Ruthless Reign: A Dark Mafia Forbidden Romance (Tarnished Reign Book 1)

Chapter 11

“Here’sto buying up half of that baby store.” I hold up my pint of lager and clink it against Kira’s glass of sparkling water.

“I did do some pretty serious damage, didn’t I?” She smiles widely. “Poor Feliks has the pleasure of organizing the shipping back to Moscow.”

“I think he can handle it,” I quip, taking a sip of beer as Kira looks on enviously. It’s not my usual drink of choice, but when you’re in a cozy London pub, you might as well drink like a local.

Today has been what I consider a perfect day. In fact, the whole trip has been pretty awesome. The first few days, we were quintessential tourists, going from the Tower of London to The British Museum, doing some shopping and finishing the day with unforgettable meals. We spent today shopping in all of London’s poshest neighborhoods. Kira has racked up quite the bill spoiling this unborn baby.

Tomorrow will be our last full day here, and I have no idea what Kira has planned, but whatever it is, I’m happy to go along and enjoy it. Spending time with my friend has helped distract me from the ball of dread sitting heavy in my gut every time I think of what’s waiting for me at home.

“So…” Kira says cautiously, squeezing a lime into her soda. “Have you given any thought to wedding planning?”

“Not too much, actually. I hoped to leave it up to my mother. This wedding is for her anyway.” I try and fail to keep the bitterness out of my tone.

Kira frowns into her drink, and I can sense all the words she’s not saying. “Well, if you need any help, I’m here for you. Dress shopping, cake tasting, planning your escape from the church—whatever it is you need.”

I laugh, although I’m not entirely sure she’s kidding. “Thank you. If I need help, you’ll be the first person I’ll call. I was hoping for Sofiya to be my maid of honor, but unfortunately, Anatoly is insisting that it’s Katerina.” I scrunch my nose.

“That sucks,” Kira says bluntly. “You can’t even choose your own maid of honor?”

I stir my drink, my eyes traveling towards the fireplace beside us. “Doesn’t really seem worth arguing over. I’m trying to pick my battles with my mother and the Petroviches, considering I expect many more ahead of me.”

Kira sighs and reaches out, her hand resting on my forearm. “I don”t want to sound like a broken record, but if you change your mind about anything, I”m here for you.”

“Thank you.” I know she has the best of intentions, but she has no idea how deeply tangled I am in Anatoly”s web. Between the debt we owe him and his not-too-subtle threats towards my sister, I”m trapped. And really, her hands are tied now that the Belovs and Petroviches are inextricably linked.

Kira looks down, smoothing the napkin in her lap. When her eyes meet mine again, she masks her concern with a practiced smile. “I have an extra special surprise for you tomorrow. An experience you’ll never forget.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Should I be worried?”

“Please. You’ll love it.” She taps a finger against her lips. “Once you’ve had a few drinks to loosen up.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Kira’s expression turns mischievous. “Only the good kind.”

“Well, that’s not ominous,” I joke, polishing off the final sip of my beer.

Kira waggles her eyebrows at me before she glances down at her phone. “Maxim is calling. Mind if I step outside to take this?”

“By all means.”

She gives me a quick peck on the cheek, then jumps up and heads toward the front of the bar, Bogdan hot on her heels.

Man, her guards take their job seriously, but that doesn”t surprise me. If anything happened to Kira, Maxim’s wrath would be unimaginable. More than that, Roman is protective of Kira like a big brother.

I get the feeling his interest in me is anything but brotherly.

In the last few days, Roman has been an ever-present figure, discreetly standing guard wherever we are. I know he”s only doing his job, but his attention often drifts my way, especially when we’re alone. Despite Feliks and Bogdan’s vigilance, I never feel them watching me. It”s different with Roman—there’s a certain intensity in his stare that seems to buzz under my skin.

It’s a delicate balance, pretending indifference when every instinct is finely tuned to his presence. Like right now, as I glance up and catch him checking me out from the bar. He looks effortlessly cool in his dark jeans and casual white tee that show off the tattoos crawling up his neck. He wears a blazer for the sole purpose of hiding the gun and holster strapped to his chest. Everything about him is sharp and defined—his jawline, his cheekbones, his strong profile. He oozes a raw, magnetic male energy that draws the eyes of every woman in the pub. But he doesn’t seem to care about them.

