The Mafia and His Obsession: Part 1 (Tainted Hearts 4)

I shrugged, not understanding his meaning. His smile widened, and I saw a teasing glint in his dark eyes.

I finished the rest of my breakfast in silence. When I pushed my empty tray away, Viktor released my hair. I felt the loss deep in my marrow.

I watched as he stood up in front of me, reaching inside the pocket of his black slacks. He took something out. Pushing his hand out to me, he opened his fist. In the middle of his palm was a small paper origami. It was white and orange. Beautiful.

Looking up at him in surprise, I waited for his explanation. “Take it. It’s yours.”

My lips parted with a silent gasp. He took my clenched fist in his other hand and forced my fingers open before placing the origami into my palm.

I held the fragile little thing. It was delicate and easily crushable. Scrambling for my paper and pen, I quickly wrote my words.

You made this? For me?

Viktor nodded. “Yes. I made it. For you.”

A gift. Viktor gave me another gift. First his pen, and now this.

What is it?

It appeared to be a bird, but I wasn’t sure.

“It’s a swan.”

A paper swan. Oh, how beautiful. I couldn’t help but smile.

His words knocked my breath away before reviving me again. “It reminds me of you. Elegant and sweet. Beautiful. Graceful. An unspoken poetry.”

Oh God. My eyes stung, but I blinked the tears away.

Do swans make dreams comes true?

He looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. Viktor never took his eyes off me. “Maybe they do.”

What does this mean? You giving me this…?

He cocked his head to the side, as if he wasn’t sure himself. “Maybe a symbol of friendship?”

I wondered if Viktor realized what he was doing to my heart…to me. Hope made its way in my chest, but then it shriveled just as fast as it bloomed.

We can’t be friends.

He was so quick with his reply. “You’re right. We can’t.”

His words hit me, the arrows sinking deep into my heart, wounding me. I almost missed his tiny smirk, but it was gone so quickly, I believed it was just my imagination.

Looking down at the origami still resting in the middle of my palm, I pushed it toward Viktor. I couldn’t keep this.

Instead, he folded my fingers over the paper swan. His hand wrapped around mine, and he kept the delicate little thing safe in my fist.

“No. You can keep it. Who knows…maybe it will catch your nightmares and turn them into a beautiful dream.”

I swallowed, feeling emotional and a little lost. My lips formed my silent words. Thank you.

Viktor let my hand go, and I held the paper swan closer to my chest. My gaze dropped from his, and I stared at my lap.

He stood there for a brief moment before he walked away. I tracked his movement as he left my room. Viktor had disappeared just as silently as he had come in. Now that he was gone, I wondered if this was a fantasy too, or did it really happen? Was Viktor really here…or was this another dream?

I opened my palm and saw the paper swan. No, this was real. He was here. He gave me a gift, a beautiful, thoughtful gift. My fingers feathered over the orange wing and then the little white head. It felt smooth under my exploring touch. Giving the swan a final look, I placed it in the drawer with my pen and notepad. Safe and treasured.

Minutes probably turned into hours, and I finally got off my bed. The stickiness between my thighs was partially dry now but still served as a reminder.

My dream. Viktor and I. Us. Together. His sweet exploring touch.

Even after years of unwanted touches from men, I have welcomed a stranger’s—Viktor’s—touch. I had craved it, and the dream left me wanting more.

I was almost ashamed to admit that I had liked it. I had enjoyed it without the effects of drugs that my husband pumped in my veins to make me feel the forced pleasure brought by him.

No drugs were needed for me to feel Viktor’s exquisite—forbidden and sinful touch.

A shameful act in my dream—I have sinned, yet I couldn’t seem to mind. When his lips met mine in a featherlight kiss, it was beautiful, and I wanted to bask in this beauty longer.

In the bathroom, I stood under the water spray—washing away any evidence of last night. My chest ached, and I closed my eyes, leaning against the shower wall.

I wanted to go back to sleep, so I could dream of him again. After our moment in my bedroom this morning, I wanted more. So much more.

After cleansing myself, I dressed myself in a similar black dress that I wore most of the time. Long sleeves, high collars, and the hem down to my ankles.

I looked like someone in the early 1900s. Those stay-at-home wives, good enough to only please their husbands and carry their husband’s seeds in their wombs.