INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 130
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Genevieve ~
The flat was quiet—save for the distant hum of traffic drifting in from the street below and the faint, rhythmic ticking of the kitchen clock. That sort of quiet that felt poised, almost watchful, as if the world were holding its breath.
My coffee had long gone cold, abandoned on the table beside me. I hadn’t even realised I’d stopped drinking it. I was too busy watching the ring catch the morning light—the diamond winking like a star, brilliant and untamed.
Engaged.
The word still tasted strange in my mouth. Like something borrowed. Like a dress that didn’t quite fit yet.
I twisted the ring absent-mindedly, trying to make sense of how we’d ended up here. Not with regret—never that—but with a sort of stunned reverence. One minute, I was tucked away in China while my boyfriend was half a world away, and the next… I was saying yes with every atom in me while he knelt in front of me, eyes full of fire.
And now, I was someone’s fiancée.
Dominic’s fiancée.
The thought sent a ripple through my chest—part exhilaration, part dread. Loving him felt like holding fire in bare hands. It hurt sometimes, seared the skin, but letting go was unthinkable.
Everything about him is frightening, even the way he loves. Especially that. And everything that surrounds him—the Bràtva, the dànger, the darkness—but still, I couldn’t bring myself to love him any less.
Behind me, the bed creaked.
I turned just in time to see him stir, one arm reaching across the empty stretch of mattress like he’d noticed I was gone even in sleep. His brows furrowed faintly, lips parting on a quiet sound—half sigh, half groan.
He was beautiful like this. Unguarded. His hair a tousled mess, his body slack with sleep. The tension he carried like a second skin had melted away for the moment, and I found myself staring. Drinking him in. Storing this version of him somewhere private and precious.
I didn’t realise I was smiling until he cracked one eye open.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” he murmured, voice low and gravelled from sleep. “You’ve been staring at me long enough, darling. Planning my murdér?”
A soft laugh escaped me. “Not yet. I might give you a few more days.”
His lips curved into a sleepy grin, and he shifted onto his side to face me fully. “Come here,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
I didn’t hesitate. I set the cup aside and slipped beneath the covers, drawn into the heat of him. His arm curled around my waist like it belonged there—like I belonged there—and he pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. Soft. Lingering.
For a while, we said nothing. The silence between us was thick with warmth and familiarity. He traced slow, lazy shapes against my spine with his fingers, and I melted into him, allowing the quiet to hold us.
But then, I felt him shift. Just the tiniest change—tension threading into his muscles.
“You told them?” he asked, voice still drowsy, but clearer now.
I nodded against his chest. “Mum was shocked. Adrianna and Jules said it was too fast, but they’re happy. Everett… well. He was Everett.”
A deep chuckle rumbled through him. “He threatened me, didn’t he?”
“Several times. Indirectly.”
“That’s almost sweet. In a homicidal sort of way.”
I looked up at him, catching the faint smile playing at the edge of his lips.
“They’ll come around,” I said softly. “They just want me safe. And you’re not exactly the easiest man to explain.”
His smile faded, and something darker flickered behind his eyes. “No,” he agreed quietly. “I’m not.”
There it was again—that quiet, gnawing guilt he never spoke of but wore all the same. Like a weight pressed into his very bones.
I reached up, cupping his cheek, brushing the pad of my thumb just beneath his eye. “But I chose you. All of you.”
He looked at me then—not just at me, but into me. Like he couldn’t quite understand why I’d stay, why I’d say yes, when he still hadn’t decided if he deserved any of it.
“Sometimes I wonder,” he murmured, “what I did to deserve you.”
That made two of us.
“You loved me,” I said simply. “That’s what.”
“I do. I do love you, a lot.” His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into my touch, exhaling like he hadn’t taken a proper breath in years. “Let’s just stay like this,” he whispered, “a little while longer.”
And so we did. Tangled in warm sheets and layered silence. In love, in fear, in fragile hope.
Because the world outside was waiting—bristling with questions, chaos, and consequences. But here, in this bed, in his arms, I was just a girl who said yes.
And he was the man who made her believe in forever.
••
Dominic had to step out for something but promised he’d be back in a few hours. As for me, I was meant to return to my research—trial preparations weren’t going to handle themselves.
