Page 30 of Darkest Craving

WOLFGANG

I flick my wrist, sending the blade of my pocket knife swinging around its axis. Flip. Swing. Flip. Swing. I repeat the motion again and again as I sit in the car with Ivan and Kiril.

After yesterday’s break-in, I tripled our forces around the estate. Only then did I feel good enough about leaving Victoria at home while I went out into the city to figure this shit out.

There’s a body in the trunk wrapped nice and tight into multiple bags, which we’re about to deliver to the Albanians.

Turns out the guy I killed yesterday was with them. Question is—why would they attempt something so fucking stupid in the first place? Not only are they outnumbered, but their resources are nowhere near as abundant as ours. Any war with us would be over before it even started.

“You think they went to the Italians after all?” Ivan asks steering through a curve.

“Unlikely. The don wouldn’t give them the time of day without knowing they have a solid plan. They wouldn’t risk that again after what happened with the Romanovs.”

Kiril shuffles in the back seat. “Maybe the guy was working alone.”

Alone, no. But for someone just as insignificant—maybe.

My first thought is that maybe Victoria’s father fought back for once. I just took his entire family away from him, after all. And he’s a proud man—he wouldn’t go out without one last swing, even if it killed him.

“Here is good,” I tell Ivan.

He stops the car behind an old bar that belongs to Enver Morina, the Albanian head I met with a while ago, before we took over the Irish territory. We get out, and I open the trunk, the stench of death hitting me in the face. Just another fucking Tuesday.

Ivan and Kiril pull out some of the bags as I take the one with the head and walk right inside.

Scratchy radio tunes fill the alcohol-infused air. The bar is nearly empty at this hour, with just a single bartender. He’s wiping a beer pint with a cloth and halts when he sees me. His eyes lower to the object hanging from my hand, and when he glances back up, I’m already walking toward him.

“You came here to gloat?” he asks, now appearing disinterested.

I throw the bag on the counter with a thud. “I came here to warn you. Didn’t think I needed to.”

“You came for nothing. I don’t know anything about that. It has to be a mistake.”

I squint my eyes. Bartenders working for the Mafia know everything and everyone—it’s an unwritten part of their job. So what he’s saying makes no fucking sense, because the guy in the bag is definitely Albanian.

He jerks his head at the object. “Who was he?”

“Why don’t you have a look? I’m sure you’ll recognize him.”

The bartender stares me dead in the eye and prompts both hands on the counter as he leans in toward me.

“I’m not doing fucking anything. I told you, whatever you think happened, it wasn’t us.”

I mirror him, leaning in. “Then maybe you’re losing your flair, Agron . Maybe I’d be doing Enver a favor if I took you out right here, before the next shift starts and the bar gets crowded.”

His jaw clenches, muscles tense as he pushes off the counter and unties the goddamn bag. Almost immediately, a curse spills from his lips.

“This isn’t…” He pulls it under the counter before any curious eyes land on our interaction. “Zemer worked alone. Mr. Morina kicked him out ten months ago. You have my word—we’re not trying to poke the bear. It wasn’t us.”

“Alone,” I echo, musing. “And why exactly would he do something like that?”

“I told you, he was kicked out—lucky we didn’t kill him then. He was alone, needed money. If there was someone desperate enough to pay him to take you out, why not take the offer?”

“That better be true, Agron. Because if I find out you’re lying, I will hunt you down like a fucking cockroach, and you’ll end up in a bag of your own.

” I turn around and start walking to the door, then halt.

“And make no mistake—you fucking owe me one. So you make sure Enver Morina knows that when you show him the rest of this corpse waiting in your private booths downstairs.”

As if on cue, Ivan and Kiril appear at the top of the staircase, and we all walk out through the front door under the lingering gazes of the daytime drinkers.

***

It’s late, and I’m pretty fucking drained after close to 48 hours of being awake and looking for answers.

When Father asked about what happened yesterday, I told him it was handled, even though it’s not fully true.

The shooter is dead, yes, but I still need to find the other asshole he was working with.

Tomorrow. Right now, all I feel is the need to lie down with my wife, sink into that pretty pussy of hers, and fall asleep with her in my arms.

Honestly, this whole thing couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Victoria was finally finding her peace here, in our home.

And the throne was almost secured without impediments.

Now, if word goes out about the attack—and I expect it already has—the Irish might retaliate.

