Bound By Obsession

Dmitri

10 Years Ago...

The car purred beneath my hands as the city skyline faded behind us, replaced by the cold silhouettes of warehouses. The dying sun bathed the dashboard in gold, catching the silver glint of Yulia’s earrings as she adjusted them in the mirror. She caught me watching and smiled, soft and teasing.

“What?” she asked, tilting her head in that familiar way.

“You’re distracting,” I said, though the corner of my mouth twitched. She always saw through me.

“Is that your way of saying I look good?” she asked, smoothing her dress—a striking red, my favorite.

“You know you do,” I replied, reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin was soft, grounding me even as guilt tightened in my chest. This meeting should never have interrupted our anniversary.

She arched a brow, her expression wry. “And dragging me to one of your meetings? That’s your idea of romance?”

“It’s just business,” I said, gripping the wheel tighter. “Ten minutes. We’ll still make it to dinner in time.”

Her laughter was light, disbelieving. “You and your ‘ten minutes.’”

She didn’t know the real reason I’d agreed to this meeting. Aram Sarkisian, the Armenian underboss, had reached out personally. A rare move for a man of his standing. This wasn’t about deals or goods—we’d worked together before without issue. It was about repairing trust after I’d refused his demand months ago: to marry my sister, Alina, to cement an alliance between our families.

The answer had been a flat no. Family wasn’t leverage to me. Alina deserved a choice, a life of her own—not to be bartered for power.

The industrial district loomed ahead, its stark warehouses casting long shadows. As I pulled into the lot, the silence here felt heavier than it should have. I glanced at Yulia, her expression unreadable. “Stay close to me,” I said.

Inside, the warehouse was cold, its concrete walls blank under flickering lights. My guards moved ahead, scanning the space. Ivan, my head of security, met my gaze with a subtle nod. So far, so clear.

Aram waited near a metal table at the far end of the room, flanked by two men. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his tailored suit failing to soften the cold, calculating look in his eyes. The scar on his cheek twitched as he smiled, a gesture as insincere as the man himself.

“Volkov,” Aram greeted, his accent thick, his tone smooth. “You honor me with your presence.”

“You said this was urgent,” I replied, my voice flat. Yulia stayed at my side, her grip light on my arm but steady. Aram’s gaze flicked to her briefly, then back to me.

“Always direct,” he said, gesturing to the table where a bottle of rakija and two glasses sat. “Come, let us drink to our continued partnership.”

I hesitated. Something about his tone set my teeth on edge, but I forced a polite nod, stepping closer. Yulia stayed put, her eyes sharp as she watched the room.

Aram poured the rakija, lifting his glass. “To alliances,” he said, his smile growing sharper. “And to loyalty.”

The word struck a nerve. I didn’t raise my glass. “Loyalty is earned,” I said.

His expression flickered—brief, but telling. “And yet it can be denied, can’t it? Like a gift refused.”

His meaning was clear. The air grew colder, the tension palpable. Aram tilted his head, his tone turning conversational. “Your sister is a beautiful girl, Volkov. A union between our families would have been…beneficial.”

“She’s not for negotiation,” I said, my voice hard.

Aram’s smile froze, but his eyes burned. “Of course. A man must protect his family. I respect that.”

The scrape of a boot echoed through the room—quiet, almost imperceptible. My instincts flared. I tensed, my hand inching toward the gun at my side.

The first gunshot rang out, shattering the stillness.

I moved without thinking, pulling Yulia behind me as chaos erupted. “Down!” I barked, shoving her toward a stack of crates.

The warehouse exploded into violence. Bullets ricocheted off metal walls as Aram’s men drew their weapons, their guns already trained on mine. This wasn’t a negotiation. It was a trap.

“Cover her!” I shouted to Ivan, firing two shots that dropped an advancing figure. Glass shattered above, raining shards onto the floor. The acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of betrayal.

The room erupted into chaos. My men sprang into action, their weapons drawn and firing before the attackers could advance further. Bullets ricocheted off walls, sending sparks and debris flying. The acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood as the first bodies hit the floor.

Yulia clung to the edge of the crate, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, and though her eyes darted wildly, she stayed where I’d put her. Fear radiated from her, but she was holding it together.

My focus snapped back to the fight as a second shot whizzed past my ear, close enough to make the hair on my neck stand up. I fired back, the sharp recoil of the gun familiar, grounding.

“Take the left!” I barked at Viktor, who was already moving. My men spread out, creating a perimeter as the attackers tried to flood the room.

The noise was deafening—gunfire, shouts, the crash of overturned furniture. One of the lights overhead shattered, plunging half the room into flickering shadows. I ducked behind a metal cabinet, glancing back to ensure Yulia was still in place.

She was. Her gaze found mine for the briefest moment, and something unspoken passed between us—a question, an apology, a plea.

I turned back, firing off another shot that dropped a man advancing toward us. My guards were holding their own, their movements precise, their aim lethal. The attackers hadn’t anticipated this level of resistance, but they kept coming, their desperation palpable.

Glass shattered somewhere to my left, raining down in glittering shards. A bullet grazed my shoulder, the sharp sting barely registering as adrenaline surged through my veins.

Through the chaos, my focus remained singular—keeping Yulia alive.

“Hold them back!” I shouted, my voice rising above the din. I moved toward her, keeping low, firing off another round to clear the path.

When I reached her, I crouched down, gripping her arms firmly. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her lips trembling. “No, I—”

Another shot rang out, cutting her off. I pushed her down further, my body shielding hers as debris rained down around us.

