INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 145
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Genevieve ~
“You and I both know I don’t exaggerate—not about myself, not about anything. I say things as they are.” Ed’s voice dipped low, brittle, as though he were forcing back tears. “You’re lucky I love you. If not… we’d put it to the test.”
Those were the last words I heard before the slam of a door split the silence and lodged itself in my chest. Then came the noise inside my head—the racing, spiralling questions with no answers in sight.
Am I overanalysing, or does Ed love Viktor in a more-than-friends way?
And Viktor—why didn’t he react when Rory slít his throat? Was he paralysed by the paín of the wound, or was it calculated, part of some twisted plan?
And Rory herself—where is she? Is she in this house with me, hidden in some other corner, or locked away elsewhere? Is that why I can’t hear her?
My frantic questions screeched to a halt when a rough palm cracked across my face—once, then again.
“Come on. Wake the f+ck up.”
Viktor.
My heart stuttered. In that single missed beat, I curled my fists so tightly that my nails pierced skin, fighting for calm. But calm wouldn’t come. The walls seemed to close in around me, pressing me into their shrinking centre.
“Wake the f+ck up!” His roar exploded, thick with fury, sending fear rippling through me. “Don’t push me further. An angry Viktor isn’t a kind Viktor.”
Térror coursed through my veins, threading itself into every nerve, until the pressure on my eyelids gave way. I didn’t want to open them, terrified of what sight awaited me—but his voice left me no choice.
“I’m not indulging this little game of yours,” he spat. “Open your damñ eyes.”
My lids lifted on instinct. His trademark smirk was absent, replaced by a hard, ugly scowl.
“What gave you the audacity to mess with me?”
A pause.
He wanted an answer. A real one.
But I gave none.
Silence wasn’t safe—but neither was the truth burning on the tip of my tongue.
His stare seared into me, blistering, biting, consuming. I turned away before it burned me hollow. My gaze swept across the room, mapping it out in a frantic heartbeat.
It was different from the last. This one was unnervingly… home-like. Charcoal-grey walls, hung with five abstract paintings. A clock ticked loudly—or perhaps that was only in my head. A desk stood in the corner with a laptop left open. A massive bed loomed nearby, and above it—
Of course.
A huge portrait of Viktor himself, ten inches above the headboard.
The bastàrd.
Who hangs a shrine to themselves over their bed? Màd, or stupíd person—that is who. Likely both. The way his brain works, no one knows.
Well—Ed might know though. The two of them were so close, it wouldn’t surprise me if their minds were fused. No wonder Ed had panicked when Viktor was bleéding, no wonder he lashed out at Rory.
Rory.
Where is she?
If I’m here… does that mean she’s still locked in the other room?
Right?
He hasn’t kílled her—has he?
Bile surged up the back of my throat. Dread seeped through me, heavy and suffocating. I exhaled, but the relief I sought didn’t come.
Oh, God.
Is Rory deàd?
Did Ed kíll her?
My lungs resisted the air I forced into them. My chest constricted until the effort hurt. Finally, I dragged my eyes back to Viktor’s storm-dark gaze.
“Where is she?” My voice was steady, but every syllable trembled inside me.
I didn’t need to say her name. He knew. He always knew.
And with a crooked smile, filthy with triumph, he relished the moment. “Who? Rory?” He used her nickname deliberately, as if to twist the knifé. “She’s fine.”
Relief burst inside me, flooding my veins. Two words from his mouth, and for once they soothed instead of sliced.
“Why did you bring—” My eyes darted round the room, swallowing down the fresh rise of panic. “—bring me here? What is this, Viktor? Another one of your games?”
The smile dropped. His face emptied, blank and dangerous.
Then, crouching to my level, he fixed me with that deadened stare. “I want your Dominic frantic. I want him panicked when he can’t see you.”
See me.
The words slotted into place like a cruel puzzle. He meant the camera.
Had he really just handed me that information? Did he not realise how quickly tables can turn?
I let feigned confusion linger in my eyes before letting it settle properly on my face. My brows knitted as I tilted my head, voice low and almost mocking. “See me…” My gaze locked with his, unwavering, unblinking. “What do you mean, see me? Where’s he seeing me?”
