INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings - Episode 104
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Genevieve ~
"Genevieve." Liam drawled the moment Dominic stepped out of the door, his voice edged with a whine.
I forced a smile onto my lips, turned, and met his hard gaze.
"Why was he here?" His tone—sharp, demanding—sent a fresh wave of tension rippling through the air.
The last thing I wanted.
So, rather than engage, I sidestepped him, putting deliberate distance between us as I walked into the kitchen. He, of course, ignored the unspoken message and followed.
"Vie."
Another whine. Grating. Infuriating. A sound that scraped against my nerves in all the wrong ways.
"He just needed to tell me something."
"Something that couldn’t wait until work?" His incredulity bléd into every syllable, from the sharp arch of his brow to the disbelieving curl of his lip.
With a weary sigh, I took a slow step forward on the polished maple floor. Then, resting my hands heavily on his shoulders, I stared into his forest-green eyes. "Liam," I murmured, my emotions betraying me, making my voice breathless. "I am not a child, alright? I know what I’m doing."
Most of the time, I have no patience for explaining myself. And when I do, I resent having to do it.
But for the people I care about, I make allowances.
I dropped my hands from his shoulders and moved to the fridge for a glass of water. I’d barely raised it to my lips when his voice cut through the air, cold and harsh. "Doesn’t seem like it."
I stilled. The glass hovered mid-air before I slowly turned my head to look at him. The question sat on the tip of my tongue—What does it seem like, then?—but I knew asking it would only prolong this conversation. And that, I did not want.
Instead, I exhaled slowly and forced my tone to remain measured. "Liam," I warned, firm. "Can you please stop? I’m not in the mood to—"
He cut me off, his voice sharp as a blàde. "But you were in the mood to have a nice, lovely chat with your ex-boyfriend." I slammed my palm against the counter, the sharp bang echoing, but it didn’t stop him. "Who, by the way, broke your heart."
Now, I was angry.
No. Furious.
"Oh, really?" Sarcasm dripped from my words, thick and caustic. "I completely forgot about that. Thanks so much for the reminder."
"I’m not surprised," he shot back, his voice harder, his frustration palpable. "I don’t understand you, Genevieve. I try, but I just... don’t."
"Liam—"
"No." He shook his head, jaw tightening. "First, you came back for him."
I wanted to deny it. Wanted to snap No, I didn’t. But he wasn’t entirely wrong, so I held my tongue.
He took my silence for confirmation and pressed on. "Second," he continued, his words thick with tension, "you told me nothing would happen between you two again. And now? This is what I see. And what about what I don’t see happening?" He scoffed, shaking his head as he stripped off his jacket, throwing it over the chair. "What then?"
My patience frayed. "Nothing is happening."
"Yet!" He had the audacity to snap back, like he had a right to be angry. "Nothing has happened yet, you mean. For God’s sake, Genevieve." His voice softened, thick with frustration. "You can’t let him use you like this."
"He’s not using me."
It was the truth. A simple, undeniable truth.
"He’s worming his way back into your heart."
"Well, that’s hardly an issue, considering he never left in the first place."
The words slipped out before I even registered them. Too late. They hung heavy in the air between us, irreversible. I bit my lip, gaze dropping, unwilling to meet Liam’s expression.
"He never left." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Genny, he never left." He repeated it like he was trying to convince himself, trying to make it sink in. "The man who shattered you. The man who left you in pieces. The man who kissed another woman—the woman who now works for him, by the way—after breaking up with you." He let out a breath, fingers raking through his hair. "I don’t understand how you can still love him."
I exhaled, my throat tight. "I’m sorry, Liam. But I can’t... I can’t flick a switch and turn it off."
His jaw clenched. "It’s not fair. There are so many other guys out there, begging for just a fraction of your attention—"
"Oh? Who?"
I walked straight into it. Saw the trap. Jumped in headfirst.
"Me!" He shouted. "Goddàmn it, Genny—me." He jabbed his fingers against his chest, his voice raw, trembling. "Me." A single tear slid down his cheek, and it stabbéd through me. "You’re never going to see me, are you?" He smiled—a weak, broken thing. "It’s always going to be him. Always f+ckiñg Dominic."
