Page 12 of Darkest Craving

WOLFGANG

T he tattooed man in front of me drums his fingers on his whiskey glass. “Ten percent,” he says, the Albanian accent sharp on his tongue.

I nod slowly, absently, looking to the side, then back at him. “Like I said, it’s five percent or none. We’ve already secured enough deals to move forward without you.”

“What’s there to say I can’t get more from the Italians?”

“You can try. But by the time you meet with them, we’ll already own the territory. Do with this information what you will.”

As the Albanian Mafia head ponders with his decision, I look behind his shoulder at the two men coming in. Politicians.

Senator Maddox Thorne, campaigning for president, stands next to Rowan King.

High up in the military, he’s the man you call when everything goes wrong.

He doesn’t seem bothered by the scrutiny he’s received lately over his involvement in the government.

To me, he looks like someone who owns his decisions. And I can respect that.

The Hive is the only place where someone like me and the Albanian can be under the same roof with people like them.

It’s an exclusive gentlemen’s club in New York City, where our positions don’t matter other than to grant us an invitation to join. Once you’re in, you’re here to do business, so all your disdain remains outside.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out, seeing a message from Corinne.

I told her to text me if Victoria was giving her a hard time, but I haven’t heard from her till now. Keeping my phone under the table, I peer down to read what she sent.

C: sorry to bother you

C: she hasn’t eaten anything today

C: thought you might wanna know

I frown, my attention completely on this conversation now.

W: Why? Is she sick?

The bubble letting me know she’s typing keeps staring back at me, and I feel myself getting restless.

C: seemed okay this morning but don’t think she left her bed since

Now why would feisty Victoria do something like that? The thought of her being sick or hurt sends a strange sensation through me.

I don’t care about her—no, that’s not it.

But she’s mine, and I take care of what belongs to me. If something’s wrong with her, it’s my job to fix it.

W: See what’s wrong with her. And text me back immediately.

I look up from my phone at the fuming Albanian in front of me.

“Time’s up,” I say, standing. Ivan follows my lead.

The Albanian downs the rest of his whiskey. “Seven percent. And we’ll do it.”

“Six,” I counter, knowing full well all our other allies are getting six percent each.

Securing this new territory isn’t about the money. It’s more about expanding the Pakhan ’s influence. Especially when the Italians are looking to do the same. And especially after Victoria’s father conspired with them to seize some of our assets.

“Fine,” he says, visibly satisfied that he got more than what was initially offered.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

“Ivan will give you the details of when and where to meet next. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

I peer down at the message as I exit the club, and a strange feeling squeezes my chest at what I read.

C: she says she’s fine but wants to be left alone

C: she was crying

She can cry all she wants. It won’t change my plans for her.

But as I read the message over and over again, I recognize the feeling, the guilt that makes its way to my reasoning, twisting it until it loses some of its sense.

I find myself wanting to call Victoria and tell her to get the hell up, but I haven’t given her a phone. I have no way of reaching out to her. And I don’t understand why it gets me so fucking fired up.

Why is she crying? I left her alone to prove a point, to give her a punishment—yes. But also to give her some peace of mind. Didn’t she say she hates me? That she hates having me around?

“Get the car. We’re going home,” I tell Ivan.

“Should I call the Serbian? Tell him we’re no longer meeting tonight?”

“Yes. And I won’t be meeting anyone tomorrow either. We’re postponing the whole thing for a few days.”

Ivan frowns. “You heard the Albanian. He might go crawling to the Cosa Nostra for a better deal if they hear they have more time.”

“I’ll come up with something in the meantime. Right now, I need to get home.”

***

By the time I’m back, it’s already morning. I unlock and enter Victoria’s room silently, not wanting to wake her up if she’s sleeping.

The thick curtains cover the windows, keeping the sun from passing through, which makes it look as if it’s still nighttime. The air is tight, heavy. I know Corinne ventilates the room every morning and tidies up, but it feels as if she hasn’t done it in days.

Victoria’s frail body lies under the rumpled sheets, the side of her face buried in her pillow, arms bent at the elbows on either side of it.

She’s barely covered with the sheet, giving me a perfect view of her round ass in a short, cream-colored nightgown.

Tearing my gaze from her, I open the curtains and the window, letting fresh air and sunlight in. She groans softly, burying her face deeper into her pillow.

