Page 52 of Twisted Addiction

Who was this Seraphina? A real person—or that cruel invention of Dmitri’s, the one meant to make me doubt him and think he was cheating?

My stomach tightened at the thought, and I shoved it down. Not now. Not while I had to focus on survival.

Sliding into the car, the temporary relief of seeing Giovanni gave way to a fresh wave of unease. The engine hummed to life, a low, insistent sound.

“Something on your mind?” Giovanni asked, glancing at me, his tone calm but probing as we merged onto the quiet road.

“I want Dmitri to replace Elena as my secretary,” I said, staring out at the glittering Lake Como lights, trying to steady my racing thoughts. “She’s the only one he didn’t fire, and... something about her feels off. Not warm, not cold—just... wrong. I don’t trust her.”

Giovanni’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “She can’t be replaced. Elena’s the second daughter of the Orlovs, one of the four families running this territory. They own stakes in everything—land, buildings, businesses... La Sirena included. When Dmitri cleared out the staff, the Orlovs refused to budge,no matter the price. Other families took his money and pulled their kids. Not them.”

“Oh,” I muttered, the weight of it settling in my chest. “That explains her attitude.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a curve with ease. “She knows she’s untouchable. That’s why she’s so aloof. Probably jealous you’re Dmitri’s wife. Most women here dream of that title, and no one expected him to marry... an outsider.”

“Then I’ll have to deal with her,” I said, resigned, my mind still tangled in the name Seraphina and the scene outside.

“Yup,” he agreed, adding casually, “Dmitri’s not home. He’s at the Basilica di Sant’Abbondio, handling some... business.”

The name conjured a cathedral’s solemnity—grand, ancient, imposing. I frowned. “Why are you telling me?”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “So you know where he isn’t. In case curiosity—or defiance—gets the better of you.”

“Dmitri and I don’t have that kind of relationship. You know that.” I snapped, my chest tightening at the thought of Dmitri’s cold indifference.

“Okay,” he said, eyes back on the road, but the quiet challenge in his tone lingered, stirring a spark I wasn’t ready to admit.

“You know what... take me to him,” I said, voice steady but my gut twisting. I didn’t know what I expected—clarity, confrontation, maybe a glimpse of the man who had made my life a cage.

Giovanni’s suggestion wasn’t casual; it was a push, and I knew I had to take it.

Giovanni’s scarred lips tugged into a faint smirk. “Yes, ma’am.”

The SUV slipped into the narrow street, swallowed by darkness.

The buildings loomed close, their cracked facades and shuttered windows casting long, uneasy shadows.

Every streetlight flickered weakly, as if hesitant to illuminate what might come. Silence pressed down, heavy, broken only by the soft hum of the engine.

I kept my hands clasped tightly in my lap, trying to slow my racing thoughts. Dmitri’s world was one I had glimpsed only in fragments, through whispers and reports, but stepping toward him directly made it all real, all immediate.

The SUV halted a short distance from the Basilica di Sant’Abbondio. Even at a distance, the building radiated authority—gothic arches clawing at the sky, stained glass glowing faintly in the moonlight. The quiet felt sacred, almost suffocating.

“He’s in there,” Giovanni said, nodding toward the basilica with a casual air that made my stomach tighten.

I frowned. “Why not drive closer?” The question sounded braver than I felt.

Giovanni leaned back, hands resting lightly on the wheel, exuding calm I didn’t feel. “Vehicles aren’t allowed inside. This place... it belongs to the families. You walk it on foot, show the respect it demands. Or someone notices, and trust me—you don’t want the wrong people noticing tonight.”

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the door frame. “And what exactly is he doing here?”

Giovanni’s smirk curved lazily “You think he tells me everything? But if I had to guess—confession, or punishment. With Dmitri, it’s usually the same thing.”

His words sent a chill down my spine. “Punishment?”

He shrugged, the movement careless. “He sins. He prays. He bleeds. Then he sins again. Circle of life, right?”

I stared at him, the sarcasm doing nothing to mask the weight of what he wasn’t saying. The air around us felt charged, thick with the kind of tension that came before a storm.