"Liam—"
I didn’t know what I wanted to say, only that I needed to say something. Something to make this húrt less. But I didn’t get the chance.
"No. J-just... no." And then, he was gone. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving nothing but silence.
★★★★
The next five days passed smoothly—on Dominic’s part, at least. He’d stopped undressíng me with his eyes after I warned him, so yes, smoothly.
On Liam’s part? Not so much.
He hadn’t come back that night. When he finally did, the next morning, he barely spared me a glance, muttering nothing more than a clipped good morning.
The following two days were marginally better. Brief words exchanged, tentative smiles. By the third day, we had settled back into something resembling normal.
Only, I knew the truth.
Liam was pushing everything down, boxing it away, pretending to be fine. I knew because I’d played that game before.
I—
"Genevieve?"
My head snapped towards the voice.
Aurora. Clad, as always, in one of her perfectly tailored pink dresses.
"Hi," she beamed, her smile impossibly radiant.
"Hi." I returned it. Slowly, begrudgingly, I was coming to terms with the fact that she shared Dominic’s bloód.
And, crucially, that their matching surnames did not mean they were married.
"So, are you coming?"
I frowned. "Coming to what?"
"The party." She arched a brow. "The one Nic’s throwing on Friday."
I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I was invited."
"Right." She grinned. "Just making sure."
"Why?"
"Oh, nothing."
Suspicious. Very suspicious.
"Aurora."
"Gosh." Aurora tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder, the movement effortlessly graceful. "Nic says my name like that too, you know. It’s uncanny how alike you two are."
"Aurora." Dominic’s voice cut through the space—sharp, commanding, leaving no room for argument. It only proved her point.
She turned back to me, her honey-coloured eyes slightly wider, as if to say, See?
"Why are you here?" Dominic asked, his tone edged with suspicion.
"Can’t I come to see my darling brother?"
"You only ever call me that when you’ve got an ulterior motive." His gaze was pointed, unwavering.
"Call you what? My brother?" She feigned innocence, but the playful lilt in her voice betrayed her. "But that is what you are."
Her smile was utterly infectious, so much so that—despite himself—Dominic cracked the barest hint of a grin. And somehow, I did too.
"And no, there is no ulterior motive of any kind," she added, far too quickly to be believable.
"So, is she coming?" Dexter’s voice interrupted as he strolled up to join us.
"Yep."
A slow, satisfied grin spread across Dexter’s face. "Brilliant."
They absolutely had an ulterior motive. And somehow, I was caught right in the middle of it.
Dominic exhaled sharply, his patience clearly wearing thin. His next words came out in Russian, low and full of warning. "Если вы двое сделаете хоть что-то глупое, я запру вас в подвале с одной бутылкой воды и единственным батончиком «Сникерс» на целую неделю." Aurora and Dexter exchanged a glance, their eyes widening ever so slightly.
Translation: "If either of you does anything idíotic, I will lọ́ck you in a basement with nothing but a bottle of water and a single Snickers bar for an entire week."
••
“The renovation is coming along nicely. I can hardly believe you’re nearly finished.”
“Nearly,” I corrected him swiftly. “There are still a few days left. You won’t be rid of me that easily, Dominic.”
“Ah, wasn’t even trying.”
We stood on the second floor, me overseeing my team’s work, him… well, I wasn’t sure why he was here. He had joined me only minutes ago, and now hovered at my side, his presence an anchor I wasn’t sure I wanted.
I knew I ought to say something—anything—to keep the conversation alive, but every possible remark felt inadequate, a mere ripple in the growing tension between us.
“So,” Dominic spoke first, mercifully sparing me the effort. “You’re leaving next week? Back to China?”
I nodded, unwilling to trust my voice in case it betrayed me.
“That’s… that’s…” He hesitated, struggling to complete the thought.
“N-nice?”
F+ck. I’d stuttered.
I froze, praying he hadn’t noticed.
“No,” Dominic said, his voice lower, rougher. “Being without you is never nice.”
I can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
“Relax, Genevieve,” he murmured. “I’ve no intention of kidnappińg you and lockiñg you away in an ivory tower, just to keep you all to myself.” A pause. Then, with a smirk, “Although, I must admit, the idea does have its appeal.”
