Page 33 of Darkest Craving

WOLFGANG

“ T he Italians keep undercutting our costs in Boston,” I say, drumming my fingers on the table in front of me. “They want to win on price, so… let them count their pennies while we take their whale clients.”

I lift my gaze, taking in the men filling the rest of the seats.

Everyone is here, all our money launderers—except Victoria’s father—and other allies, like the Romanian, Polish, and Bulgarian heads.

It’s our quarterly meeting where we evaluate finances, cut down expenses, and look for ways to increase profit.

Almost every single time someone suggests we go into the skin business, but I don’t fuck with that. Not only is it not as profitable as everyone likes to think, but it also gives me the fucking ick. I can tell some are itching to propose it as a solution to what I just said.

But I already know what we need to do. I’m simply here to let them know out of courtesy.

Enver Morina studies me. He must have been surprised I called him in after I left the corpse at his bar. Still, he came, which tells me he understands where he stands. Maybe the bartender was being honest, after all.

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” Enver asks. “We can’t just bang on their doors and force them to buy from us.”

“No, we can’t. Which is why we’re going to make them want to shop with us.”

The Bulgarian senses where I’m getting at and nods. “Won’t the Italians figure out it was us who messed with their shipments? We’d be starting a war, Wolfgang.”

“The war started when they colluded with the Romanovs to steal our profits–the big, fat paychecks you’re getting at the end of every month. In fact, how’s your daughter, Viktor? Got her that Ferrari for her birthday yet?”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. He knows I’m right.

Besides, the Italians need to know we haven’t forgotten their stupid fucking stunt.

“A fire at the docks would delay their shipment. So would an explosive mounted on the ship,” the Romanian chimes in.

The others join the conversation, and I take the opportunity to look at my phone, expecting a message from Ivan. He’s out, still trying to figure out who the Albanian rogue was working with.

Still no answer, and it’s been hours. What’s taking him so fucking long?

My mind then goes to my wife. I hate the way I left things with her. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but who am I kidding? She’s all I ever want at the front-end of my mind, regardless of our fight.

I was so fucking angry last night.

First, that she lied to me about what really bothered her. Second, that she dismissed me so easily, like I could never be more than a monster to her. Like there’s no world in which she could trust me, believe in me for all that I am.

It was so gutting that I ended up throwing ugly lies in her face. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the disappointment and shock plastered all over her pretty face.

I exhale slowly, hating myself for it. She didn’t deserve being treated that way. No matter how angry or exhausted I am, I can’t fucking let my darkness seep out of me like that. Not when I risk laying it out on her.

As I listen to whatever the Romanian is saying to the others, I’m growing impatient to return home. To make things right with her.

This whole situation with the Irish, the Italians, and the shooter is starting to piss me the fuck off. It always feels like I’m close to wrapping things up, then something new pops up. There’s always a new fire to put out before I can finally take what I’ve earned. And I’m getting sick of waiting.

Maybe I don’t care about becoming Pakhan anymore. Not if it means crawling for scraps of respect from a father who’s never wanted me to win. Or lying to the world about hating the woman I love.

But I’m not walking away. I built this fucking empire. And if I burn for it, it won’t be for him… or for Mikhail… or for the woman who raised me like she wanted me dead the moment she stepped into our home.

It’ll be for me. For Victoria.

For the future we can have together if I stop pretending, and just take what’s already mine.

I look up from my phone, the decision nailing itself into my flesh and bones.

I tell the others, “Set it up. Tonight. I’ll pay whoever does it one percent more.”

Just then, the door opens to my left, and my father comes in, drawing all the attention to him.

What the fuck is he doing here?

“We won’t be doing anything like that,” he announces. “You must excuse my son, gentlemen. He’s been rather… distracted lately.”

I follow him with my gaze as he walks deeper into the room. Mikhail is right on his trail—a rare fucking sight—strolling in with a smirk on his face. Annoyance surges in me, and I’m this close to telling them both to fuck off.

Even though I’ve been the one running the business for the past couple of years, Father made sure to preserve his power through things like this. Blindsiding me is his specialty. And he can be very unpredictable because most of the time, he has no real strategy at all.

But this… this . To bring Mikhail with him is new to me. And it pisses me off.

“As you all know,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about retirement for a while now. I deliberately left Wolfgang in charge because I needed to know if he was the right person for the job. But as it turns out… he’s not.”

My jaw clenches on its own accord. Everyone listens, but no one dares look me in the eye. Yet, my father does. I hold his stare unflinching, and he holds mine.

“I won’t go into detail. We don’t need to bring personal matters into this. But I came here to make an announcement. To tell you all that from now on… Mikhail Rykov will be your Pakhan .”

Every atom in my fucking body comes to a halt. I stop breathing, and it takes every bit of sanity I have left to keep my calm. I imagine flipping over the tables. Smashing the chairs into the windows, into his head.

How. Could. He?

After everything I’ve done for this family, after everything I’ve endured for him. For us.

I watch as every man in the room gets up to shake hands with my brother.

