27
“H ow are you feeling?” Roman stood up from the bed when Alessandra stepped out of the bathroom where she’d taken a quick shower.
She pressed a towel to her wet hair, avoiding his eyes. “I'm okay.”
“The doctor is here.” He met her halfway, grabbing her waist. “You need to let him take a look at you.”
“I’m fine,” she said more quietly, trying to walk away.
He kept her in place. “I’m sorry.”
“It's not your fault.”
Cupping her chin, Roman gently lifted her face, bringing her eyes up to meet his.
What he saw in them felt like a sharp knife being shoved into his chest, over and over again.
He didn't know what else to tell her—didn't know how to express everything he'd felt when he'd found her tied up to that chair, surrounded by men ready to take her away from him. But this wasn’t about him. It was about her, about what she’d been through and the hollow look in her eyes.
His voice turned rough with emotion as he pleaded with her. “Tell me what I can do.”
“Nothing.”
“Did they—” He couldn’t even bring himself to speak the words.
She shook her head slowly, and Roman felt as if a heavy weight was lifted from his chest.
He tried to find his strength, even as his heart demanded that he stay there with her. It was for her. For both of them. “I have to go out for a little while, but Andrei and Alek will stay here with you.”
Alessandra turned pale. “Don’t leave.”
He drew her closer and pressed his lips to her temple. “I won't be long, I promise. Nothing will happen while I'm gone.”
“Okay,” she said, though she didn’t sound too convinced. She started trembling again, her body seeming to have a mind of its own.
Roman stroked his palms up and down her back soothingly. “I need to know you’re okay, baby. You shouldn't have seen what you did.”
She was too pure to handle the atrocities of mob world. Guilt left a bitter taste in his mouth. He'd failed to protect her, and that was something he didn’t think he could ever forgive himself for.
It wasn't going to happen again. As he held her body, warm and fragile in his arms, he made that silent promise to himself. For as long as he had breath in him, she was going to be safe.
“Come on,” he said after some time. “Let the doctor have a look at you.”
While Dr. Hall examined the bruises on Alessandra's face and neck, Stepan and Dimtri showed up. Roman led the men into the kitchen so they could talk in private, leaving the doctor and Alessandra alone in the living room.
“You have them?” he asked, feeling more like himself after he’d seen Alessandra smile weakly at a joke the doctor made.
Stepan nodded. “In the trunk. A few men are getting rid of the bodies as we speak.”
“Good.” He looked at Andrei. “I'm going to need you and Alek to keep an eye on her while I attend the meeting.”
“Sure.”
Alek gave his brother a cautious look. “How is she?”
“Still in shock.”
“I bet she never saw somebody getting shot in the head before. They deserved it, yeah, but seeing that shit for the first time is never easy. You know this.”
“I know.”
“She'll forget,” Stepan said. “Eventually.”
Roman ran a hand over his mouth and sighed. “Hopefully.”
???
He arrived atBeluga1just before sunset. Grabbing the heavy trash bag from the trunk of his car, Roman made his way inside, heading straight for the office at the back of the club, with Stepan and Dimitri walking behind him silently.
A few people were busying about, preparing for the opening that was in less than three hours. Someone greeted him, but he didn’t reply, the whooshing of blood in his ears making it hard to concentrate on anything but the meeting awaiting a few doors down.
Dr. Hall had assured him Alessandra was physically fine; her bruises mostly superficial. Even so, the way she'd looked at him as he left their bedroom was still imprinted on his retina. Needless to say, he was eager to get this over with so he could return to her.
Not bothering to knock, Roman opened the door and entered. Everyone was already there, including his father who sat behind his desk, nursing a tumbler of vodka.
The room grew silent as soon as Roman made an appearance. A few men threw cautious glances at the bag in his hand, most of them already recognizing the meaning of it in the midst of an emergency meeting. Also, the blood trickling to the floor did nothing to hide the content of the bag.
Roman met his father's eyes. With a slight nod of Vitaly's head, he received permission to start the meeting.
“Today, three of our brothers betrayed us,” Roman spoke, his voice calm despite the rage poisoning his blood.
“They took my wife from my goddamn home and planned to kill her.” Reaching inside the trash bag, he pulled out the severed heads one by one, letting them fall at his feet noisily. “This is what happens to traitors.”
It was a gruesome sight even for the most seasoned Brigadiers.
All the men in the room were hardened criminals, but most of them didn't have to deal with severed body parts on a daily basis.
A well-placed bullet was the easiest way to get rid of someone, and it wasn't too messy.
Seeing the bloody heads and the frozen expressions on the dead men's faces couldn't be too easy to stomach, even for such a gathering of callous mafia men.
Dimitri had taken the task upon himself, having the most skill with the knife from his years spent in his father's butcher shop as a teenager.
In truth, even Roman found the whole show macabre, but he knew it was necessary to make a statement. The day's events could prove extremely dangerous for the Bratva, and neither he nor his father could risk a repeat of that.
“Fucking Boris?” Nikolai gritted, his eyes flaring as he stared at the gory mess on the floor.
