INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 140
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
“I still can’t believe we haven’t caught Viktor yet.”
The words slipped from Love’s mouth, and my head snapped towards her so fast I could feel the tension crackle down my spine. I pinned her to the spot with a glare so sharp, I imagined she felt it in her bones.
She recoiled instantly, stumbling over her next words. “I’m just saying—”
“I don’t need your commentary on my progress.” My tone lacked any of the usual patience I reserved for her as a friend. It was hard. Cold. Controlled fury simmering beneath every syllable. “And I’d really appreciate it if you focused on your work instead of flapping your lips.”
She recognised the shift. This wasn’t the Dominic she bantered with. This was Morozov—and she knew better than to cross that line. Not a retort. Not even a glare. Just silence.
“Leave.” I jerked my chin toward the door.
She didn’t hesitate.
As the door clicked shut behind her, I exhaled a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding. It stuck in my throat, ragged and heavy. My hands rose of their own accord, fingers digging into my scalp as I tugged lightly at my hair—an effort to ground myself.
Viktor is still out there.
Closer than we think. Closer than I think. He has eyes on us—every bloódy one of us. And I can’t work out how the f+ck he does it. Every time I chase a lead, it crumbles like ash in my palm.
I’m tired.
Every muscle in my body aches, screaming for rest—rest I can’t afford until Viktor Valdislav is six feet under. Him and his wretchédly loyal band of lunàtics.
Viktor Valdislav.
For the first time since I took over from Ivan as head of the Bràtva, I’m afraid. Not of him—I could break him with my bare hands—but of what he’s capable of. The lengths he’d go to. The lives he’d destróy just to make a point.
I just want the women I care about safe. That’s it. That’s all I ask. The most important girls in my life don’t deserve the shadows that follow me.
I—
My phone buzzed once. A sharp, curt sound that sliced through my spiralling thoughts.
Digging it from my pocket, I wandered to the window, needing air—space. The screen lit up with a message from My Vixen.
Help.
I blinked.
And blinked again.
The world paused, left spinning on its axis by the chaós building behind my eyes. My breath caught somewhere in my chest.
Help.
What the f+ck does that mean?
I didn’t stop to think. I tapped her name and called.
Rang once. Disconnected.
Again.
Same result.
And again.
Why isn’t she answering?
What’s happened?
I quickly backed out of the contact and hit another name—Echo. She picked up after one ring.
“Yes, boss?” Always professional. One of the reasons I kept her close.
“Track Genevieve’s phone.”
“Genevieve’s?” The professionalism slipped, the worry in Echo’s voice suddenly more prominent than the words themselves. “On it.”
I stayed on the line, listening as her fingers flew across the keyboard—sharp, frantic taps echoing through the receiver like distant gunfire.
She worked fast. Efficient. But even those three minutes felt like an eternity stretched tight around my ribs.
“She’s at a shopping centre,” Echo finally said, breath catching as she continued typing. “The one Rory visits often.”
My pulse eased for all of two seconds before her next words tightened it again.
“But… boss, she’s not moving.”
“What?”
“I mean it—the phone’s still. It’s not budged an inch. It’s either she’s standing there… or…” She hesitated, and I heard her swallow—a thick, audible sound that scratched down my spine. “Or she dropped the phone.”
No. Genevieve wouldn’t drop her phone. She treats it like gold. She loves the damñed thing more than she loves her books.
Something’s wrong.
“Is Rory there with her?”
“No. She told me she was going to yours today.”
That’s what she told me too. Earlier this morning. I remember.
“Can you—”
“Already on it,” Echo cut in sharply. “Tracking Rory’s phone now but… it’s weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Shaky,” she replied, her voice soft but increasingly laced with dread. “The signal’s unstable. Like she’s somewhere high up. Like…” She paused. A thoughtful hum vibrated through the speaker. “Like she’s on a plane.”
Well, brilliant. Absolutely blóody fantastic.
The love of my life is out shopping and, apparently, just dropped her phone. Meanwhile, the other person I couldn’t live without is soaring through the fúc clouds.
How could it possibly get worse?
“The signal’s just been cut,” Echo said grimly.
There it is. Now it’s worse.
I ended the call and immediately rang one of the guards I’d stationed at home to keep an eye on the girls.
“Good afternoon, boss.” His voice was familiar but something about it made my skin prickle. There was something there—guilt, maybe? Fear?
“It will only be a good afternoon if you tell me exactly where Genevieve and Aurora are. And it’ll be an even better one if confirm they’re at home, safe and sound.” My voice dropped to a colder register. “But if you tell me anything different—anything—I will personally see to it that you’re thrown into the Atlañtic and used as shàrk bàit. Assuming the cold doesn’t finish you off first.”
A pause. Let that sink into his skull.
“Now, I’ll ask you once. Where are they?”
His breaths came shaky down the line. But when he spoke, there was no hesitation. “They took them.”
Everything in me stilled.
They?
Viktor’s men.
Of course. That bastàrd always knew how to hít where it húrt the most.
This is his move. The one I’ve been dréading.
“Oh, you’re all déad meat,” I muttered, jaw clenched tight, each word bitten off through gritted teeth.