A flicker of egotistical pride sparked in his icy blue eyes, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking.
Smart? Please. More like a toddler proud of stacking blocks without them toppling.
“I put a little camera in the room,” he said, smug, “to monitor you girls, just in case you decided to be clever. But since I’m not wicked”—his smirk deepened, as though he deserved applause—“I thought it would be generous to share access with that idíot Dominic. Watching him watch you, helpless. Unable to save you. It was hilarious. Still is.”
“You didn’t think he’d find us with what you did?”
“Well, he hasn’t, has he?”
“He hasn’t,” I snapped, heat flashing through my veins. “But he will.”
His head tilted, studying me like I was a bug he might pin to a board. “Delusional? Or just hopeful?”
Disgústing. That’s the only word for him. Every second staring into that smug face made me want to retch—or worse, to say something sharp enough to slit his pride wide open.
“Silent now?” His voice was all mockery, silk over venom. “So it’s the first, then?”
A sharp laugh escaped me, jagged and scornful. “Or perhaps you’re the delusional one. I’m not the idíot thinks he can topple Dominic Morozov. I’m not the foól fantasising about being greater than him. That’s all you.”
The smile returned instantly, as though it had only been hiding behind his lips, waiting. It stretched wide, grotesque in its pride. “I’ve told you this before, Genevieve.”
My name slithered from his mouth and crawled down my spine, leaving shivers—not the good kind—that made my skin want to peel itself off.
“I don’t just think. I know.” His voice carried the cold certainty of someone who’d never once entertained doubt. “Uncertainty doesn’t exist in my life.” He paused—three seconds, maybe four—just enough to make me wish he’d chóke on his words. Then he went on. “I learnt early that if you want to crush your enemiés…” He raised his fist, curling it tightly before his face, as if he could wring their necks through sheer imagination. “…you must learn everything about them. Do you know why?”
He left space, waiting. An opening for me to speak. But I knew he would answer himself, whether I played along or not, so I stayed silent.
He leaned so close I could feel his breath against my skin—hot, invasive. “Because then you know their strengths. Their weaknesses. And most of all—their hidden secrets.”
All secrets are hidden, you pompous príck. That’s what makes them secrets.
I swallowed the retort, forcing it down with the rest of the bile rising inside me. Instead, I asked, steady despite the tight coil in my chest, “And you know Dominic?”
His eyes glistened with unholy delight. “Oh yes, darling. I knew Dominic long before you came along. Or should I say—before he crashed into your life? Quite literally. Remember? He ploughed into your car and passed out the first night you met. Lovely evening and charming introduction, wasn’t it?”
My blood iced over. My breath snagged.
What?!
How the héll does he know that?
A shaky breath tore its way out of me as I fought to keep my expression smooth, unreadable. Inside, though, I was chaos—fear prickling sharp beneath my skin, unease clawing at my ribs, and—God help me—a twisted curiosity gnawing at the edges.
“I also know you,” he went on, his tone needling. “I know everything about the people I want to ruin.”
Well, cheers for that. Aren’t I just the luckiest woman alive.
Drawing in a careful breath—the stale air in the room felt heavy, like it had been waiting for me—I forced myself to speak, half-curious, half-keen to keep him wittering. “And when did this little ruination plan of yours actually begin?”
If he’s so desperate to yap, I might as well indulge him.
The question landed square on his smug face, wiping the grin clean off. His smile slipped into a grim seriousness, his eyes sharpening as if he’d been waiting to say this all his life. He hummed, low and thoughtful, before finally muttering, “You know, now I think about it… it’s been more than a decade.”
Well, isn’t that blóody tragic. Ten years of unemployment and obsession.
“There was always something about him—so damned arrogant, so sure of himself. The way he carried himself, like he could bend the whole world to his will, and I loathed it.” His voice climbed and fell, raw with envy, brimming with rancour. “Too proud. Too selective about who he allowed near him. It worsened when his uncle, Ivan Morozov, gave him free rein to handpick men for the Bratva.”