Still, my thoughts were split in two—half focused on the case, the other half spiralling around one name:
Viktor Valdislav.
Last night, Dominic told me that Echo had been poking around on her computer when she stumbled across something—some thread on the darker side of the web. A post. A comment. A trace.
A Mongolian man, allegedly connected to Viktor’s gang, had written: “My boss needs a box of gúns with búllets. And he also wants another set of explosivés.”
On its own, it meant little. Bosses and búllets weren’t exactly rare in those corners of the internet. But the reply—that was different. That was damñing.
“Sure! We all know how Viktor gets when he doesn’t get what he wants.”
It was as if his name had been thrown into the void, daring someone to notice.
And the most chilling part? The preparations. Like they were gearing up for something catastrophic. Yes, they were a gàng—but why would they need another set of explósives? As in, a second one.
The first was likely what bléw up the ship.
Dominic said he was handling it, but Viktor? He was still nowhere to be found. Neither was Blade. It was like they were both biding their time, waiting for the right moment to reappear.
The faces we feàred, and yet—God help us—we were bracing to see.
The uncertainty gnawed at me, worming its way through my thoughts. Now that I knew Viktor wasn’t deàd, new questions began to take shape.
Where was Blade?
Was he with Viktor—or off scheming elsewhere?
Where the fúck was that slippery bastàrd hiding? Close by? Far off?
And what was his true vendetta with Dominic?
Of course, no answers came rushing forward. So I did the only thing I could—I threw myself into my research, trying to force my thoughts into order, into something practical.
It worked. For a couple of hours, at least.
Until I dozed off.
One minute, I was surrounded by friends and family—everything light, laughter, and easy smiles. The kind of joy that felt warm in your chest. The next, the day turned cold and jagged, and Viktor was standing there, pointing a gun at me.
I jolted awake.
The flat had darkened—the soft golden hue of earlier sun replaced by the steely hush of late afternoon. Shadows lingered along the skirting boards, stretched long and watchful like they were listening in.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
There was that strange in-between stillness—the disorienting weight that settles when you don’t recall falling asleep. My eyes stung faintly, and my limbs felt oddly distant, like time had slipped sideways without permission.
My neck ached where I’d slumped awkwardly against the cushions. I had draped one of his jumpers over myself. It was heavy with his scent: leather, cedarwood, and something darker, something distinctly him. The kind of scent that clings to you, like it means to stay.
I stared at the ceiling, heart knocking a quiet rhythm—more unease than panic, but unwelcome all the same. The dream had dissolved the moment I surfaced, but its shadow still pressed against my skin. Viktor’s name echoed faintly, a half-formed whisper that refused to leave.
I sat up slowly, fingertips pressing into my temples. My laptop had long since gone black, screen asleep, just like the part of me that had once tried to stay productive. I must’ve dozed off mid-research—God knows how, with Viktor still clawing at the back of my mind.
A soft buzz pulsed from the table. My phone.
A message from Dominic.
Mine: On my way back. You alright, baby?
I stared at the words for a beat too long, letting them settle in me. He always had this uncanny timing—like he could hear when the thoughts started crowding.
Me: Yeah. Just woke up. Still breathing.
Almost instantly, I regretted the wording. A strange choice, especially now, when everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of unravelling.
The typing dots appeared. Paused. Vanished. Came back. Disappeared again.
I rose from the sofa, Dominic’s jumper wrapped tightly round me like armour, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The cold tiles bit at my soles, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
My coffee still sat untouched on the counter from this morning. I poured it down the sink, watching it swirl and disappear as though it could carry away the knot in my chest.
It didn’t.
My gaze dropped to the ring still snug on my finger. The sight of it stirred something again—half flutter, half weight. Not regret. Never regret. Just the magnitude of it all. Of him.
He loved like a storm, and I had walked willingly into the eye of it.
I pressed a palm to my abdomen, trying to anchor myself. I was alright for now… until I wasn’t.
The unease was growing, steadily feeding itself until it could bloom into full-blown fear. We didn’t have time for that. Not with Viktor lurking somewhere out of reach.
We needed to find him. The question was—
Where the blóody héll was he?
And why did it feel like he was already far too close?
I lingered at the sink, palms pressed to the granite, watching droplets slide down the inside of a glass like they were racing each other to nowhere. My thoughts refused to settle. Everything felt fogged—like my mind had been dipped in smóke.
