INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings - Episode 124
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
The next morning, I dreaded opening my eyes. I didn’t want to. All I wanted—craved, really—was to remain here, tangled in sheets and serenity, with her resting against my chest. My forever. My calm amidst the chàos.
But, as always, peace is short-lived.
The sun was already glaring through the curtains before I had the chance to enjoy the comfort her presence brought. And then that wretched alarm—one I certainly don’t remember setting—blared like a bloody air raid siren, yanking me out of sleep with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
Genevieve stirred beside me, groaning softly. The sound was faint and scratchy, like a cat’s mewl. Her brow creased into the sweetest frown, and for a moment, I very nearly muttered fuck it and pulled her closer, determined to stay here all day, world be damned.
But I couldn’t.
Not with that bloody flash drive still unresolved—the one I wouldn’t trust in anyone else's hands. If there’s anything on it, I need to be there when it’s opened. No room for tampering. No room for error.
My thoughts skidded to a halt when Genevieve tried to roll away. My arm shot out, stopping her immediately, instinctively.
Another soft groan left her lips as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her hair falling haphazardly across her face. I brushed the strands aside gently, letting my fingers linger against her cheek before I leaned in and kissed her forehead.
That did the trick.
“Well, isn’t it a good morning,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.
“God, I hope so.”
She held my gaze for a long moment, her deep blue eyes attempting to read the words I hadn't said. Then she sat up, stretching lazily. “I’m absolutely starving.”
“Brush your teeth first,” I said, voice dry. “Then shower. After that, you can eat.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying I’ve got bad breath?”
I held my tongue, content to let her play whatever little game she fancied to keep my mind elsewhere. Truth be told, I welcomed the diversion—anything to linger in this fleeting moment. And from the glint in her eye, that silence was precisely what she’d been hoping for.
And then she pounced—launching herself at me with a barrage of kisses, messy and chaótic, all over my face. I let her have her moment, grinning as she thought she had the upper hand.
Until I flipped her.
“Unfair,” she grumbled, breathless.
“What’s unfair?” My hands trailed smoothly over her waist until they settled perfectly at her hips.
“You did it while I was distracted.”
“Exactly the point.” I smirked. “Even if you weren’t, I’d still manage it. You’re light work.”
I hovered over her, hands dangeroúsly close to her ticklish spot. Her eyes—God, those eyes—met mine with that intoxicatiñg blend of challenge and anticipation.
“Guess what I want to do,” I murmured.
A playful frown crept onto her face. “Don’t you dare.”
I dared.
Within seconds, my fingers were merciless, sending her into fits of laughter—breathy, broken, uncontrollable. Her body writhed beneath me, every muscle tense from the assault. She tried to fight me off, legs flailing, voice hoarse from pleading.
“Dominic—” laughter and gasps tangled into one, “I’m going to pee myself if you don’t stop—bloody hell!”
“Say please,” I demanded.
“Jeez, please!”
I stopped at once. She rolled away quickly, gulping in air like she’d surfaced from drowning. I watched her, heart full, grinning like a fóol.
The grin on my face when I look at her is undying just like my feelings for her. My love for her never diéd. Not when we were apart. Not even for a moment. That’s how I know—she’s got me. Completely. Hook, line and sinker.
“You’re such a búlly.”
“You love it.”
She didn’t reply. Her expression betrayed nothing—Genevieve, ever the poker-faced professional. China must’ve sharpened her game.
“I’ve nothing to wear,” she muttered, inspecting the room.
“I’ll ask Rory to lend you something.”
Her face twisted, adorably disgusted. “She wears pink.”
“And?”
“I hate pink,” she replied flatly. “Your sister dresses like she’s auditioning for a Barbie reboot.”
I grinned. “That was her inspiration, actually. She loves those films.”
“Dominic.”
Ah, there it was—the warning.
She expected a solution, not sarcasm.
“She’s got cream and white too,” I offered. “Says they go well with pink.”
“Yay,” she deadpanned.
Her sarcasm and accompanying eye roll made me chuckle. I shifted towards her, but she was already springing off the bed.
“If you tickle me again,” she warned, backing away, “I swear I’ll kíll you.”
And with that, she dashed into the bathroom and locked the door.
God, I love her.
..
Half an hour later, Genevieve and Aurora were dressed and seated downstairs, tucking into breakfast—pancakes and scrambled eggs I’d made myself.
