Chapter 7: Dark Obsession: Chapter 7

I’m in my element, seated in front of my computer, my fingers flying over the keyboard.

The glow of the screen bathes the room in a soft, blue light, and I’m already three layers deep into the CPD database. Normally, I wouldn’t touch police systems. It’s a hassle, and there’s no need to poke the bear—especially when half of the bears are on your payroll.

But this is different. After last night, I’m not waiting around for answers.

Besides, it’s well within my skill set. A few backdoor programs, a little finesse with proxy servers, and I’m in.

Easy-peasy.

I bypass their firewalls without even breaking a sweat, slipping past digital barriers like they’re nothing. This isn’t a casual break-in; I know exactly what I’m looking for: information on what went down at the club, details the cops might have that I can’t get from my family.

I start fishing for intel, cross-referencing reports from the incident. First, I scan for who was brought in after the attack: the usual scumbags, nothing I didn’t expect.

Then, I dig deeper. Keyword searches, cross-linked files… and that’s when I stumble on something big. The Molina Cartel. I pull up a report and scroll through it—Oscar Molina is dead. The cartel’s been moving quietly, regrouping under new leadership. My stomach twists as I read on. If they’re reorganizing, this is worse than I thought.

I dig deeper, my fingers working quickly as I sift through more files, pulling up anything linked to the Molina Cartel. It doesn’t take long before a name catches my eye—Claudio Sanchez. A quick search brings up a photo: Latino, tall, shaved head, black goatee, a nasty scar on his face, and he’s covered in tattoos, the kind of ink you see on guys who’ve spent more time in prison than on the outside. Some of the tats are cartel markings, others are prison badges. This guy’s lived through some shit.

Claudio Sanchez was Oscar Molina’s right hand. He’s an enforcer, and from what I can gather, he’s probably taken more than a few lives. And now, with Oscar out of the picture, Sanchez looks like the man trying to fill the power vacuum. He’s caught the CPD’s interest, but he hasn’t broken any laws they can nail him for, not yet anyway. That’s not surprising. Guys like him don’t get their hands dirty, generally speaking.

I scan the police reports, piecing it all together. Looks like Sanchez is here to scout the territory, feel out the power balance in Chicago, and with the Ivanovs sitting at the top of the food chain, that makes us the biggest threat to their expansion.

Was last night about staking a claim and sending a message?

But then my mind circles back to Grigori. Why target him specifically? If they wanted to start a war with the Ivanovs, there are other ways to do it. Something’s not adding up.

I lean back in my chair, tempted to step away from the screen. I’ve already poked around enough, and staying deep in the CPD database for too long isn’t the smartest move. But then again, I’ve never hacked into the CPD system before.

I might as well find out everything I can while I’ve got the door wide open.

Almost without thinking, I type in Grigori’s name. I tell myself it’s because I need to know everything about the cartel’s target. But if I’m being honest, it goes beyond that. I want to know more about the man who’s been such a mystery, the man who’s got my feelings all tangled up and confused.

The screen populates with a few results—mostly arrests that never stuck and some background info. I skim through it, but one detail jumps out at me, something that doesn’t make sense.

Grigori Petrov. Born in New York.

I blink, staring at the screen. New York? Grigori always told us he was from Chicago. He’s never once mentioned New York.

I frown, scrolling through the report, reading over every detail. It doesn’t add up. If he was born in New York, why would he hide it? Something feels off, like I’ve stumbled onto a secret that he doesn’t want anyone to know about, one he’s kept buried for years.

I keep digging a little longer, finally finding what I was after—Claudio Sanchez’s last known address. I scribble it down quickly, feeling the rush of excitement that always comes with uncovering something important. But I’m not stupid; I make sure to get out of the CPD database, carefully covering my tracks, erasing any trace that I was ever there.

Once I’m sure everything’s clear, I lean back and breathe. Time to go out and investigate. But not like this. I haven’t showered since before the club shooting.

I slip out of my Balmain sweats, the soft fabric pooling at my feet. Standing in front of the mirror, I can’t help but glance at the marks on my skin, the evidence of last night’s madness between Grigori and me. With a sigh, I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime of the past day.

