Page 121 of Ruthless Addiction

The loss of warmth was immediate, shocking. I heard him settle onto his back with a controlled exhale, the sound of a man forcing himself into stillness.

The space between us felt vast.

I stared into the darkness, eyes burning, heart pounding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the pool or Seraphina or the way jealousy had embarrassed me. Tomorrow loomed like a storm waiting just beyond the horizon.

The annual Lake Como gala.

Four families under one roof—Volkovs, Orlovs, Morozovs, Ferraros—each smile sharpened into a blade, each polite greeting layered with threat. Alliances made and broken over champagne flutes. Old grudges dressed up as civility. Dmitri wanted me in the middle of it. Wanted me to approach Ricci Ferraro and tilt the scales before blood was spilled.

Charm him. Persuade him. Pressure him.

I had never been raised for this world. I wasn’t bred for politics or power plays.

The thought of stepping into that viper’s nest tomorrow—of speaking for Dmitri, of carrying his name and his intent into that room—sent my pulse racing, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.

And beneath that fear—deeper, darker, far more lethal—was the secret I carried like a live wire against my skin.

Vanya.

My son.

Our son.

Sooner or later, Dmitri would see it. Blood always told its story. The resemblance was already there, growing sharper by the day—the dark eyes, the stubborn tilt of the chin, the way Vanya’s rare, crooked smiles mirrored his father’s. Ruslan had warned me this moment would come. That blood called to blood, no matter how far you ran.

If Dmitri discovered the truth before I secured an escape—before the three months ended and I could disappear again—he would never let us go.

A man who would burn the world for a ghost would chain the living without hesitation.

And me... I wouldn’t just be bound by a contract anymore. I’d be bound by something far stronger. Permanent. Inescapable.

Family.

The thought stole my breath. My fingers curled into the sheets until my knuckles went white. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to come, to silence the spiraling dread clawing through my chest.

Beside me, Dmitri didn’t move. But I felt him—awake, restrained, a storm held behind steel walls.

I didn’t feel the moment exhaustion finally claimed me. One heartbeat I was drowning in tomorrow’s shadows; the next, there was nothing at all.

Chapter 14

PENELOPE

The grand ballroom of Villa Balbiano glittered like a jewel box built for sinners.

Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung from a ceiling painted with frescoes of gods and conquests, scattering fractured light across marble floors veined in gold.

The room was vast—easily large enough to host three hundred of the world’s most dangerous people without ever feeling crowded.

Armed guards in tailored tuxedos were posted at every archway, their earpieces and the faint outline of holsters the only honest things in a room full of lies.

This was the fiftieth annual Lake Como gathering: a masquerade of civility, a showcase of wealth, and a delicate dance of power that kept four mafia families from tearing each other apart.

Tonight, the air carried the scent of orchids, Cuban cigars, and barely contained menace.

I perched at one of the round tables near the center, the midnight-blue silk gown Dmitri had chosen clinging to my skin, stopping just above my knee.

The slit was daring enough to make me aware of every predator in the room, every assessing glance, and yet I couldn’t let it show that I noticed.