And then my phone pinged again.
A message from Echo. A video attached.
I tapped it—and whatever panic I’d felt before? It was nothing compared to the storm that erupted inside me as the footage played.
Ten men—definitely Viktor’s lot—had surrounded the girls like a trap closing in. No room to run. No room to breathe.
Rory’s eyes darted, calculating, already trying to work out an escape.
Genevieve’s hand slid into her pocket—subtle, precise.
She knew.
Somehow, she knew this was coming.
She hit send on an already written message.
Seconds later, a man backhanded the phone from her grasp. It clattered to the ground.
Then came the whisper.
He leaned close and murmured something to her. Whatever it was—it drained every trace of colour from her face.
Then the needle.
Genevieve went limp.
Rory followed right after.
The man who slapped Genevieve’s phone looked up—slowly, deliberately—right at the CCTV camera. His mouth curled into a smirk.
“Come get them,” he mouthed.
Then turned and walked away, his men falling into step behind him like shadows.
Viktor has them.
My girls.
The two people I cannot live without.
★★★★
I drove home like a madman, gripped by fear but completely lost on where to even begin. My mind was a tangled jungle of chàos, and it f+cking húrt—like a nàil being dríven into my skull over and over again.
I barely had time to park when Dexter came screeching in on his bike, gravel spitting beneath his tyres.
“Echo called me. I legged it over there the moment I heard,” he said, swinging off the bike just as I climbed out of the car. His eyes were wild, like mine. “Found something—besides Genny’s phone.”
“What is it?” My voice was sharp, jagged. I didn’t have a drop of patience in me. “Is it a lead? Could it point us to Viktor?”
He didn’t reply with words, just gave a small shake of the head and handed me a shopping bag. One I recognised straight away—Rory brings that same bloódy bag home nearly every week. My gut twisted.
I took it from him, rummaging inside with trembling fingers until my hand wrapped around something soft.
I pulled it out slowly. A tiny, pink bit of clothing—looked like a baby’s onesie. My brows knitted tight as I blinked at it, utterly confused. My gaze stuck on it like if I stared long enough, something would click. That it’d shift into something that actually made sense.
“You’re holding it the wrong way,” Dexter murmured.
I turned it round.
And then stopped breathing.
Stitched onto the front, in innocent little letters, were the words: Hey, Papa.
The confusion must’ve been scrawled all over my face because Dexter cleared his throat, trying to ground me before I floated straight into madness.
“What… what is this?” I asked, voice low, stunned. “What’s this got to do with Genevieve? Or Rory?”
He glanced at me, hesitant. “I’m not entirely sure, but… I think it’s Genny’s.”
“Why would she have baby clothes?” But even as the words slipped out, something snapped into place in my mind.
A slow, dreadful realisation.
“It’s probably a gift,” I said, clinging to logic, “for Adrianna.”
“Or maybe it’s hers,” Dexter offered, far too gently.
“Hers?” My throat dried out. “That would mean… that she’s… she’s pregnant.”
The words left me hollow, like the air had been punched from my lungs. I stumbled a step back, shock pouring over me in a cold, unforgiving wave.
“Genevieve’s pregnant.”
It wasn’t a question. But it sounded like one—because I still couldn’t quite believe it.
And yet suddenly, all the scattered bits started slotting into place.
The time she asked about children.
The subtle changes—the tiredness, the faint glow I chalked up to being happy because she’s home again.
The way she rejected coffee more than once, the food aversions.
The blóody eggs. She used to love them.
“Oh, f+ck.” I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the roots hard. “Genevieve’s pregnant. And she couldn’t tell me—because of the rubbish I said to her. And now…”
Now she’s gone. The love of my life. The mother of our unborn child. Both of them out there. In dànger. Because of me.
Because of him.
Viktor.
The name alone made my jaw clench, heart rage in my chest. He could be a threat—a serious, viólent threat—to them both. And to Aurora.
God. Aurora. I need them back.
I need all three of them safe, here, in front of me, where I can see them. Where I can protect them.
I need my baby sister.
I need my fiancée back in my arms.
I haven’t held her enough. Haven’t kissed her enough. Haven’t told her I love her every day like I should. Haven’t told her that having a child with her would be the greatest bloody honour of my life. That I would díe if she weren’t in it.
“Dom—” Dexter’s voice was soft, pulling me out of the spiral.
My eyes burnéd. Like something sharp had lodged beneath the surface. I blinked, and the tears fell—slow at first, then quicker. I was crying. Tearing up at the thought that I might lose them both because of that slimy, cold-blóoded bastàrd.
There was something eating away at me. Like a blade, poisoñed and jagged, wedged deep in my chest. And if I didn’t get it out soon, the venóm would spread.
“Has Echo found anything? Anything at all about where they’ve been taken?” My voice cracked, hoarse and hopeless.
I already knew the answer. Dexter knew I did too. That’s why he said nothing. But still, I needed to ask. Because that tiny thread of hope, however pathetíc, was the only thing keeping me upright.
“The phone?” I asked, stretching out my hand.
He didn’t say a word. Just placed Genevieve’s phone in my palm like it weighed a tonne.
And in that moment, it did.
TBC📖✍️