Viktor’s name kept circling back. His shadow, thick as oil, staining everything it touched.
Even silence wasn’t safe from him.
No matter how far away he was—no matter how dead we hoped he was—he always felt close. Like you’d turn and find him behind you. Just out of frame in the mirror.
And now there were murmurs—gún shipments, explosivés, men whispering his name like it was sacred or curséd. And Blade… still missing. That silence alone felt like a threàt.
I didn’t want to dwell on it. But my mind had other ideas, always dragging me back to the very thing I shouldn’t be thinking about.
I hugged my arms around myself, pulling the jumper tighter. My fiancé’s jumper.
That word sent something sharp twisting in my chest. I loved him—desperately, recklessly—but love doesn’t dissolve dañger. If anything, it makes it more real.
Because now I had something to lose. More than something. Everything.
A soft click at the door jolted me.
I turned. Pulse quickening.
Then his voice—low, quiet, careful.
“Genevieve?”
Relief crashed through me like air after drowning.
“In here,” I called, though my voice sounded steadier than I felt.
Dominic stepped inside, shutting the door with a quiet finality. He wore black—fitted shirt, sleeves dusted faintly with something that looked like plaster. His eyes landed on me straight away, assessing. Not panicked. Just thorough. Measured.
“You alright?” he asked, shrugging off his coat, voice casual with that undertone I recognised too well. The kind he used when he was worried but didn’t want to show it.
I nodded. “Yeah. Just tired. Fell asleep on the sofa.”
He stepped closer, brushing a knuckle under my chin and tipping my face up. “You’re pale.”
“I’m British, Dominic.”
A flicker of a smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re paler.”
I didn’t answer. Just leaned into his hand like it was instinct. My fingers found the buttons of his shirt, pressing against one lightly—like I needed the feel of him to push back the noise in my head.
He watched me for a moment. Then said, “What happened? You dreamt of him, didn’t you?”
My eyes met his. No point pretending. Not with him. “Maybe.”
His jaw flexed. That was all I needed to know—he hated the idea of Viktor in my head, even if it wasn’t my fault.
“I can’t stop thinking about what he said,” I whispered. “Another set of explósives. Another, Dom. As in—”
“I know.”
His voice dropped, colder now. Sharper. The edge he only wore when the Bràtva surfaced. He wasn’t just Dominic—he was Morozov. The man shadows feàred.
“But why now?” I asked, voice low. “Why show his face now, after pretending to be déad for so long?”
Dominic exhaled through his nose, hand raking through his hair. “Because he’s watching. And he wants to búrn down everything I’ve built.”
“Do you think he can?” I asked.
His eyes didn’t waver. “I’ll díe before I let that happen. Bràtva, business, family—he won’t touch any of it.”
The way he said it—it wasn’t a promise. It was a declaration. Fierce. Possessive.
“Hmm?” I murmured faintly.
He stepped forward, his hand sliding round the back of my neck, tilting my face until there was nowhere to look but into him.
“You and Rory are my everything,” he said. “I’ll make sure he’s in the grouñd before he gets the chance to try.”
The words sank into my bones like an oath. My throat tightened, eyes prickling.
“I haté that he’s still out there,” I said, voice cracking. “I hàte that I can’t even enjoy being engaged to the man I love without wondering when the next awful thing will happen.”
Dominic pressed his forehead to mine. “I’ll handle it. I always do.”
“And if he comes for more than just us—me, you, Rory… what if he goes after my family? Jules, even?”
“I’ll kíll him. Properly this time.”
No hesitation. No doubt.
It wasn’t a thréat.
It was a promise.
I closed my eyes, breathing him in—cold wind, war, home. And in spite of it all—the weight, the fear, the ring on my hand and the blóod in our shadows—I believed him.
I always had.
“I missed you,” I whispered.
His lips brushed against mine—tender, slow, grounding. “I know.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?”
He nodded once.
“Can we go out?” I asked softly. “Cora invited me to her sister’s birthday. It’s at this bar downtown. She’ll be fuming if I bail after saying I’d be there.”
Dominic’s fingers slid down my arm, curling gently around my hand. “Of course we can.”
TBC📖✍️