It does sound appealing.
Genevieve!
No, no, it absolutely does not.
A sigh escaped me before I turned fully to face him. “Dominic, that’s not a normal thing to say. Most people would slàp a restrainiñg order on you for that.”
“We are not most people.”
Agreed.
“And,” he added smoothly, “no restraíning order could ever stop me from getting what I want.”
“Right, because you’re Dominic Morozov.”
“Exactly.”
Silence settled between us, thick and charged, as my team bustled around us, footsteps echoing from above and below.
This time, I broke it. “Um, I need to head downstairs. I’ll… see you later.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel, eager to put some distance between us before I did something reckless—like telling him I liked the way he smelled.
“Wait.”
Oh, blóody héll.
I stopped but didn’t turn back. He was the one who moved towards me, and when he did, I felt the shift in the air before I saw his imposing figure at my side. He towered over me, his presence inescapable.
“Do you have any plans on Saturday? I was thinking—”
Thinking what?
A date?!
“Dominic,” I cut in, my voice quieter now. “We’re friends.”
The words landed like bulléts, lodging deep, shatteríng through bone and sinking straight into my chest. I had woúnded him. Worse still, I had woúnded myself.
Brilliant, Genevieve. Well done.
“Right. Friends.” His expression barely flickered, but I saw it—the faint pull at the corners of his mouth, the momentary hesitation before he stepped back. I wasn't even sure he was aware he did that. “Friends.” A beat of silence. Then, briskly, “You know what, never mind.”
And just like that, he was gone.
F+ck!
☆☆☆☆
Friday arrived sooner than expected. Well, that’s a lie. It arrived exactly as it should. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just another day, marking the end of my time with Dominic.
A tragic end to our four-day-long... friendship? Could I even call it that? It felt more like déjà vu—leaving him, again.
A tear slipped down my cheek as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The black, custom-made dress clung to my figure like a second skin, sleek and backless. Elegant in its simplicity, yet stunning against me.
Beautiful, and yet... it couldn’t mask the emptiness within me. Hollow. Dark. Drenched in sorrow. The dress was no armour against the weight pressing on my chest, nor could I expect it to be. So, I reached for a tissue, dabbing at my eyes carefully, ensuring my makeup remained flawless.
A decent attempt, if I do say so myself.
••
Chin up.
I let my gaze roam the grand hall, its ceilings adorned with intricate designs, the corners of the walls lined with gilded embellishments. The place was dazzling, a portrait of wealth and splendour.
People flooded the room, dressed in their finest. Laughter rippled through the space, clinking glasses and murmured conversations filling the air, blending with the soft melody floating from the orchestra.
Big smile.
The more I passed people flashing empty grins and laughing at God-knows-what, the more I wanted to stàb my ears with a fork.
No eye-rolling at the insufferable.
Grin wider.
The corners of my mouth began to ache.
Alright, perhaps not that wide.
“Genevieve.”
An unfamiliar female voice called my name, and I turned instinctively, just to confirm whether I knew the speaker or if she was yet another stranger pretending we were long-lost friends.
Stranger, confirmed.
A complete stranger, calling my name with such familiarity it made my skin prickle.
Still, I swallowed down the unwelcome emotions clawing at my throat and mustered a convincing smile. “Hey,” I chirped, pretending to relish the idea of indulging in small talk with someone I’d never met. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I know you.”
My brow lifted slightly. “Do you?”
I pondered how she knew me. My mother’s reputation? My own? Or, given that this was Dominic’s event, perhaps through him.
“Yeah.” Her voice was far too perky, unnaturally so. “I heard you were in charge of the renovations for Dominic’s company. Is that true?”
What a painfùlly obvious question. Still, I nodded.
“Cool. Can I ask you something, then?”
I let my gaze skim over her subtly, as if assessing whether she possessed a functioning brain.
God, let her have one.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
I bit my tongue, swallowing the sigh threatening to escape.
Ah. So, no brain then.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Does Dominic have a girlfriend?”
“Why ask me? He’s over there—why not go and ask him yourself?”
“Because.”
I waited. One second. Two seconds. But no explanation followed. Just a vacant stare, as if “because” were a perfectly acceptable answer.
“Because?” I prompted.
