INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 80
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
Alone amidst the clamor of laughter and clinking glasses, I found myself contemplating an escape from this farce they called an event. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the insincerity of self-proclaimed elites, all feigning sophistication while hovering like vultures over their intrigues.
Just as I was about to slip away unnoticed, a small but unmistakable voice pulled me back to reality. “Can I have a word with you?” The voice pierced through the ambient noise like a sharp blade, and instinctively, I turned. It sounded just like Genevieve’s sister, and I was certain it was directed at me.
And there she stood, her eyes glaring at me with a fury that could rival a storm. The expression on her face was akin to that of someone who had just discovered I had cruélly harméd her beloved pet. I couldn’t help but feel a mix of surprise and wariness; normally, she couldn’t stand me.
Her gaze softened slightly as she saw the confusion on my face. “It will just be a few minutes,” she added, almost as if trying to reassure me.
Did I want to follow her anywhere to talk? Absolutely not.
Yet, here I was—compelled to comply. If Adrianna King wanted to speak with me, it likely meant she had something significant to discuss, perhaps regarding the fact that I had offered her sister, Genevieve, a glass of water just an hour ago.
She led me through a narrow hallway adorned with extravagant paintings, each worth a fortune, and vases that gleamed under the soft lighting like jewels on display. I trailed behind her, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps, until she came to a halt at a door.
“Ladies first,” I said, plastering on my biggest, most insincere smile, the kind I reserved for public appearances. She merely stared at me, unimpressed.
“Oh, quit it. I am not a fan of your pretend game,” Adrianna shot back, her practiced smile faltering, revealing the strain behind it. “You are not a gentleman, so don’t act like one.”
“Oh,” I murmured, barely able to contain my amusement.
The intensity of her stare was palpable, and I met it with one of my own, neither of us willing to back down. There was a fierce audacity in her eyes, a spark that reminded me unsettlingly of Genevieve’s own defiance.
Where is my Vixen? I thought, an unexpected surge of longing washing over me. I missed her more than I’d care to admit.
Shifting my gaze from her to the door and back again, I shrugged. “Alright. Well, thank you for your kind gesture,” I said, stepping inside.
“Do you know why I called you here?”
Woah, she wasted no time getting to the point. Quite impressive.
“I suppose you’ll enlighten me in a moment or so.”
“Hahaha, aren’t you just funny?” Her sarcasm was almost delightful.
A wicked smirk crept onto my face as I leaned in slightly. “What do you want, Ms. King?”
“It’s Mrs. Carrington,” she corrected, her voice icy.
“And I want you to leave my sister.”
Ah, yes. She had shed her maiden name.
“No can do, Mrs. Carrington. I rather like my current arrangement.”
“Leave her.”
“No.”
“Mr. Morozov.”
“Ms. King—oh, sorry, Mrs. Carrington.”
A frown etched itself onto her features, and I couldn’t help but relish the sight of it. “Why won’t you leave my sister?”
“Because I love her.”
“I seriously doubt that. You look like you’re incapable of feeling anything close to love.”
“Are you judging?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“What if I am?” Her voice dripped with defiance, as if daring me to challenge her.
I could see where Genevieve got her boldness from; it clearly ran in the family.
“Well, I’d like to disappoint you and tell you that you are wrong. I do feel, and I love your sister. I won’t let you break us apart.”
“She is a kid.”
“She is not a kid.”
“Would you let your sister date a man your age?”
“Well, that depends on who the man is.”
“What if he’s an arrogant, overconfident man who thinks the world revolves around him?” she asked, an obvious jab aimed at me. “Would you let her date him?”
“My sister is smart. I’m sure she won’t make a mistake in choosing the right person. And there’s nothing wrong with being overconfident.”
“Says the overconfident man,” Adrianna shot back sharply.
“Or maybe you’re just underconfident, hmm?” I countered. “There’s nothing to worry about. In life, there are winners and there are… well, you know, people like you. Being bitter won’t help you beat me or convince me to leave Genevieve.”
“I’m not bitter. This is an elder sister worried for her little sister.”
“Did Mariah give birth? Because my Genevieve is definitely not little.”
“I hàte you, and even if I didn’t, I still wouldn’t like you for my sister. You’re not worthy of her.”
“And how are you so certain?” I leaned against the doorframe, my confidence unwavering.
“Because someone who wasn’t raised by a woman wouldn’t know how to love and respect one,” Adrianna replied, a devílish smirk stretching across her face as if she knew she had struck a nerve.
Don’t do it.
She is Genevieve’s sister; she loves her.
Do not do it.
Calm down!
I exhaled a breath intended to quell the rising tide of anger within me, but it only seemed to stoke the flames. I found myself closing the distance between us, my presence looming, hands shoved deep into my pockets, yet she didn’t flinch or shy away from my gaze.