I stayed silent, intent as a schoolgirl at assembly, desperate to catch something—anything—I could use against him. So far, the only thing I’d gathered was that Viktor Valdislav was one héll of a jealous bastàrd.
“I enlisted. I trained—harder than anyone. Then one day, he strolls in, waves his hand, and decides who’s worthy. He didn’t pick me. Said I wasn’t fit. Had his lackey by his side—someone who hadn’t even trained.”
He meant Dexter. Of course he did. Yet Dex had told me, back when Dominic and I first began, that he’d trained rigorously—specially, with Dominic himself—under retired Bratvà assassiñs. Meaning Viktor wasn’t half as informed as he believed. Clueless, really. Like a fat, happy turkey the night before Christmas.
Viktor carried on, oblivious. “I thought I was a certainty. I’m sure Ivan thought so too. But Dominic—he didn’t. Threw me out like I was nothing. Less than nothing. Like bloody rubbish.”
At least he’s not in denial about what he is.
He hummed again, then pushed himself up and began pacing, his heavy steps dragging across the floor just a couple of feet from me. “For years I trained harder, and for years he grew prouder—mightier, at least in his own head. Then, as luck would have it, he wandered into an underground fight, thanks to his ever-present, persuasive lapdog, and he chose to fight me.”
And of course, he won. I already know this one.
A scowl tugged his already twisted features into something uglier, almost inhuman, a parody of wickedness. “See how it’s always him? Always deciding, deciding, deciding—every bloódy thing!” His growl tore through the walls, deep and guttural, and for a moment it felt as though the floor shivered beneath me. Then, just as swiftly, he exhaled and slipped back into that unnerving calm, as if the eruption had never happened. “Guess what?”
Petty spite got the better of me, reckless and dangerous as it was. I leaned forward ever so slightly, my voice laced with mockery. “He won?”
I couched it as a question, but it was pure salt in his wound—and like the idiot he is, he bit.
He nodded vigorously, absurdly childlike, as though agreeing to sweets for supper—only with a feral twist to his mouth. “Yes. Yes! He won the goddàmn fight I forced him into, made it look effortless, and in doing so made me look pathetic. Weak.”
But you are pathetic, I thought. Not that I dared voice it—not when my life, and my baby’s, dangled on the line. I swallowed it down like bile.
“I lost everything that night—the respect, the fear. All gone. And all because of someone’s one-time thing.” His voice grew tighter, angrier. “I snapped. I lashed out. I came at him with a knife.”
A scoff slipped from me before I could cage it, sharp and mocking. His body stilled. His head turned, slowly, eyes pinning me.
Oh, f+ck.
“Something to add, Genevieve?”
God, my name in his mouth. It crawled across my skin like filth. I wanted to rip it out of him, hack it free from his tongue and leave scars that would tell the story.
But not now. Not yet.
I shook my head, feigning obedience, feeding the monstrous pride he thrived on. It worked.
“As I said—he dodged. Swifter than me. Made me look the fool—an incompetent lóser. So I decided then and there—I’d tear him down. Pull him from his high horse. I began my plan.”
Well, how thrilling. Pity his storytelling isn’t half as sharp as his delusions.
“I faded into the shadows. Meanwhile, he carried on. Finished his schooling—Russia, then London. Built his empire from nothing. Became a name people spoke across the world. And he coddled that precious little sister of his.”
Pride stirred in me, unbidden. My fiancé. My Dominic. I masked it, but inside I held it fast.
“To the world, he was golden. To me, insufferable. So I crafted phase two: distraction.”
The unspoken question—how?—flickered across my face. He caught it, pleased. Smug.
“What better distraction for a workaholic than women?” He paused theatrically, then rolled on. “Woman after woman after woman. He didn’t fall. Just f+cked them once and moved on. I began to wonder if he was truly unbeatable. Then…” He stopped, savouring the beat. “Then a certain redhead appeared.”
Me.
“He smiled differently. Not that hollow pretence he served the world, but something real, something I’d never seen on his face. I needed to know who she was. Genevieve Dove King. And I realised then that nothing would bring you to my side. You had power. Money. Influence. And you had Dominic Morozov wrapped round your little finger.”
