Page 84 of Ruthless Addiction

Just the gradual hardening of his face, the subtle crease between his brows deepening, his fingers curling tighter around the phone.

“Get yourself treated,” he said at last, voice clipped and dangerous. “Then come home. Immediately.”

The call ended.

I knew then.

Something was wrong.

Dmitri Volkov didn’t lose control easily. Whatever had just reached him had cracked the surface of his iron restraint.

“Where is Vanya?” I demanded, stepping toward him. My heart had started to race now, an ugly, crawling panic clawing up my spine.

He lifted his eyes to mine.

And the words fell like stones.

“He’s been taken.”

The room tilted.

“I didn’t hear you right,” I whispered, the sound barely leaving my throat.

My knees weakened.

My ears rang. The world narrowed until there was nothing but his mouth moving, his voice cutting through me like shrapnel.

“The Orlovs found out about the secret wedding,” he said, each word measured. “My men were the only witnesses—yet news travels faster than light.”

His jaw tightened. “Worse, Seraphina is awake. She was supposed to be in a coma for months, but she regained consciousness. The Orlovs will have already deduced that I was behind her collapse at the altar—and the reason our wedding never happened.”

He paused, letting the implication settle.

“They took Vanya as leverage,” he continued coldly. “Whatever demand they intend to make, he’s their bargaining chip. They ambushed Giovanni on his way back to the house and took him.”

A beat.

“They took my son as leverage.”

Something inside me shattered.

“What the fuck!” I screamed, the sound ripping out of me raw and feral as I lunged toward him. “This is a joke. This has to be a fucking joke!”

“It’s not.”

I swung at him, blind with terror and fury—aiming to wipe that calm right off his face—but he caught my wrists effortlessly, twisting me with brutal efficiency. In one fluid movement, he hauled me back against his chest.

Hard.

His arm locked around my waist like iron. The other pinned my wrists to my stomach. I struggled uselessly, breath knocked from my lungs as panic exploded into violence.

“I’ll get him back,” he growled into my ear, his voice low, vicious, vibrating with promise. “I swear it.”

I lost it.

I thrashed wildly—kicking, elbowing, clawing at him like a cornered animal, screams tearing out of me as sobs wracked my chest.

“Let go of me!” I screamed. “Let me go! You selfish bastard—this was your doing! I should have known this marriage was a trap!”