Page 12 of Darkest Oblivion

The butler hesitated, searching my face, but the fear in his eyes mirrored my own.

He bowed slightly before sprinting toward the elevators, leaving me alone with my pounding heart, the shadows of the garage pressing close, and the gnawing certainty that Dmitri Volkov was already inside my walls.

I limped inside.

Every step echoed too loudly in the cavernous silence, reminding me I was alive—but barely.

Dmitri Volkov. My first love at fifteen, the boy who once made me laugh over lemonade, had revealed himself as a monster. Not just to the world. To me. To my family. His hatred was a blade pressed to my throat, and I still didn’t know why.

I stormed to my bedroom, shutting the door harder than I meant to, the silk curtains swaying with the draft.

My mind replayed the dock in jagged fragments: his hand on my throat, the threat in his voice, the chopper waiting.

Dmitri could have forced me aboard, dragged me to Italy, where no one could ever find me.

Had I escaped because of my speed—or because he wanted me to run? The thought froze my blood.

He was a predator, and I was nothing more than prey he enjoyed watching scramble.

My father had to act, and soon, or we were finished.

I showered, scrubbing away the stink of diesel and fear until my skin burned, then pulled on a clean sweater and jeans. It calmed nothing.

The hours crawled by, the estate growing darker and emptier with each passing minute.

No word from Papa. No calls returned.

My mother was still in Miami, celebrating Nonna’s eightieth birthday with the extended family—a feast of wine and laughter she would never believe I envied now.

I was alone, the silence pressing in like a vise.

Finally, desperate for answers, I slipped into the hall.

My footsteps carried me toward my father’s study, the one place I thought I might find comfort. The mahogany door was locked. My heart dropped. He wasn’t there.

Dmitri’s words clawed their way back into my chest:I could erase them all. I could turn the Romano empire into smoke and bone, and it wouldn’t cost me a single sleepless night.

Panic surged.

If Papa was gone, if Dmitri had already moved against him, I had no shield left. Rocco and Carlo would step into power, yes, but their love for me was tangled up in loyalty to the empire. Could I really trust even them?

I turned away, forcing my legs to move, wandering the first living room with its velvet sofas sitting in eerie stillness, then the second, where I paused.

Voices.

I stilled, breath catching.

They drifted faintly through the double doors, low but urgent, threading through the silence like a warning.

Then I heard it.

My name.

Penelope.

Sharp. Measured. Heavy with something I couldn’t name.

I froze where I stood, my heart slamming against my ribs, straining to catch the rest.