Page 140 of His Darkest Obsession

"No," I whisper. "He didn't..."

But I know he did. The pieces are falling into place with sickening clarity.

Anatoly must have found the NDA. He must have discovered what happened to me in Grant's office that summer. What Grant did to me.

What he forced me to do after.

The camera zooms in on the building, and shows police cars and ambulances crowding the street. A reporter's voice drones on about "unconfirmed reports" and "heightened security following the election."

"When?" I ask, my voice barely audible.

"He left about an hour ago," Roma answers, his eyes never leaving the screen.

I sink onto the couch, my legs suddenly unable to hold me. Amara sits beside me and takes my hand in hers.

"Miels, what's happening?" she asks.

But I can't answer her.

All I can think about is Anatoly, driven to violence by the truth. The truth that I couldn't bring myself to tell him.

Suddenly, the reporter on screen touches her earpiece, her expression shifting.

"We're just getting an update," she says, her voice tense. "Paramedics have discovered what they're describing as a grisly scene inside. Mayor Bennet has been found murdered in his office."

My hand flies to my mouth. The room spins around me.

"NYPD is already on scene," the reporter continues. "This is still a developing story and?—"

She pauses, looking down at something handed to her off-camera. When she looks up again, her face has gone pale.

"I've just been informed that..." she swallows hard. "Additional details have emerged about the condition of the body." She glances off-camera as if seeking permission before continuing in a trembling voice. "The mayor's body has been mutilated. Preliminary reports suggest that his... his hands and genitals are missing."

The room goes silent except for Amara's shocked yelp beside me.

I will give you his hands.

Anatoly's promise echoes in my mind, spoken weeks ago as he knelt before me, kissing the scars on my thighs. He promised then to find whoever marked me and deliver their hands to me.

And now he has.

Amara turns to me, her face contorted with horror. "Miels, what?—"

Svetlana steps forward quickly, putting a hand on Amara's shoulder. "You shouldn't be here for this,devushka," she says firmly.

"But I want to stay with?—"

"Your sister will need you later," Svetlana insists, her tone brooks no argument as she pulls my sister from the couch. "But not now."

I watch them go, unable to form words as my brain struggles to process what's happening.

Roma stands motionless before the TV, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He's shaking his head slowly back and forth.

"Tolya, you fucking idiot," he mutters under his breath.

I turn to Roma, my voice barely above a whisper. "Did you help him do this?"

Roma's jaw tightens, his eyes still fixed on the television where they're showing aerial footage of police swarming the mayor's office building.