“You know, he doesn’t really talk to people outside of business.” She then leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice as if sharing a juicy secret. “I used to think he was gày.”
I hummed, unimpressed. “And what changed your mind?”
“He’s too hot to be gày.”
I debated explaining just how homophôbic that sounded but opted instead for another hum of indifference.
“So, does he?” she pressed.
“I don’t know. He might.”
“Well, she’s one lucky girl.”
The rational part of me knew “she” shouldn’t make me mad. After all, “she” didn’t exist. And yet, fury simmered beneath my skin.
Did he have a “she” in his life?
Surely not.
“Genny!”
This time, a familiar female voice called out to me. Aurora.
And she just called me Genny.
“Hiiii,” she chirped, addressing the woman I had been speaking with. “Enjoying the party?”
The woman’s lips curled into a beaming smile. “Yeah, of course.”
“Good.” Rory—since she insisted I call her that—mirrored her expression. “Do you mind if I borrow her for a while?” She placed a hand on my shoulder, still not looking at me.
“No, no. Go ahead.”
“Thanks.”
I hadn’t realised I was up for borrowing, but the second the woman turned and left, all I felt was relief.
Pure, unfiltered relief.
At last, Rory turned to face me, her smile softening into something genuine, reaching her eyes and making them gleam. “When did you get here?”
“Not long ago.”
“Drink?”
Right on cue, a waiter passed with a tray of exotic-looking beverages.
Without waiting for my answer—which would have been a yes—she plucked a deep purple drink from the tray and handed it to me.
“You’ll love it.”
..
She wasn’t wrong. I did love it.
So much so that I had seven glasses.
The problem? I was now completely and utterly druñk.
No, scratch that—I was one hundred percent pissed. My vision blurred at the edges, my words slurred together, and I was grinning like a fool for absolutely no reason.
Brilliant.
So brilliant that I hadn’t the faintest idea how I was getting home, considering I was in no state to drive. And I despised taking cabs, especially when intoxicàted.
And before you ask—no, this doesn’t happen often. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been druñk without pre-arranging a ride home.
Honestly.
“Druñk?”
I recognised the voice instantly and lifted my gaze.
“Hi, Sal!” I waved enthusiastically. “What are you doing here?”
“So, that’s a yes—you’re druñk.”
I huffed. “What are you doing here?” I repeated, because Dominic never mixed his Bratvà life with business.
Never.
“On the lookout.”
“For?”
“You, my dear.” Sal took the seat beside me, resting his head on his palm while his elbow propped against the bar. His other hand nabbed my eighth glass of the purple concoction, taking a cautious sip. “Isn’t this a bit too sweet?”
“That’s why it’s my drink,” I countered, reclaiming it. “Not yours.”
A slow grin spread across his face as he studied me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.
“Because I missed you.”
“Aww, I miss me too.” I paused, realisation dawning belatedly. “I mean, I missed you too.”
“I think you’ve had enough to drink.”
“I think you should march up to your boss and tell him I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No can do.” He shook his head. “Tell him yourself.”
“Where is he?”
Sal's finger lifted, pointing somewhere—though in my drunkeñ haze, I couldn’t quite focus on where.
"Where?" I murmured, blinking sluggishly.
Without a word, his fingers—his index and thumb—grasped my jaw, tilting my head until my gaze finally landed on Dominic. A slow smile spread across my lips, warmth flooding me at the sight of him, only for it to vanish in an instant as my focus shifted to the woman beside him.
The woman he was talking to. The very same one who had asked if he was in a relationship. And she was grinning at him—grinning like he had just said the wittiest thing in existence.
He’s not even that blóody funny.
"Unfortunately for you, Vivi, your glare won’t kíll her," Sal’s insufferable voice cut through my spiralling thoughts. His words dripped with amusement, and the fog of alcohól swayed uncertainly, as if deciding whether to loosen its grip on me. "What?" He snapped, though his voice lacked any real bite.
I didn’t reply further. No snarky quip, no drunkeñ retort. I simply willed myself to my feet—wobbly, unsteady, but determined. And then, without so much as a second thought, I made my way towards my Dominic, every shaky step fuelled by something far stronger than alcohól.
TBC📖✍️
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