My pulse flutters as he looks at me from beneath his dark lashes and lifts his glass in acknowledgment. It”s filled with clear liquid, which I know is water and not vodka because he’s on the clock. I bite the inside of my cheek as he rolls up the sleeves of his blazer, exposing his muscular and tanned forearms.

Squeezing my legs together, I try to relieve some of the pressure building in my core, but it doesn’t do the trick.

I bet his fingers would.

Yesterday didn’t help matters when he reached above me to get that book. He was so close I could feel his body heat burning into my back. I was pinned in place, breathing in his scent; it took everything in me not to moan aloud, my body aching for more of his touch.

Lord, I really need to get a grip.

I can”t keep getting all hot and bothered every time we make eye contact. Sooner or later, Kira’s going to pick up on it, and that would be beyond embarrassing.

Trying to regain some semblance of control over myself, I dig in my purse for my phone and focus on checking my messages. I had hoped Sofiya would have texted back by now to let me know she arrived safely, but no such luck.

Earlier today, she messaged to tell me that Anatoly was driving her back to school. The minute I read those words, a cold shudder ran through me. I know he’s not driving her out of the kindness of his heart; like everything he does, it’s to remind me that if I step out of line, Sofiya pays the price. He didn’t like my attitude after he’d announced our upcoming wedding. He wants me sweet and submissive when I return home. It’s the role I’m destined to play.

“Why the frown?”

Roman’s voice startles me, and I press my hand to my heart. “Jesus, Roman. Maybe don’t sneak up on a girl.”

“I didn’t sneak up; I’ve been standing over you for a full twenty seconds.” A line forms between his eyebrows. “You need to work on your situational awareness.”

“My situational awareness is just fine.” I slip my phone back into my purse. “You”re the one who creeps up on people like a ninja.”

An amused puff of air escapes his lips. “Want another drink?” He tilts his head towards the bar.

“No, thanks.” For some reason, he takes that as an invitation to occupy the seat Kira just vacated.

“You keep on looking at your phone,” he notes. “Expecting a call?”

“Been paying close attention to me, have you?”

“Always.” My pulse flutters as he lets the word hang between us for a moment. “It’s my job.”

I shake my head and fiddle with my napkin on the table. “I’m not your job.”

He arches a brow. “According to Maxim, you are.”

“Right.”

“I have something for you.” He says this so out of nowhere that it takes my brain a moment to process his words.

I blink a few times. “Okay.”

He reaches into his blazer and extracts a book covered in some sort of protective wrap, then lays it on the table between us.

“A book?”

“Not just any book. A first-edition Jane Eyre.”

I”m momentarily speechless. “They’re crazy expensive and rare. How did you find one in less than a day?” I eye the book on the table, not even daring to pick it up.

He grins. ”I know people who know people, and some of these people owe me a favor.”

I shake my head, as warmth curls low in my belly. “Kira and I were just joking about me buying one. I-I can”t accept this.”

He leans in so close that I can feel the heat emanating from his body. “Why not? You want it, don’t you?”

I want it alright, but this gift is too much. If I accept it, what kind of message am I sending Roman?

A little voice in the back of my mind whispers that I could resell it for a lot of money. Last I heard, first editions of Jane Eyre go for nearly one hundred thousand at auction.

“How can I accept this? It wouldn”t look right.” I swallow down my emotion and whisper, “I’m nearly a married woman.”

Roman runs a knuckle down his face in a way that suggests he’s debating how to respond. Finally, he shrugs and slowly tucks the book back into his jacket.

I might be an idiot for passing on something I could resell for good money, but the idea of selling something so special curdles my stomach. However, after yesterday and the undeniable ping of chemistry between us, I can’t let him get the wrong idea. It would be bad for both of us.

“Suit yourself.” He clears his throat and leans back in his chair.

Disappointment weighs down my shoulders. I”m not sure if it”s from turning down the book or because he”s now looking at me with a coolness that wasn’t there before.

“Did you have a chance to read it?” I ask, searching for a point of conversation.

“I’m about halfway through.”

Oh, wow. I didn’t expect that. “What do you think so far?”

“A little creepy, isn”t it?”

I release a throaty laugh. “I guess it is. It”s known as a gothic novel for exactly that reason.”

“I don’t mind it. I like the darkness.”

“I think that says a lot about you.”

“Maybe.” He absently plays with a coaster on the table as his gaze searches my face.

“What?” I finally ask, feeling self-conscious.

“You’ve smiled more this trip than I’ve ever seen you smile.”