“We’re getting out of here,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. I glanced over my shoulder at Ivan, signaling for him to create an opening.

Yulia’s hand clung to my arm as I started to guide her toward the door. Her fear was palpable, but she didn’t resist. “Stay close,” I murmured, keeping my body between her and the attackers.

The gunfire intensified, my men holding their ground as more attackers poured in. Every step toward the exit felt like a lifetime.

And then it happened—A single shot, louder than the rest. A gasp.

The sound was deafening, sharp, and final.

At first, I didn’t realize what had happened. My body was still moving, still pulling her forward, still searching for the next threat. But then I felt her falter.

A soft gasp escaped her lips, barely audible over the chaos, but enough to make my heart stop.

“Dmitri…” Her voice was weak, trembling, and when I turned, the sight gutted me.

Her hand clutched her side, crimson blooming beneath her fingers, spreading like spilled ink across the red fabric of her dress. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed against me, her weight dragging us both to the floor.

“No,” I choked, catching her before she hit the ground. My arms wrapped around her as I lowered her gently, my hands instinctively pressing against the wound. Blood seeped through my fingers, warm and sticky, and I could already feel the life draining from her.

“Yulia, no. Look at me—stay with me.” My voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea.

I pressed harder against the wound, willing the bleeding to stop, but it was everywhere, soaking her dress, my hands, the floor beneath us.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused but still searching for me. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her lips curving into the faintest smile. How could she smile? How could she—

“No, it’s not okay!” I growled, my panic spilling over. “You’re not leaving me. Do you hear me? You fight, Yulia. You stay. Stay with me!”

She tried to speak again, but her words were lost in the ragged hitch of her breath. Her hand reached up, trembling, and I caught it, pressing it against my chest as if I could anchor her here.

“I’m here,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. Tears burned my eyes, blurring her face as I leaned closer. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll get you out of here. Just hold on.”

Her fingers tightened weakly around mine, her lips moving once more. I leaned down, desperate to hear her.

“I… love… you,” she whispered, her voice so faint I could barely catch the words.

And then she went still. Completely, terrifyingly still.

“Yulia?” My voice cracked, disbelief setting in. “No. No!” The roar tore from my throat, raw and animalistic, as I clutched her closer. My chest heaved, but the air burned in my lungs, and my world narrowed to the woman lying lifeless in my arms.

Her warmth was fading, replaced by the cold grip of death. I rocked her gently, burying my face in her hair, her scent a cruel reminder of everything I’d just lost.

Somewhere in the distance, the gunfire slowed, then stopped. My men shouted orders, their voices growing louder as the chaos subsided. The attackers were dead, their bodies scattered across the floor, but I didn’t care.

I couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t see them. All I could see was her.

“Yulia, please.” My voice broke, reduced to a whisper. “Please. I was supposed to protect you. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Her silence was deafening.

Ivan approached cautiously, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “,” he said quietly, but I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

Around me, the room was still, the air heavy with the scent of blood and gunpowder. My men stood in silence, their weapons lowered, their faces grim. They had won, but there was no victory here.

I didn’t lift my head. I didn’t let go. The weight of her in my arms was unbearable and yet not enough.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. She felt so small, so fragile, as if she could slip through my fingers like water if I didn’t hold her tighter.

My arms clutched her closer, a futile attempt to keep her here, to keep her mine. Blood soaked into my shirt, warm and sticky, but I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything except the crushing emptiness where she had been.

“No!” The roar tore from my throat, raw and guttural, filling the room with my grief. My chest heaved with each ragged breath, but the air burned in my lungs. Tears blurred my vision, streaking down my face without shame or hesitation.

“You can’t leave me,” I choked, my voice shaking, barely above a whisper. “Please. Please, Yulia. I love you.”

The words felt hollow, a bitter admission of failure. She had trusted me with everything—with her heart, her life—and I had let her down.

My voice cracked as I rocked her gently, my hands trembling as they smoothed her bloodied hair. “I don’t know how to live without you.” I whispered, my words faltering under the weight of my grief.

The silence around me stretched, heavy and suffocating. My guards stood in grim stillness, their weapons lowered, their gazes averted. None of them dared speak.

As the seconds turned into eternity, something cold and sharp began to coil in my chest. The grief didn’t fade—it twisted, hardened, took on a darker shape.

I raised my head, the tears still fresh on my face, but my gaze was no longer broken. It burned. My eyes felt like embers, cutting through the shadows with a singular focus.

“This is my fault,” I said, my voice low, a whisper that carried the weight of a curse. “But they’ll pay for it.”

I shifted her gently, laying her down with a tenderness that felt out of place in the destruction around us. My hand lingered on her cheek, brushing a blood-stained strand of hair from her face.

Her expression was peaceful, a cruel mockery of the violence that had claimed her.

“Every. Last. One,” I murmured, the words a vow as unyielding as steel.

I rose slowly, the pain in my chest sharpening into resolve. My fists clenched, the blood on my hands already drying, a reminder of what had been taken from me.

The room around me blurred, the faces of my men indistinct. They waited, silent and reverent, their fear palpable. They didn’t dare ask for orders. They didn’t have to.

I turned back to Yulia one last time, my gaze lingering on her face. She deserved better than this. Better than me.

“Bury her somewhere beautiful,” I said, my voice steady, cold. “She deserved better than this.”

Ivan nodded, his face grim but obedient. He would see it done.

As I turned away, my shadow stretched long over the blood-streaked floor. The air felt heavier, the silence more oppressive.

“I will fucking kill them all.”