Everyone but me. I pay close attention to him as he goes through the motions, surprised to see his smirk gone.

His brows are furrowed, and for a moment, his eyes slide over to mine.

If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was blindsided too, but I’m not buying his sheepish act.

No fucking way he didn’t have a role in all this. It’s what he always wanted, isn’t it?

I didn’t see this coming—and I’ve got no one but myself to blame for that. Not because I let Victoria in… but because I didn’t end this charade with my father sooner. Because I didn’t put my foot down when I had the chance.

As if on cue, my phone vibrates and I peer down, a text splayed out on the screen from an unknown number. And with every word I read, my shields—the ones I put down for the first fucking time in my life last night—go up again.

One. By. One.

Unknown: I told Ekaterina about the shooter. I think she told your father… He knows you lied to him. I’m so sorry, Wolf. Please… just be ready.

VICTORIA

I walk through the dark, empty halls of the house, aimless and on edge.

He’s not home yet, and I don’t even know if he got my message. I keep the new phone in my hand, constantly checking for a sign of any kind. But there’s only silence. And it’s pressing down on me like a mountain I can’t take off my chest.

I stop by the open door of the library, but I don’t go in. My hand stretches out, touching the nearest wall for support. I haven’t eaten anything today. Barely had a sip of water.

My heart aches for Wolfgang, for acting behind his back, even if he did the same to me.

You don’t hurt someone you love. Not like that.

Not by going to the one person that terrorized them their entire life.

I close my eyes, reeling in the guilt as best I can, except it won’t stop.

There’s no getting out of what I’ve done.

I’ve seen this house silent before, but now it’s too much. Too still. As if something irreversible happened between these walls, and it’s here permanently. To haunt me. Taunt me. Bury me in pain.

I wish he’d come back sooner, so I can explain… Explain what exactly? How I betrayed him? How I took away the only thing he’s ever needed to find peace in his life?

Some goon appears at the end of an empty corridor, blocking my way.

He sees me and squints his eyes, as if he knows.

As if he’s no longer supposed to refrain himself from causing me harm.

Good. He should do it—kill me right here, splay my blood all over these walls.

But he walks by, as if he only saw the ghost of Wolfgang Rykov’s wife.

Eyes closed, I shiver with regret, guilt clawing at my throat.

I urge my useless legs to take me outside—I need to breathe. And I can’t fucking breathe in this house.

But the moment I go down one floor… I feel it.

The scent that carries me to sleep every night.

My heart cries out, banging against my ribs, begging me to find solace in the same place I lost it—in my husband’s arms. I walk toward the big, empty living room, the click of glass and the pouring of liquid luring me in like a death knell.

He’s here.

Somehow, he came back, and I didn’t see him through the window because I was too afraid to look at times. The silence is unbearable, and I break a little more each time it settles deeper between us. Why isn’t he yelling at me? Why won’t he say he hates me, that I ruined his life?

Turning away from the decanter with the scotch, he brings the glass to his lips and stops. Just for a moment, our eyes meet, telling me more than his words ever could.

“W-Wolf…” The name trembles on my wet lips, breaking in half.

He takes back his seat near the fireplace—cold and void of fire, as if he didn’t care for anything but the strong drink in his hand. His jaw tightens. He doesn’t speak. And that silence is worse than any word he could scream at me.

“Please…” I gather my hands in front of me, pulling at the edges of my blouse as I approach him with small, quiet steps. I don’t have words to tell him how sorry I am…

He murmurs, his tone low and indifferent. “Did you enjoy it? Gutting me in front of the world like that?”

I shake my head, approaching him more. He looks at me as if he wants me to stop. And I do, because I’ve never seen him look at me like that.

“I never meant to hurt you,” I say, my voice the only stronghold keeping tears at bay. “I never wanted to go to her. But I had no other choice…”

He chuckles, and it scares me a little. Because it’s filled with pain.

“I let you in, Victoria. Gave you a piece of myself so that you always had a choice. You must have known that. You must have seen what I was willing to do for you.”

“Yes,” I hush out. “Everything… everything except keeping the only people I care about safe.”

“I asked if you’d believe me over the others, and you didn’t respond.

” He drains the rest of his drink, ice clinking against the glass.

“You believed Ekaterina. Ran to her instead. Tore out my fucking heart.” He exhales.

“The problem with that, love, is that everything she told you is a huge pile of crap.”

I listen, and not a single muscle in my body moves as I cling to his words.

“They’re safe. Your sister, your mother, they have been safe. I sent them off to Russia, set them up with a home. With money. Everything they might ever need to make a life for themselves. I did what you asked before you ever asked it. But I guess I’ll always be a monster to you, won’t I?”

“Wolf… I… I didn’t know. I…”

“Nah. Save those pretty little tears for someone who cares.” The words hit me right in the heart. They’re cold, so cold and hateful. There’s nothing left of his mocking, flirty demeanor.

I swallow hard as he gets up, downing his drink. “Because you might remain my wife on paper. But you and I? We’re done. Take your stuff out of my bedroom. And enjoy your fucking life.”