I, too, would take an opportunity like this if I needed to.

What better time to attack your enemy than when they’re already being attacked?

There goes my fucking chance of taking my throne easily so I could finally relax.

But I will get this shit done, regardless. And when I do, I’m taking Victoria away for our honeymoon, which we never got. We didn’t need to, given the circumstances of our wedding. Now… things have changed.

I want her so fucking much I know I need to lock us both in a room together until I have enough. I smile at the thought on the way to our bedroom, knowing I’ll never get enough. At this point, I crave her all the time—I’m insatiable.

I crack the door open, and it’s dark inside.

The windows are open, the curtains flapping against the gentle wind in the night. My wife is in our bed, tucked under the covers, sleeping on her side.

My chest tightens at seeing her safe and sound. I want to pry her legs open and lick her out, but I step into the bathroom instead. I need a shower before I touch her delicate skin. Mine is still smeared with traces of death.

When I’m done, I walk back into the bedroom and put on a pair of boxer briefs. She’s in the same position, a sign that I haven’t woken her up.

I lie down next to her, pulling her to my chest. Her hair smells like lilies, and I groan, my face stuffed in it. She’s so warm, so soft. So mine.

My shoulders finally relax, and my mind goes empty as I’m dragged under her spell again. And it dawns on me that I haven’t felt so at peace in this house since my mother passed.

“She would’ve loved you,” I murmur, cupping Victoria's breast from behind.

I brush my thumb over her pointy nipple, feeling it harden up. God, I want to flip her over and pull it into my mouth. Bite her. Lick her. Claim her for the thousandth time. I press my hard cock into her ass, groaning as the need overpowers me.

She stirs, and I stop in my tracks when she speaks.

“I’m not in the mood, Wolfgang.”

Her voice is low, but steady, and unlike someone who just woke up from sleep. She was awake the entire time.

“Anything happen while I was gone?”

It hasn’t—my men would’ve told me—but maybe someone talked to her and made her upset. I fucking hate it when I have to leave her here by herself, but it’s safer for her this way.

“No. I just want to sleep.”

“Why weren’t you sleeping, then?”

“I was. You woke me up.”

“No, you weren’t. Look at me,” I say, flipping her over so I can see her face.

She’s been crying. And she looks angry more than she looks sad. I pinch her chin with my fingers and force her face up. “You tell me who got you so upset, love, and I’m going back to kill them right now.”

She blinks, a fresh tear smearing her cheek before her eyes finally meet mine.

VICTORIA

My body trembles with indescribable rage.

He holds me, but it does nothing to quiet the storm that’s been brewing inside me. It entices it. Brings it up to the surface, threatening to drown us both.

Sasha told me the truth—I called him this morning, using Ekaterina’s phone. And he confirmed my worst fear—my mother… my sister… they’re gone… sold into slavery like objects… to be used and disposed of when they break.

He even sent a video from the security cameras of my father’s house. I saw them struggling, saw them beg for mercy that never came. Saw the tears on Anya’s cheeks and the screams erupting from Mom’s mouth.

The thought of Wolfgang and his men shoving them into cars rips through my heart, causing havoc as my stomach churns. It’s bringing me to the edge of my sanity.

How could he do something so vile?

Everyone in Alemont City knew what happened to them. I was the only one who didn’t while I stupidly convinced myself Wolfgang Rykov was a man worthy of my heart. He isn’t. Never was, not even for a goddamn second. He’s a monster.

I’m such a goddamn fool.

My throat throbs with the pain of unspoken words. Of all the things I want to shout in his face but don’t. Not yet.

This last bit of sanity I have left is going to have to keep me going, so I can brave this storm tactfully.

Get my mother and my sister out of the country.

And run away from this evil family once and for all.

From this monster looking at me with his cold, calculated eyes. The eyes I fell for like an idiot.

“Victoria,” he says, and the way my name rolls off his tongue breaks another piece of my heart. It’s tender, caring, almost sounds genuine. If I didn’t already know the truth, I would believe him again. And again. And again. I would give myself over to him for the thousandth time.

More tears spill on my cheeks, wetting the pillow and the hand he has on my chin.

The words shake on my lips as I lie to him, hoping he won’t see right through me.

“You fucking left me alone in here. You knew how rattled I was by the attack, and you still left. Now you come in here as if nothing happened, wanting to fuck me. To chase your own high.”