“You’re right; I wasn’t raised by a woman. So you should know the hôrrible, hôrrible things a man without a mother’s love can grow to do. Would you like to be my test subject?” I could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as I pushed the boundaries of our conversation.
Just then, the door swung open with a force that made the hinges creak in protest, and a booming voice filled the space. “You will not speak to my wife in such a tone, Dominic Morozov.”
The unmistakable presence of Xavier Carrington, Adrianna’s husband, filled the doorway, his posture radiating authority. The atmosphere shifted instantly, the air vibrating with unspoken challenges.
“Perhaps your wife should learn to speak with a bit more caution.”
I could see the tension in Xavier as he bristled at my words, seemingly ready to defend her once more. But before he could muster a response, she interjected, a proud smile unfurling across his face like a banner. “Or maybe you should learn to be a gentleman instead of merely pretending to be one. Honestly, it doesn’t suit you.
“I hear no complaints from anyone else but you two,” I replied, my voice steady, even as I felt the heat rising beneath my skin.
“That’s because you’ve got them all wrapped around your lying, pretentious fingers,” Adrianna snapped, her tone sharp enough to slice through the thick air.
Isn’t it amusing? I call them pretentious, and they return the favor.
“Leave Genevieve, or else—”
“Or else what?” My voice was low, simmering with barely contained rage.
It’s one thing to murmur incessantly within earshot, another entirely to thréaten me. I despíse being threàtened; I relish the act of threateñing others, the thrill of executing those threàts is far more exhilarating.
I stepped closer, ready to demand what she thought she could do, but Xavier intervened, planting himself between us like a bulwark. He stood tall, his stature imposing, but I was no stranger to intimidation at six foot four myself. Yet, his defiance was unwavering.
He didn’t flinch when my heated glare bore down on him; instead, he returned it with a steely resolve. We were equal in height, and he seemed undeterred, as though my presence was nothing more than a passing shadow.
“Trying to put your hands on a lady?” Carrington’s voice dripped with disbelief and mockery, shaking his head in reprimand. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Morozov. You weren’t raised by a brúte, were you?”
“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.” I shrugged, feigning indifference, though my pulse quickened. “But mark my words: the next sentence that escapes her lips will land her in serióus tróuble.
“That sounds like a threàt,” Adrianna said, her voice steady yet tinged with an edge of defiance.
“Because it is, Adrianna. Don’t mess with me,” I replied, the tension simmering like heat waves on asphalt.
“Dominic,” Genevieve’s voice broke through the charged air, drawing all our heads toward the door. She stood at the threshold, her fist wrapped tightly around the doorknob, a picture of resolve.
A beat hung in the air before she stepped into the room, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing against the polished floor, each stride purposeful and elegant, demanding attention.
“Is this the type of man you want to be with? The kind of man who threaténs your sister?” Adrianna snapped, adding fuel to the fíre of my unsettled añger.
Genevieve’s gaze swung to me, and in that moment, her eyes spoke volumes—she was far from pleased with what had just transpired, her disappointment palpable.
“What? She started it,” I defended, the words spilling out with an edge of frustration.
If she hadn’t been yapping on and on, I wouldn’t have felt the need to issue a threàt that lingered dangeróusly close to reality.
“He is sorry,” Adrianna interjected.
“No, I am not,” I retorted, my glare locked onto hers as she shot daggers in my direction.
“Dominic,” my girlfriend, who should have been on my side, whined, her tone laced with exasperation.
“Baby, I love you, but there’s no way I’d apologize to her for a comment about my upbringing,” I said, the words dripping with indignation.
“You said that?” Genevieve exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief as her sister rolled her eyes in response. “That isn’t right, and you know it, Adrianna.”
“What isn’t right is what’s happening between you two. You’re not good for each other, and sooner or later, whatever…” She waved her hands between Genevieve and me, her expression a canvas of displeasure, “this is, is going to come to an end, and the aftermath won’t be pretty.”
That was Adrianna Carrington’s way of saying this relationship would rúin us. It was clear she cared more for her sister than for me. She didn’t want me to rúin Genevieve—but did she realize it was her sister who was slowly ruiníng me?!
“Look, Ria, I understand you’re upset, and we can talk about this, but not here. Not when Mom or Dad could walk in at any moment. Let’s meet tomorrow to sort this out,” Genevieve proposed, her voice steady, trying to diffuse the mounting tension.
Her sister hesitated, her reluctance evident, the thought of me being close to her clearly irking her. But a single glance at her husband had her nodding in agreement. Whatever silent communication passed between them was a mystery to me.
“Great. Where can we meet?” My Vixen asked.
