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Captured By A Sinner: Chapter 22


Luca and Mariya dragged me to Vancouver for the party Tessa is throwing for Nikolas.

I’m not happy. I’d rather stalk Rosalie via any camera I can get my hands on and spend time with Luna.

But here I am, getting off the private jet with my little sister giving me a look of warning. “If I catch you checking your phone, I will take it.”

“I’d like to see you try,” I mutter, knowing very well Mariya is more than capable of fighting me. She won’t win, but she’ll do enough damage to make me hurt.

When we were younger, I tried to subdue her so I could tickle her. I walked around with a busted lip and aching balls for a week. Needless to say, I never tried to tickle her again.

They all mean well. They’re trying to keep me occupied so that I won’t wallow in my heartache.

It’s also so I won’t kill the first person who pisses me off.

My hand itches to pull my phone out of my pocket so I can check the tracking device I had embedded in the rose pendant of the necklace I gave Rosalie.

When Luca takes hold of Mariya’s hand and she gives him a loving smile, I feel a jab of heartache.

I’d give everything I own to have that kind of relationship with Rosalie – to call her my wife.

My phone beeps, and I quickly yank it out.

“No!” Mariya snaps.

When she tries to reach for the device, I glare at her. “Touch it, and none of us will make it to the party.”

She gives me a disgruntled look. “You’re a sucker for punishment.”

I swipe on the screen, and seeing a text from Rosalie makes a smile spread over my face. I quickly tap on it.

I miss you too.

My fingers rush to type out a message.

Are you working through your emotions?

I watch as it shows she’s typing.

Rosalie: Yes.

Viktor: That’s good. And? Have you made any breakthroughs?

Rosalie: Yes. I just need a little more time.

Viktor: How’s the apartment? What’s the address? Do you need more money?

It doesn’t show that she’s typing as I climb into the back of the SUV.

We’re halfway to Nikolas’ place when a text finally comes through.

Rosalie: I have to go. I’ll be in touch soon.

Tilting my head, I stare at the words. An uneasy feeling settles in my gut because she didn’t give me the address of where she’s staying.

I quickly check her tracking device, and it shows she’s at the Sicilian restaurant again.

Maybe she got work there?

Still, why didn’t she tell me?

There’s a sinking feeling in my heart, thinking she doesn’t want me to know where she’s living because she doesn’t trust me.

That fucking sucks.

If Rosalie can’t trust me, then we’ll never find our way back to each other. Without trust, there’s nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Luca asks.

I shake my head and tuck my phone back into my pocket. Staring out the window, I notice we’re turning into the street where Aphrodite is. Nikolas opened the club as a front to smuggle arms from Gabriel, who’s based in Seattle. It’s made it easier for them to transport the weapons over the border between the two cities.

When the SUV comes to a stop, I throw the door open and climb out. Straightening my jacket, I glance at the long line of people waiting to get into the club.

Three women at the front of the line check me out. Before Rosalie, I would’ve invited them to join me, but those days are long gone. I’m a one-woman-man which means I’m fucked for the rest of my life if Rosalie doesn’t come back to me.

Letting out a sigh, I ignore the bouncer and walk into the club so I can drown my sorrows.

With Luca and Mariya following behind me, I head up to the VIP section. The area has been closed off for Nikolas’ party, and I notice only his family and the other men from the Priesthood have been invited.

I walk to Nikolas and pat him on the back. “I hear you’re an old fucker now? Forty is just around the corner.”

He turns to me while chuckling. “Fuck you for reminding me.”

We give each other a brotherly hug, then he searches my face. “You look like shit.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And yet, I still look better than you.”

“Everything okay?”

I nod, then smile as Liam Byrne, the head of the Irish mafia, and Gabriel Demir, the head of the Turkish mafia, join us.

When I’m done greeting the men, I head to the bar. “Stoli. Give me two bottles,” I order my favorite vodka.

I plan to drink as much as possible in the least amount of time.

I take the two bottles and tumbler from the bartender and find myself a table to sit at that overlooks the dance floor below.

As I pour myself a drink, the men of the Priesthood each take a seat at my table.

“So…” I say, forcing myself to sound normal and not like a man who had his heart ripped out. “How’s married life treating you all?”

Nikolas shakes his head. “We heard what happened.” He lifts an eyebrow at me. “I honestly thought you’d never let the girl go.”

I give him a look filled with warning. “That’s the one topic not up for discussion tonight.” Throwing my head back, I empty the tumbler, savoring the burn of the strong alcohol.

“Luca told me about the fuck up in Peru,” Gabriel says, wisely changing the subject.

I let out a chuckle and shake my head. “Fuck up is the understatement of the year. I regret not killing the fucker.”

Mariya walks toward us, followed by the other men’s wives.

The only woman I’d marry is in New York.

The thought makes my heart squeeze painfully. Ignoring the tumbler, I bring the bottle of vodka to my lips and drink until I need to breathe.

“No talking business tonight,” Tessa says. She and Nikolas just celebrated their third anniversary.

Liam and Kiara have been married for two years.

I watch as Gabriel pulls Lara onto his lap. They’ve been going strong for a year.

I let out a disgruntled sigh as I glance at the newest couple. My best friend and my baby sister.

And then there’s me – the fucker who couldn’t hold onto Rosalie.


I pour more vodka down my throat. If it weren’t for the bond I have with the Priesthood, I’d be on my way home already.

“It’s time to blow out your candles,” Tessa tells Nikolas.

He scowls at her. “You make it sound like I’m thirteen.”

She lifts an eyebrow at him. “Sometimes it feels like you’re thirteen.”

Everyone laughs, and when they leave the table and walk to the huge-ass cake, Gabriel hangs back and moves to the seat next to me.

We watch as Tessa lights the candles. The woman somehow got all thirty-nine on the cake.

“I’m going to piss myself laughing if she burns down the club with all those candles,” I mutter.

Gabriel takes the bottle of vodka from me and pours some into his tumbler before giving it back. “Why did you let her go?”

“I said the topic isn’t open for discussion.”

“Viktor.” When I turn my aggravated gaze to him, he says, “It’s clear you love her. Why did you let her go?”

“I’m not going to force my kidnapped victim to stay with me.”

“I kidnapped Lara. If I’d let her go, we probably wouldn’t be married now.”

“It’s different for you and Lara,” I mutter.

“How so?”

I lock eyes with him. “You saved Lara. I fucking took part in killing Rosalie’s family. Huge fucking difference, brother.”

Gabriel nods, then he says, “There’s only one problem with that story.”


“You didn’t take part in the killing. Nikolas was the one who killed them.”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t change how Rosalie feels. I can’t force her to forgive me.”

“True,” he murmurs before downing half his drink.

I let out a sigh. “I want her to be with me out of her own free will. I’m not going to take that choice from her.”

Gabriel pats my shoulder then sits with me for a while longer before he joins the rest of the group.

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I send Rosalie a text.

Why won’t you give me your address?

I empty half a bottle, and when she hasn’t read the message, I send another.

Is it because you don’t trust me?

Again it goes unread.

I check the tracking device and see she’s still at the restaurant. I check what time the restaurant closes and frown when it shows the doors shut at ten pm.

Fuck. I wish I had my laptop with me so I could check the CCTV footage. I think back to what I saw earlier – Rosalie coming from the side of the building.

A smile spreads over my face when I realize her apartment must be close to the restaurant. Or on top of it.

Gotcha, Little Rose.

Fuck, at least I know where she lives. It’s a huge relief.


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