I shrug, feeling a little defensive. “I’m on vacation with my best friend—I have a lot to smile about.”

He leans forward and picks up an unshelled peanut from our table, cracking the outer layer with his fingers. “And you have a wedding to look forward to.”

I trace the rim of my empty glass, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Exactly.”

He pops the nut between his lips and chews, watching me the entire time like he can see through the mask I show the rest of the world.

“What about you?” I say, attempting to turn the conversation. “Any wedding bells in your future?”

He leans back, throwing one thick, muscled arm around the empty seat on his left. “None whatsoever. I’m free as a bird and like it that way.”

I swallow, feeling a tightness in my throat. “That’s right. From what I hear, you’ve never been with the same woman twice.”

His eyes widen, and I immediately regret my words. It makes it sound like I”m keeping tabs on his life, which I”m not. But Roman is one of Moscow”s most eligible bachelors, and it”s impossible to block out society gossip.

Instead of looking offended, he raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “You heard that, huh? What else are people saying about me?”

“Not from Kira,” I’m quick to clarify. “We don’t talk about you. It’s just… Others talk. You know how it is.” I wish I never opened my big mouth in the first place, but now it’s too late to backtrack.

“Sure.” He narrows his eyes. “We all love a bit of gossip. So tell me. I’m dying to hear what other people are saying about me.”

I bite my lip, knowing I should put an end to this conversation, but curiosity has gotten the better of me. “That you slept with the commissioner”s wife last year and then refused to see her again. That she was so distraught she threatened to hang herself, but you didn’t care.”

His expression turns dark, but he nods for me to continue.

“That you prefer to kill with your bare hands because you like to feel when someone’s life drains out of them. That you have a dark side.”

He runs a thumb over his bottom lip. “Well, I guess you know everything there is to know about me, then.”

Guilt settles in my chest. I don’t know why I feel bad, like I just accused him of being a shitty person. “It doesn’t mean I believe everything I hear,” I say, as if that makes it any better.

His jaw tightens. “Seems like you do.”

“Please, there’s enough shit said about me and my family. Well, except some of those rumors are true, at least where my father is concerned.”

His expression sparks with amusement. “So, you believe I sleep with everyone just once, unless I choose to torture the instead?”

I lift a shoulder, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth. “Like I said, not everyone. I imagine you’re selective, at least about who you torture.”

“I’m glad you think so highly of me.” He strokes his thumb along the cleft in his chin. “You did get one thing right about me.”

“And that is?”

“I do like to kill people. But I don’t care if it’s with my hands or not.”

I blink up at him. That’s the last thing I expected him to say. I thought he’d admit to fucking his way through Moscow, and jealousy was already burning in my veins. But admitting he likes to kill people? I don’t know what to do with that piece of information.

“The only thing I care about is that it’s someone who deserves it. When you work in my world, that’s the case more often than not.” He leans in close and rests his hand on my knee with a possessive squeeze.

Sweet baby Jesus. All my senses laser-focus on the place of contact.

“About the many women I’ve been with, all my conquests…” Under the table, his hand slides up my thigh, stopping just short of the hem of my skirt. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

Panting, I look up at him and pray that the flush creeping up my cheeks isn’t too obvious.

He gives me a wink, pushes back in his seat, and saunters to the bar just as Kira comes waltzing through the pub’s door and announces that I need another drink.

That’s certainly not what I need.

I need a cold shower. And a new pair of underwear because this pair is soaked right through.

An hour later,we’re back at the hotel. It’s a big penthouse suite that we all share—for security purposes—but at least we all have our own rooms.

Phone in my hand, I’m pacing my bedroom nervously. I still haven’t heard from Sofiya yet. It’s nearly nine o’clock here, which makes it close to midnight in Moscow.

Lucky for me, Kira wanted to retire early, because I don’t think I could hide my nerves any longer.

I’ve left voice and text messages for Sofiya and there’s been no reply, which is unlike her. Maybe her phone battery died or she fell asleep before checking her messages, or—worst-case scenario—they’ve been in a car accident.

Clutching my phone, I take a deep breath and hit Call on Anatoly”s contact.

It goes straight to voicemail. Forcing the words out, I fight to keep my voice steady. ”I haven”t heard from Sofiya all day. I know you drove her back to school. Please call me back when you get this. I’m worried.”

I dial my mother next.

“Mama, finally!” I say when she picks up after the third ring. “Have you heard from Sofiya yet?”