“My penthouse,” Adrianna replied, eyeing me as if I had committed a grave sín. “I’d say I don’t want him desecrating my house, but he’s done that already. So, we can just meet there tomorrow at noon.” Her tone was sharp, a far cry from the pleasantries she usually offered in public.
I couldn’t help but recall the first time I had stepped into her house—the moment Genevieve and I had met face-to-face for the first time. I had been struck by the chaótic beauty of the blue in her eyes, a color that had captivated me from that moment on.
“Not going to ask if I have plans for that noon, are you, sister-in-law?” I blurted out, regretting it the moment the words left my lips.
All heads turned to me, each face a mix of disbelief and judgment. Xavier Carrington stared at me, incredulous, as if I were a peasant daring to address royalty. Adrianna, meanwhile, glared at me as though the very thought of me becoming her brother-in-law was an affront to her existence. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under, buried alongside my parents.
Genevieve, however, stared at me in a way that was both surprising and endearing—like she couldn’t believe what I had just said, but it was the good kind of disbelief, the kind that made her cheeks flush with color.
Before any further conversation could unfold, the door swung open once more, ushering in another presence.
Mariah King entered the room with an elegance that rivaled her daughters, her movements confident and commanding. She scanned the room, her gaze settling on each of us with a discerning eye.
“Dominic Morozov,” she cooed, her voice smooth and inviting, the soft smile on her lips almost genuine, as if she were welcoming an old friend.
“The one and only,” I mirrored her smile, extending my hand toward her. Her grip was firm, and as she accepted my handshake, her grin widened, revealing a warmth that contrasted sharply with the tension in the room. “Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. King.”
“Oh, call me Mariah,” she replied, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes.
Oh, please, get me out of here.
“Sure thing, Mariah.” I withdrew my hand, tucking it into my pocket, the heat of the moment still lingering. “The pictures don’t do justice to how beautiful you look.”
Was that too cheesy?
Adrianna rolled her eyes, the gesture dripping with exasperation. Or maybe she was simply repulsed by my attempt at charm.
Whatever the reason, I noticed Mariah beam at my compliment, her smile radiating a genuine warmth that momentarily eased the tension in the air.
“Thank you. So, the rumors were true,” she said, her tone teasing.
“It depends. What are these said rumors?” I asked, feigning innocence, my curiosity piqued.
“That you have a sweet mouth,” she replied, her voice playful, the glimmer in her eye revealing her enjoyment of the banter.
The next words threatened to spill from my mouth: “Your daughter can agree with that.” But I quickly stifled the thought, fully aware that neither Genevieve nor her mother would appreciate such a comment.
“I’m sure your girlfriend can’t get enough sweetness from you,” Mariah continued, her smile widening.
I couldn’t resist the urge to flash my signature smirk, casting a glance at Genevieve, who was doing her utmost to avoid my gaze. “Oh, she sure can’t,” I said, my tone laced with playful confidence.
Before Mariah could respond, the door swung open once again, admitting another figure into the room
Kyle Walker, her husband—the man who had takén my parents from me—entered with an air of casual authority. He strode in and placed a quick, affectionate peck on Mariah’s temple, an image of domestic bliss that made my gut twist.
“Oh, hey.” Kyle stretched out his hand, his demeanor casual, as if I would willingly engage with him, when the only thing I wanted to do was reach for a gún—or better yet, a kñife. A really sharp kñife. “Kyle Walker.”
I took his hand anyway, maintaining the facade of a gentleman, forcing a polite smile onto my lips. “Dominic. Dominic Morozov.”
“Oh, I know. I saw you when you were nine, I think.” The moment those words left his mouth, my smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating glare. His own smile stretched wider, a grotésque mask of feigned nostalgia. “I was devastated when I heard the news.”
Of course he was.
“Yeah?” I muttered, my voice low, barely above a whisper, the weight of his words pressing uncomfortably against my chest.
“Yes. Your father and I were on the way to becoming good friends when that happened.”
That? He was referring to the déath of my parents as “that”?!
He couldn’t even utter the words “my parents’ déath.” How utterly hypocritical of him!
“Enough about the past.” Mariah King attempted to lighten the mood, her voice a melody of forced cheerfulness; it fell flat in the charged atmosphere. Anger simmered beneath my skin, and I felt the urge to escape before I lost control. “Why don’t we all have dinner together?”
Genevieve and Adrianna’s voices collided in a chorus of surprise, both exclaiming, “What?”
Dinner with the Kings? The very thought sent a shiver down my spine, a mixture of dréad and disbelief washing over me. How utterly delightful.
This was exactly how I envisioned my evening going—sitting at the same table as the man who had orchestrated my parents’ démise, sharing a meal with him and his family. The thought was positively spectacular, wasn’t it?!
TBC
