated in my pocket. I pulled out my phone.
Genevieve.
Her name lit up the screen like a balm and a cúrse all at once. My thumb hovered over the green button, hesitating.
What would I even say?
“Hi, Baby. Sorry I didn’t call back—a ship explóded.”
God, she didn’t belong in this world. This dàrk, twisted héll I walked through every blóody day. And yet… she was already in it. Already tangled in my shadows.
I finally answered.
“Hey,” I said, tone softer than I felt.
A pause, and then her voice—warm, concerned, gentle. “Are you alright?”
No.
But I’d be damnéd before I let her hear that.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because I called earlier, and you didn’t pick up. Or send a message back. It’s unusual. So, are you truly alright?
I shouldn’t have answered. Not here. Not with smoke still thick in my throat and blóod boiling beneath the skin. But her voice… it always had a way of cutting through the chàos. Like silk slipping through clenched fists.
“Yeah.” I told her, though the lie tasted bitter.
There was a pause on the line—the kind that said she didn’t quite believe me, but she’d let it go. For now.
“Are you sure?” she asked gently. “You sound… tight. Distant.”
Because I am.
Because I’ve seen what someone meant for me to see—and they made dàmn sure it was unforgettable.
“I’m just busy, my love.” I forced my tone steady, even soothing. “Bit of a mess at the docks. Handling it.”
Handling it. As if that even scratched the surface.
“I can let you go if you need—”
“No.” The word left me fast, sharp, far too desperate. I cleared my throat. “No. Stay.”
A beat of silence. Then she spoke, quieter now. “Alright. I’m here.”
Christ, those three words. They undid me in places I didn’t even know were fraying.
I closed my eyes for a second, pressing the heel of my palm to my brow. The wind tugged at the back of my collar. Smoke still lingered in the air like a ghost refusing to leave.
I should’ve hung up. Shielded her. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. She was the only calm I had in a world that was anything but.
“I just need to hear you,” I admitted under my breath. “That’s all.”
Her exhale was soft—barely audible over the line. “Then I’m glad I called.”
Behind me, Dexter cleared his throat. I opened my eyes. He stood with a tablet in hand, eyes lowered respectfully, but the tension in his shoulders said there was more news.
Trouble rarely travelled alone.
“I’ve got to go,” I murmured, eyes still on the smouldering wreckàge in front of me. “I’ll call you later.”
“You’d better,” she replied—teasing, but with an edge of worry. “Stay safe, alright?”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because if I made a promise like that right now, it’d be a lie.
I ended the call.
“Talk to me,” I said to Dexter, my voice dropping back into that cold, clipped cadence that meant business.
He handed me the tablet. A report glowed on the screen—shipping logs, security footage timestamps, encrypted communications. I scanned it quickly, lips thinning.
“The cameras went dark at 02:17. Less than four minutes before the explosión,” he said grimly. “Someone knew where the blind spots were. Someone who’s been here before.”
I stared at the blacked-out footage, the timestamp blinking like a silent accusation.
Inside, something dark shifted.
“Find out who accessed the system. Who disabled the feed. Trace every login, every override, every phantom signal. I don’t care if they hid behind ten firewalls—búrn them.”
“Yes, boss.”
I looked out across the water again, a fist forming at my side.
This wasn’t just sabotage.
It was personal.
And whoever lit the fuse… they just signed their own déath sentence.
☆☆☆☆
By the time we returned to the Base, the sky had turned the colour of bruísed ash—grey, heavy, like it was holding back a storm. Fitting. The world felt on the brink of something, and so was I.
I didn’t stop to breathe. Didn’t sit. I went straight for him.
Mike.
He was newer. Not green, but not seasoned enough to be trusted without scrutiny either. Young. Eager. Too blóody eager — the kind that grinned too quickly and talked too much. The kind that watched everything but said very little of worth.
He’d been in logistics barely eight months. Too low to mastermind anything, but close enough to know things. Routes. Schedules. Personnel.
And he’d been on shift the night the manifests were finalised.
Dexter had him waiting in one of the smaller lounges—that quiet one with the bookshelves no one ever used and the ticking grandfather clock that always seemed louder than it should be.
I stepped in and closed the door behind me. The click echoed like a gúnshot.
He stood immediately, nerves visible in the twitch of his fingers. “Boss.”
“Sit,” I said, voice smooth as glass, cold as winter.
He sat.
I crossed the room slowly, each step measured—deliberate. Not because I needed to intimidate him. But because I wanted to. I wanted him to feel the weight of my ràge before I even said a word.
I stopped just in front of him. Looked down.
“Tell me, Mike,” I said, keeping my tone deceptively mild. “What do you know about what happened at the docks?”
His eyes darted, throat bobbing.
“Only what I was told, boss,” he said quickly. “That one of the ships was attackéd. Explosíon, right?”
“Mm.” I tilted my head slightly. “And what a coincidence that you were the one handling the shipment manifest, just hours before it was targéted. Tell me… did you sleep well that night?”
A flicker—subtle, but there. His pupils widened just a fraction. A sharp breath in. “I—yes. I didn’t notice anything off. I swear—”
My hand snapped forward, gripping his jaw—not enough to hurt, but enough to make his spine go rigid beneath my touch.
“Don’t swear unless you mean it,” I said, softly. “And if you’re lying, I’ll know. I always do.”
He tried to hold my gaze but faltered. Coward.
“Dominic.” Dexter’s voice came from behind me — he’d slipped in without a sound. “Echo traced a secure login from Mike’s clearance badge. Accessed the security override system two hours before the explosíon.”
My grip tightened. A quiet, furious breath left my nostrils. “You really are thick,” I muttered, releasing him with a sharp shove. “You honestly thought I wouldn’t find out?”
Mike shook his head violently. “No, no—I didn’t—It wasn’t me. I gave my badge to Blade that night. He said he needed to check something out—”
“Blade?” Dexter and I said it simultaneously.
Blóody héll.
Blade was a ghost. No ties. No roots. The type to blend into shadows and slít throats without blinking. If Mike was telling the truth—and it felt like truth, if only from how terrifiéd he was—then Blade will be the perfect person to ace it.
He is trusted by all in the Base, including me. That’s why I let Genevieve get so close to him, and vice versa.
I stepped back, breathing through my nose. I didn’t hit Mike, though the urge to was staggering.
“Dexter. Lóck him down. No one in, no one out. If he’s lying, I’ll skín him myself.”
And God, how I hoped he was.
Then I turned toward the door.
Blade wasn’t going to be easy to break—that is why I let him be part of the security detail to keep an eye on the two most important girls in my life. But he was going to bléed.
If he has the audacity to betray me, break my trust, then bloód will spill. And it will be his.
TBC📖✍️