But instead of my mind clearing it goes right back to Grigori.

I imagine him walking in completely naked and stepping into the shower with me. His powerful body, muscles hard and scarred, his thick manhood hanging between his thighs. He’d give me that cocky grin, the one that always drives me insane, and say something like, “Miss me already, princess?”

In my head, I shoot him a playful glare, but we both know how much I want him. He’d press me against the wall, rough and demanding, and I’d let him.

The fantasy’s too real, too tempting. I can practically feel his hands on my skin, the heat of him behind me, inside me. I bite my lip, getting lost in the thought of him taking me again, just like before, maybe rougher.

I hate to admit it, but I love the way Grigori calls me princess.

Even though I’d never let those words leave my lips, there’s something about the way he says it—rough, teasing, and possessive—that makes my stomach tighten. In my mind, I picture him pushing me against the cool, wet tiles of the shower, his hands gripping my hips as he thrusts into me relentlessly, making me come undone all over again.

My hand starts to slide down my belly, the heat of the water matching the heat building inside me. Part of me wants to really indulge, to let myself get completely lost in the fantasy. But I stop, catching myself. I’m on a mission and the last thing I need right now is to get distracted with thoughts of Grigori.

Sex can wait. Answers can’t.

I shake off the thoughts, finish washing up, and step out of the shower. After quickly toweling off, I throw on a fitted cashmere sweater, jeans, and my favorite leather boots. I’m ready to get some real answers about what’s going on. I grab my bag and head down the hallway, determination building with every step.

But just as I round the corner, I run straight into my brother Luk.

I plaster on a casual smile. “Hey, big brother. What’s up?”

His sharp eyes scan me from head to toe, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. He knows me too well.

‘Where do you think you’re going, Elena?’

Shit. He’s onto me.

I put on my best innocent face. “I was just going to check on Natalia. She’s pretty shaken up after last night.”

Luk crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You can check on her over the phone.”

I roll my eyes, keeping the act going. “It’s not the same, Luk. She saved my life, remember? If she hadn’t tossed that drink in the assassin’s face, giving me the chance to get away, I may not be standing here right now. The least I can do is check in on her in person, not to mention thank her again.”

He sighs, running a hand through his thick hair, clearly torn between his protective instincts and letting me go. He knows Natalia’s like a sister to me, but he’s also not blind to the fact that I’ve got more on my mind than a friendly visit.

Finally, after a long pause, he gives in. “Fine. But you’re taking bodyguards with you.”

I force a smile, trying not to let my relief show. “I wouldn’t dream of going without them.”

He narrows his eyes, still suspicious but letting it slide. “You’d better not.”

I give him a quick hug before he can change his mind. “Don’t worry, Luk. I’ll be careful.”

Now, I just have to figure out how to shake the guards once I’m out.

My brother gives me a pointed look. “You’d better be safe. I’ve got a feeling things are only going to get more dangerous for all of us. So don’t give me any gray hairs, Elena.”

I flash him a grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it. And besides, a little salt and pepper would make you look even more distinguished.”

He chuckles despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” Then, he pulls out his phone and texts the guards. “I’m letting them know you need a ride.”

“Thanks, Luk,” I say, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He rolls his eyes but lets me go. We part ways, and I make my way down the long halls of the mansion, already plotting my next move.

As soon as I step outside, the cold Chicago air hits me. Another chilly, rainy day in the city, a perfect match for the mood I’m in. The guards are already waiting for me—two massive men in black coats with black umbrellas, their expressions as blank and hard as stone. They don’t say a word, just flank me and lead me to the car as the rain trickles down their umbrellas, forming mini waterfalls.

Once I’m settled into the backseat, I glance out at the gray skyline as the car pulls away. My mind races as I think of Grigori, of what he’s caught up in. I’ve made up my mind; I’m not going to sit back and let him face this alone. He might think he’s protecting me, but I know I’m just as involved as he is.

First, I need to give these guards the slip. I grin to myself, already formulating a plan.