Thankfully, Rory had found a pair of ash-grey sweatpants and a matching crop top that fit Genevieve perfectly. It was still chilly outside, so I gave her one of my zip-up hoodies. Rory even provided trainers.
“Have you checked the flash drive?” Rory asked, her tone casual but probing.
I shook my head.
“What exactly were you doing last night, then?”
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Genevieve’s expression flash with embarrassment, only to smooth out in the blink of an eye.
“You know what,” Rory raised her hand, “don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I’ve got plans today—and I won't have anything to do with the flash drive business.”
Her disinterest in the drive didn’t bother me. What did bother me was the plans. With Blade on the loose and the new player in town, I couldn’t afford to let my sister roam freely—not even with bodyguards.
“What plans?”
“What, are you keeping tabs on me now?”
“Yes. What plans?”
“I’m meeting up with Jazzy and Leah for lunch.”
Of course. I knew those names. Her best friends—both of whom I’d had thoroughly vetted years ago.
“I’m also meeting Everett later,” she added, far too casually.
Ah, yes. The boyfriend.
“Fine. Just promise me you won’t be reckless. Don’t stray from your guards.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Rory.”
“Alright, alright. I’ve heard you.” She rolled her eyes, then flashed a sweet smile at Genevieve. “Take care of him for me, yeah?”
Genevieve nodded. “Will do.”
“And I’ll take care of Everett for you.”
“Thanks?”
“You’re welcome.”
••
We arrived at the Base shortly after.
The room was cold, always had been—constructed from steel and stone, humming with low-level energy. No comfort. No warmth. Just control.
Banks of monitors flickered—some alight with CCTV footage and digital maps, others dormant, waiting. It was a place of vigilance and secrets.
Very few were permitted in here. Echo ran this space with an iron grip, and anyone who entered needed clearance—mine first, then hers.
“This could be a trap,” Echo muttered, arms folded tightly across her chest. “A bug. A virús. Something designed to fry every system we have.”
I dropped the flash drive on the table. The metallic clatter rang out in the silence.
“Which is why we’re isolating it,” I said, crossing to the far wall and opening a concealed panel.
A sleek black laptop emerged—air-gapped, no network connections whatsoever. Paranoid? Maybe. But I don’t do reckless.
I plugged the flash drive in.
The screen flickered. A password prompt appeared.
I hesitated, then typed: 223114.
A single folder blinked into view.
Хундулэву Operation Bloód: Bràtva Нюкувумэ дюлэмбукини. Subject Target – Dominic Morozov.
Translation; Operation Bloód: Proposed Transfer of Bràtva Leadership. Subject Target – Dominic Morozov.
Echo frowned. “What language is that?”
“Siberian?” Genevieve replied quietly, the words like frost.
I opened the folder.
Two files.
One video. One PDF.
I clicked on the video first.
Grainy. Black and white. Security footage. The timestamp read 18 January 2010. Fifteen years ago.
A warehouse—Eastern European, judging by the Cyrillic signage. The frame captured a crude fighting ring, ropes tied to pallets, a single bulb swaying above.
Two men stood inside.
One of them—bare-chested, wiry, savage—was me.
The other was larger, broader, face half-shadowed. But when he stepped into the light—
It was him.
The Serbian. The same man from the photograph.
There was no sound. There didn’t need to be. The violence spoke for itself. Brútal. Unrefined. Blóod splattered. Fists collided with flesh and bone. Around the ring, indistinct shapes loomed—an audience blurred by smóke and shadow.
Midway through, the Serbian drew a blàde.
Echo flinched.
Even I leaned forward slightly, watching my younger self dodge with hair’s-breadth precision. I’d been lighter then. Faster. But the fúry? That hadn’t changed.
The footage ended abruptly. The screen went black.
I didn’t speak.
I clicked the PDF.
A dossier.
Name: Viktor Valdislav
Status: Confirmed Déad
Last Seen: Istanbul, five years ago
Objective: Terminàte Morozov Line
It was thorough. Unnervingly so. Photographs. Maps. Intercepted messages. Bank records. Every path, every thread, led back to one name.
Viktor Valdislav.
But… how? How does a person plan an operation of this scale and just díe?
Where the héll does that leave us?
“Echo?” Genevieve asked quietly. Echo's head turned towards her. “Can you do a deep search on him?”
“I already did. Dex mentioned his name, so I spent the night digging. He’s déad. Genuinely déad. His gang even recorded the fuñeral.”
So… what?
Why show us this?
TBC📖✍️
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