“Not hungry,” she murmurs.

I approach the bedside, looming above her. “Good morning, love. Miss me?”

Her eyes flutter open, but she doesn’t wake up fully, doesn’t move much like she usually does when I startle her. Instead, she turns to the other side, giving me the cold shoulder.

“I heard you haven’t been eating. Care to tell me why you’re being a brat?”

When she keeps silent, it makes my blood boil.

This isn’t like her at all.

“I asked you a question. Two, in fact. Answer me or see what happens.”

“Fuck you,” she says, pulling the covers up to her neck so I can no longer see her.

Fine, then. I wrap my arms around her—one under her knees, and the other around her back—and drag her into me as she yelps. I lift her up, cradling her at my chest, sheets and all. She tries to get away, pushing into my chest, but my hold is firm, and I’m not letting her go.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she shouts when I put her down in the shower. “Leave me alone!”

I flick the tap, knowing full well the water will be ice cold.

“Fuck! Wolfgang, what the fuck !”

The water pours down on her, making the sheets stick to her body, soaking her.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” I say, peering down at her. The look on her face is murderous. It makes me want to laugh. She’s so fucking beautiful when she’s mad at me. “Be a good girl and get ready for the day. We have things to do.”

“I’m not doing anything with you!” she seethes, standing. “You can go crawl right back where you came from.”

“I’m not asking, Victoria. If you’re not going to do it, I’ll clean you up myself.”

She scowls, and I stare back, my brows raised in anticipation.

“Get out.”

“You have ten minutes.”

I walk back into her room, suddenly remembering the glass shard she stabbed me with. Where did she get that? No mirrors are broken, so I open the drawer to her vanity desk, looking for answers. And sure enough, a makeup palette of sorts has a shattered mirror attached to it. Clever girl.

I make a mental note to take anything like that away from her and wait until she comes out of the shower with a towel wrapped tightly around her body, wet and rosy from the hot water.

She doesn’t spare me a glance before disappearing into the walk-in closet, slamming the doors behind her.

Minutes later, she comes back out, wearing a yellow mini dress with spaghetti straps that molds to her torso and flows along her waist. Flat sandals cover her feet, which she’s keeping hip-distance apart as she stares at me with her arms crossed.

“Beautiful,” I say, and I mean it. “Your hair?”

“I don’t care. It will dry,” she answers with a bite in her tone.

I nod once, and extend my hand out toward the door, signaling for her to step outside. Hesitantly, she uncrosses her arms and goes out into the hallway. I’m right behind her, and I take her hand to guide her. She doesn’t expect it.

I’ve been holding her by her neck up to this moment, wanting to show her I own her. But today, I want her to feel comfortable. A bit of light in the dark tunnel she’s been trapped in since I brought her home.

I don’t know where the fuck that thought is coming from. It makes me angry, but so does not going through with it.

“Where are we going?” she asks, her tone mellower this time, curious.

“I have a surprise for you.”

She halts in the middle of the stairs. “No. I don’t want it. Let me go back to my room.”

Poor thing. She thinks I’m taking her to the slaughterhouse. Maybe I scared her too much.

“You’re with me. No one will hurt you. In fact, it’s something you’ll enjoy. I promise.”

She looks up at me, and her expression softens—just slightly, but noticeable enough. My chest expands at the sight of it because it means that somehow, she trusts me, even if just a little. Good.

I take her downstairs and out through the back door, into the garden. We follow a narrow, stone-beaded trail between trimmed bushes and beds of flowers, until finally, she sees it. Her eyes shift to me, only this time they’re glassy, like she’s about to cry in front of me.

“What is this?”

“I had to punish you for what you did, for making an unauthorized call and running from me. But you stayed put through your punishment and didn’t give Corinne a hard time. For that, I want to reward you. And show you that I can be good to you if you do what I say.”

She takes a sharp breath, nodding.

“Go on,” I tell her, jerking my head to Sasha, who is waiting for her on the patio. “Talk to him, then we’ll have breakfast out here. You need to eat.”

I caress her head once, her soft hair a reminder of how fragile she is despite her feisty nature.

She doesn’t say anything back to me, but she doesn’t have to. I can tell what this means to her. And hopefully, it will teach her only I hold the keys to moments like this.