“What do you mean yet?” she practically yells. The background is filled with the buzz of conversation and music. “Anatoly dropped her off hours ago. Why would I hear from her?”

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What time did they leave the house?”

My mother huffs out a breath of annoyance. “I don’t know. Who keeps track of these things? Anyway, the Petroviches were kind enough to offer us their private box at the opera tonight. I really must be going.”

“Mama!” I cry in exasperation. “I asked Sofiya to call me when she’s back at school, and I haven’t heard a thing. I’m worried something happened to her.”

“She”s a teenage girl who hasn”t seen her friends in a week. She probably just got caught up chatting and forgot to message you back. You were just like that.”

I wasn’t, but my mother has a selective memory that benefits her.

“Anyways, I see the Popovs; I must go and say hello. Try not to worry so much,” she advises. “And try not to put on weight in London. You’ll need to be fitted for a wedding dress as soon as you’re home.”

The line goes dead, and the familiar sting of rejection hits harder than expected. This isn”t new. It echoes the countless times my parents favored glittering social events over spending time with me. There was the year they missed my lead role in the school play for a ski trip in Switzerland, and the time I rang in my fourteenth birthday with only the housekeeper for company while they mingled at a wedding overseas.

It’s why I’ve embraced my role as Sofiya’s protector so fiercely. Given our parents’ track record, I’m determined to be the one person who always has her back.

I”m so wound up with worry that I storm from the bedroom to the hotel’s terrace. The moment I close the French doors behind me and face the gusty wind, I unleash a deep, soul-cleansing scream, letting all my frustration pour out. My lungs burn with the release.

“Well, that’s not a good sign.”

Startled, I whirl around to find Roman leaning against the railing, a cigarette between his fingers and smoke curling from his lips. The moonlight casts shadows across his features, accentuating his surprised expression.

“I, uh, just needed to let off some steam.”

“Apparently.” He holds out the cigarette for me to take a drag. “Seems you need it more than me.”

I hesitate for a moment, but the raw edge of my nerves wins out. Stepping closer, I take the cigarette from him. The smoke is harsh against my lungs, a sharp contrast to the cool night air, but it grounds me. I exhale slowly, watching the smoke disperse into the darkness, and hand the cigarette back to him.

He takes a slow drag then looks at me, his gaze softer now. “Want to talk about it?” His question feels oddly intimate in the silence that stretches between us.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I admit.

“Start with why you felt the need to scream like a banshee into the night.”

I sigh and lean forward, resting my arms on the balcony railing. Normally, I guard my secrets fiercely, but tonight, I don’t have it in me to hold everything back. Not after what he just witnessed.

“I haven’t heard from my sister all day. Anatoly was supposed to drive her back to school, but it’s late now and still no word.”

His eyebrows pull together in concern. “So, it’s unlike your sister to not call you back?”

”Definitely.” A fresh wave of worry crashes over me.

“Have you called Anatoly?”

“Yes. He didn’t answer. I left a message but haven’t heard from him either.”

He stubs out the cigarette in an ashtray and fishes his phone from his pocket. “She goes to the same boarding school you and Kira went to, right? I’ll look into it.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “I didn’t mean you have to get involved.”

He lays a hand on my back, the warmth of his touch immediately comforting. “It doesn’t matter. I can help. Let me take care of this for you.” Before I can argue, he brushes a hand down my cheek, his eyes gentle. “You don’t have to shoulder everything alone, milaya.”

Sweetheart.

My breath trips. Roman, with his criminal ties and tough exterior, is not a man I’d expect kindness from, and yet that’s exactly what he’s showing me.

I nod, feeling a tightness in my throat because I’m unused to accepting people’s help. But this is bigger than me; this is about Sofiya’s safety.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“I’ll be right back.” He slides open the door and heads inside the penthouse, phone to his ear.

I turn around to look out over the city, alone with my thoughts and the boulder in my chest. I hate to drag anyone else into the disaster of my life, but I can’t deny that it feels good to let someone else help me.

When the phone in my hand rings, I’m caught by surprise.

“Oh my God, Sofiya,” I blurt out when I see who’s calling. My voice is thick with emotion. “Are you okay?”

The relief from hearing her voice is short-lived. ”I”m fine, don”t worry. My phone died, and Anatoly took me out for dinner with some of his associates before dropping me off at school.”

“Wait, dinner with who?” I demand.

“I don”t know. Some guys he’s in business with. It was a long night. I”m just tired.” Her words are slightly slurred.

