Page 77 of The Mafia and His Obsession Part 2 (Tainted Hearts 5)

At the beginning, I used to have the same nightmares.

And now my Viktor was also suffering.

Every night, he would wake up. I’d soothe him but I knew…I just knew, something had changed, and no matter how much I whispered the words I love you, my Viktor was lost in his head.

He saw himself as a failure; I saw that.

He saw himself as powerless; I felt that—the way his ribcage seemed to cave into this heart in a show of weakness.

I made him vulnerable.

Viktor had made vows to me—to keep me safe, to cherish me, to love me—to steal me away from here.

He thought he had broken those vows by letting Valentin touch me the way he had.

If only he saw it the way I did.

My Viktor had never broken his vows. I knew the consequences of living under Valentin’s roof. I knew what could happen, and I was prepared for it.

Viktor’s vows…every time he touched me so tenderly, he fulfilled his promises.

He kept me safe while I was in his embrace.

He cherished me while kissing me sweetly.

He loved me while staring into my eyes silently, like I was his most precious treasure. His heart.

And every time he made love to my soul, he’d steal me away from this hell-hole.

If only…if only he’d see it the way I did.

Then he wouldn’t be like this…so far out of my reach even though he was this close, his heat seeping into my body.

I was touching him, yet his mind was somewhere else. I wished I could bring him back. I wished…he’d be the man everyone feared and cowered in front of.

A beast who’d smile with sharp teeth and a dangerous mind. His smirk was deadly. The Viktor I loved was a menacing man who had people fall to their knees with only a fatal stare. His mere existence was threatening.

This man in front of me…

He was not my Viktor.

This man was only filled with so much pain…and rage.

My gaze ran over his body, looking at the injuries he had accumulated over seven days. His stomach was severely bruised. His face and arms had several cuts and more bruises. His left eye was almost swollen shut. He seemed unsteady on his feet, and I knew his legs probably took some severe hits too.

Why? Why, Viktor…why do you do this to yourself?

I understood his need to fight…to kill…but I couldn’t let myself understand why he would hurt himself like this.

As if he were punishing himself. Hurting himself on purpose. As if being in constant agony was now his solace.

“It hurts me to see you like this, Viktor.”

His eyes clenched closed at my words and his hold tightened on my hips.

My beautiful broken man.

Rubbing my hands over his arms, I watched as his head fell forward. He sighed in relief when I started rubbing my fingers through his drenched hair.

“I’ll take care of you,” I whispered, kissing his chest where his heart was beating through. “Like you took care of me.”

I lifted the soap to his chest and rubbed it over his skin, while making sure I was avoiding his cuts. His muscles flexed and tightened at my touch and then relaxed. His lips were slightly parted and I felt him inhale.

I exhaled.

He breathed out.

I breathed in.

The water sluiced down his face, and he opened his eyes. There was a look of desperation on his face, and his dark eyes were fixated on mine. He didn’t look away. I couldn’t look away even if I tried.

Viktor brought his hand up and his index finger touched my lips. “Can I kiss you?” he asked roughly, his touch grazing over my full lips.

I nodded, unable to speak.

When he didn’t move, still staring into my eyes, I went on my tip-toes. Holding his shoulders, I brought our faces together. Our cheeks touched and then I brought my lips to his. A sweet, simple kiss.

He tensed underneath me and then he made a strangling sound at the back of his throat. “Myshka,” he whispered against my lips.

My heart raced and my stomach twisted in ropes. His hand slid through my hair and he pulled me closer. Our lips stayed locked. He didn’t force my mouth open. He didn’t kiss me savagely.

Instead, I kept our lips pressed together. A whispered, tender touch.

When I pulled away, his eyes were clouded over. Both in awe and in pain.

I took a step back. While standing this close to him, I studied my man. His incredible height and the width of his chest and shoulder rivaled mine. I was small, both in height and size. The strength of his body made me feel delicate.

His eyes spoke a tale of misery. The way he looked at me…like I was both his saving grace and his greatest torment.

I used to think of Viktor Ivanshov as a god.

Right now, he was a lost god. A fallen warrior.