It struck me, hard and sour—that whenever he said Dominic’s name, it was curdled. Venómous. Loathiñg.
“So I waited. I let him ruiñ himself by falling for you—the daughter of his parents’ killér. He didn’t know, of course, but watching him unravel was delicious. Do you remember? You ignored him once. Silent treatment. He was a wréck.” His grin widened. “You, meanwhile, were in Hawaii. Half enjoying the sun with Jules and her boyfriend, half sulking that the man you loved was being a bastàrd about his feelings. But he won you back. You, Genevieve King, became Dominic Morozov’s first true girlfriend. He loved you with everything he had, all while dreading the day you’d discover the truth—why he let you in.”
I listened, rapt, though it wasn’t my life he was retelling, as if I hadn’t lived every second.
“You grew stronger together. But I wasn’t convinced. I sent more women, just to test him. He didn’t so much as glance their way.”
Pride unfurled in me again, fierce and quiet.
“Then his idíot lackey poked about. His Swiss boyfriend put ideas in his head, and the fóol went digging. He found the truth, ran to Dominic. And Dominic—he confirmed it. He killéd his uncle. Broke up with you. Claimed it was for your protection. Nonsense, if you ask me. You left—broken, húrt—and fled to China.”
The memory hollowed me. It still felt raw, like it had happened only yesterday. The devastatíon. The exhaustion. The sheer emptiness of that time.
“But you’re too clever for your own good. You investigated. Found what you found. Built your life in China. You smiled for cameras, hoping he’d see, so he’d think you were fine without him. And it worked—because you knew him as well as your own heartbeat.”
My skin prickled cold. How did he know what I’d thought?
“Dominic was broken—so fuckíng broken. Nothing mattered for a while. His company’s growth faltered, but he didn’t care—not when all he could think about was you. My plan was on hold for four good years. I was agitated, but I held my cool. Rory didn’t, though. Even though she was my biggest hater, she helped me by making you come back to London, using work as an excuse.” He breathed out, as if reliving the relief. “You wanted to spoil it for me, though. You wanted play hard to get—and you did—but thankfully, it didn’t last long. You two were back together again, and my plan was back on track.”
The patience of this man—monstrous. His hatred—endless.
“And then,” he said darkly, “I struck. The ship explosion. I don’t need to remind you.” He waved a hand, dismissive. “He panicked, frantic, desperate for answers. Exactly as I wanted.”
By now, I just wanted the tale over. Every word was tortúre.
“That’s when Blade entered. I thought I had someone close to him. But the bastàrd betrayed me—stole what he shouldn’t have known, told you without truly telling you.” Viktor crouched suddenly, bringing his face level with mine, his smirk slicing across his features. “He couldn’t stop raving about you. About how clever you were. How Rory was untouchable, even without her brother. Said I’d never capture you both. But look where you are. Look at me now.”
Good for you. What do you want, a medal?
He leaned closer, his breath sour against my skin, and the gleam in his eyes was unhinged.
“Now you’re here, Genevieve. You and the little sister he treasures above all else. I finally have everything I’ve ever wanted. Dominic will come when I summon him. He’ll crawl to me, desperate, broken. He’ll give me what I want—and then…” His lips stretched into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so twisted, so monstrous. “I’ll let him watch. Watch while I slit your throat. Watch while I butcher his sweet sister. And when the light’s gone from your eyes, when his world’s in pieces, I’ll kill him too. Slowly. So the last thing he knows is that he’s failed. And then?”
He straightened, chest heaving, voice swelling into a roar. “Then the underworld will remember my name. They’ll feàr me again. And Dominic Morozov will be nothing—gone from the world, from memory, from every mouth that ever dared to speak him.”
His laughter tore through the room, jagged and hellísh, rattling inside my skull like broken glass.
My throat tightened. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes burned, hot and wet, and I blinked rapidly, fighting the tears threaténing to spill. No strength was left in me. Just terrór, thick and choking, wrapping around me until I thought I might collapse under it.
TBC📖✍️