Alarm bells ring in my head. Something’s off. “Sofiya, have you been drinking?” I ask, dreading the answer.

There”s a pause. ”Anatoly let me try some wine ... and maybe a shot of vodka. It was nothing. We were just having fun.”

My stomach drops, horror washing over me. “It’s not nothing,” I insist, but I try to sound calm, not wanting to upset her. “Drink a glass of water and try to get some rest, okay? Take an aspirin in the morning if you have a headache. It”ll help.”

“Sure, Lizka. Sorry I forgot to charge my phone.”

“It’s okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some sleep. And Sofiya?”

“Yes,” she replies with a yawn.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Heart in my throat, I slide down the terrace wall, hugging my knees.

Dinner with associates? Alcohol? What reason could he possibly have to drag her out later with a bunch of men?

My chest tightens, a crushing weight pressing down on my lungs.

The terrace door slides open and Roman appears, kneeling beside me. “Whoa, just breathe.” He takes my face in his hands.

I can’t speak yet; I’m too messed up to even put my thoughts into words.

As if he knows, Roman’s eyes lock on mine, concern evident in his features. Whatever he sees in my expression causes him to pull me toward him until my face is buried in his hard chest.

His fingers brush through my hair, and I tip my head up to breathe him in. Roman smells perfect, like the woods and a lingering smoky scent. He’s only trying to comfort me, but my body reacts as if he”s flipping a switch, igniting an electric energy inside me.

“Tell me what happened,” he says after a minute.

I pull away and try to compose myself. “It’s Sofiya. She just called. She’s okay, just forgot to charge her phone.”

“That’s good. I called her school and woke up some very confused nun.” He smiles. “And I have a guard on the way to her school. He’ll keep an eye on her dorm.”

Tears sting my eyes. He may be a killer, he may live in a cold and dangerous world, but he’s got a kernel of something good inside of him.

“What’s wrong? This is good news.” He runs a hand over the pulse point at my neck, and I have to bite my lip to keep from releasing a little moan. His calloused hand feels so good on my bare skin.

“Just overwhelmed, that’s all.”

He makes a noise in his throat and pulls back, tipping up my chin to make me look at him. “You’d tell me if things weren’t okay, right?”

I lick my lips and force a small smile onto my face.

It’s then that everything comes into focus: how close we are—his face only inches from mine—how hard his chest is, and how good he smells. Seconds tick by, and neither of us moves.

Is he going to kiss me? It would take nothing for him to lean forward and press his lips against mine. His gaze flicks from my eyes to my mouth and back again, and I”m thankful for the cover of darkness hiding my blush. I’m no expert on the matter, but the hungry way his eyes slide down my throat suggests he”s feeling it too.

I want him to kiss me more than I want my next breath.

But a kiss is dangerous. How could I stop at just a taste?

“I should probably go to sleep,” I say, moving away, needing to pull out of his magnetic orbit.

Without a word, he steps back and sighs deeply, his hand sweeping through his dark hair—it’s something he does often. Just like the millions of other things I’ve noticed about Roman, like how he rubs the back of his neck when making a decision or the way he discreetly checks his holster when we step into a new space.

I suck in a few deep breaths to ground myself and then back up toward the French doors that lead inside.

“Can we not tell Kira about all of this?” I glance out over the city, praying that Kira slept through my banshee wail. “I just don’t want to worry her, with the pregnancy and everything, it would be stress she doesn’t need.”

He turns, and I notice a pronounced bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Did I do that to him?

“We don’t have to tell anyone about this,” he assures me, sounding a little out of breath. “But I can leave my man to keep an eye on your sister for a few days.”

I bite my lip. It’s a generous offer, but a bratva bodyguard trailing Sofiya at school? That’s not ideal. “Not necessary,” I reply, “but I appreciate it.”

I study him in the dim moonlight. I don’t know what to make of Roman, willing to do whatever is necessary to put my mind at ease. He’s gone way beyond acting as my bodyguard, and it’s confusing my poor, dead heart.

He catches me studying him and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

I clear my throat. “Nothing, just… Thanks for helping me. You didn’t have to, and honestly, I would have lost my mind if I hadn’t spoken with her.”

He nods and turns away from me, looking over the city, both of his arms braced on the railing of the patio. “Goodnight, Liza.” His voice is a pure masculine rasp, and it sets my lady bits on fire.

“Goodnight, Roman.”