Monstrous Urges: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

It’s not her.

For some reason, I can’t escape the doubt and the hesitation creeping into my head.

Beyond the logic that screams that the woman I’ve brought here can’t be Annika, because I fucking saw Annika’s body, there’s another voice adding its opinion to the mix.

It’s not like I ever touched Annika before. We never even kissed at the wedding—it was abundantly clear that neither of us was remotely interested. But now that I have touched her, in almost every way I possibly could, it’s like I’m pulling back the hazy curtain of rage and revenge that’s been clouding my ability and truly seeing her.

And I have…questions.

At least half of those are questions directed at myself. “What the fuck are you doing” is top of the list. But that still leaves plenty of bandwidth for questions about the woman I’ve just chased through the darkness and fucked like a savage.

Back in my office, I open my laptop again. I can still taste her on my tongue and smell her on my fingers. Still feel her wet, greedy pussy clenched so fucking snug and tight around my cock. But I focus on the screen in front of me as best as I can, bringing up a new email from Dimitri.

I asked him to dig deeper.

He delivered.

The files delve a little deeper into Taylor Crown’s past. I frown as I read the police report, getting thoroughly confused.

Her parents were Paul and Lea Crown. They lived in Washington, DC.

Just as she said…

There was an accident. A drunk driver smashed into their car, killing Paul and Lea instantly and putting a teenaged Taylor into the ICU with severe brain trauma.

A week later, she was brought out of a medically induced coma and diagnosed with retrograde amnesia, remembering nothing about her life, her parents, or who she was.

My jaw tightens, and anger I don’t quite understand surges inside.

She wasn’t lying. Everything she said really did happen. The living in DC. The parents. The car accident.

All of it.

And yet, when you pull on a string, you don’t stop pulling at the first resistance you get.

At least, I don’t. I keep fucking yanking. And in Taylor’s case, that’s where things start to get interesting, according to what Dimitri’s sent me.

Yes, her parents were real people, who really did die in a car crash, and have official death reports.

The problem is, that’s all there is.

There’s not a single other record of them in the system. No mortgage, bank accounts or employment records. Not even social security numbers on their death certificates.

Nothing.

They’re fucking ghosts. But they’re ghosts with a daughter who has a record naming her “Taylor Crown”.

I, however, have a marriage certificate naming her Annika Brancovich. Whose body I saw.

…Or did I.

What I actually saw was a charred, almost unrecognizable corpse. I assumed it was her, because who the fuck else would it have been?

Clearly, I was wrong.

I frown, drumming my fingers on the edge of the desk before I pull up the cameras to her room. She’s not in the bedroom. She’s in the bathroom, sitting in the tub with her arms wrapped around her knees and her cheek lying on them, staring at the wall.

She has to be Annika. She is Annika.

If not, who the fuck is she?