“Boris and his loyal pet Sasha. They somehow convinced Ivan to join their cause.” Roman tossed the empty bag to the side, procuring a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands.
He made sure to look at the men present when he spoke.
“Let's get one thing straight. I don't give a single fuck how any of you feel about my marriage to Rossetti's daughter.
If another man in the Bratva so much as looks at her the wrong way, what I did to these assholes will look like child's play. Am I making myself clear enough?”
Murmurs of approval erupted around the room at once.
“And just to give you an extended preview of what is to come for those of you who disobey my orders and oppose my decisions,” Vitaly added, leaning forward in his chair.
“Boris's wife will be stripped of every single cent or asset belonging to the Bratva as punishment for her husband's disloyalty. In other words, she will be left with nothing.”
Roman thought it was a little harsh, but it wasn’t his place to say anything. Besides, he didn’t really care.
“Why did they do it, boss?” someone asked .
Vitaly glared at the man. “How should I know, Vova? I’m not a mind reader, and they’re all dead. We can’t really ask them, can we?”
“They were pissed about the alliance with the Italians; isn’t that clear?” another man answered.
Vitaly raised his hand, not in the mood to entertain a debate on the subject. “We shall consider this a lesson learned for everyone. Pass on the message to the men under your command.”
More murmurs of approval.
Done with asserting his dominance, Vitaly leaned back in his chair and resumed nursing his drink. “Meeting dismissed.”
The men rose from their seats and quietly headed for the door. On his way out, Stepan met Roman’s eyes, silently asking if he needed him to stay. Roman gave a subtle shake of his head, and Stepan walked out, closing the door behind him.
As soon as they were alone, Roman turned to his father. “You and your fucking games. This is what happens when you piss off everyone on all sides.”
Vitaly's eyes narrowed in warning at his son’s insolent tone. “I’m asking again—are you accusing me of something, Roman?”
“You are partially to blame, yes. You knew what this marriage would bring upon us. Our own men are turning against us. This has never happened before.”
Not to say that Roman regretted having married Alessandra. Not now, at least. But it had been a very unpopular decision on Vitaly's part, and the repercussions were quick to make themselves known.
“You need to show me a little more respect,son. The decisions I make—all of them—are for the good of the Bratva. You can't blame a few men's poor thinking on me.”
“If anything happens to her because of you...”
“You'll what?” Vitaly challenged, his gaze turning hard.
More words of anger sat on the tip of Roman’s tongue, ready to spill free. But those words also conveyed a threat, and Roman knew better than that.
“Don't say I didn't warn you,” he said with finality, letting Vitaly take it as he willed.
His father watched him for a long moment. For whatever reason, he decided to disregard his blatant disrespect as he grabbed the tumbler from the desk and brought it to his mouth. He drained the whole thing in one drink.
Roman slid a look toward Ivan's head on the floor. “Did you talk to Davit?”
“He swears he had nothing to do with it.”
“What were our men doing in his territory?”
Vitaly waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Who knows. Maybe they felt safe there knowing we are now on better terms with the Armenians.”
“I don't buy it. I think Davit is involved. He wants to get back at Rossetti, and what better way to do it than go after his daughter?”
“Perhaps, but we don't have any evidence. You said it yourself, none of his men were there, therefore we can't put the blame on them.”
“You do realize that if Davit is in on this, he broke his promise not to touch her. If that isn't the equivalent of spitting in our faces, I don't know what is.”
Eyes the color of steel pinned Roman with a severe look.
“Do I look stupid to you? I know the implications of him being involved.
What do you want me to do—confront him about it?
Risk alienating the Armenians after getting them to trust us again?
I have a plan, and I won't let you ruin it, Roman, so get your shit together. The girl is unharmed.”
Roman fought hard against the indignation rising in his chest. “Yeah, unharmed but traumatized for fucking life.”
Vitaly let out a sound of disdain from the back of his throat, and for the first time in many years, Roman felt the compulsion to punch him in the face.
Ignoring the incensed look on his son's face, Vitaly frowned down at the traitors' heads lying at their feet.
“This looks bad on the organization. I need to make sure no more of our men get any bright ideas. The Armenians are like hyenas; once they smell blood, they will not hesitate to attack. And if the Italians turn on us, we are finished.”
Roman couldn't be bothered to listen to Vitaly's musings. After all, it was his job to fix the issues he had created with his greediness and overinflated ego.
“Yeah, you do that,” he said, not even pretending to care. He headed for the door. “I'm going home.”
“Get someone to clean up this mess,” Vitaly called, but he just closed the door behind him, not answering.
Buttoning up his suit jacket, Roman flexed his neck from side to side, trying to ease the tightness in his muscles. He needed to be calm for when he got home to his wife.
On his way out, he passed two men lingering near the front entrance of the club, smoking cigarettes and having a conversation. They saluted him respectfully, getting out of the way so he could exit .
He nodded in greeting. For a split second, he considered opening his mouth and telling them to head to his father's office to dispose of the mess.
Instead, he walked right past them and stepped out into the warm night air.
???
Andrei and Alek left as soon as Roman made it back home. After locking up, he made his way upstairs to the master bedroom. Alessandra was lying on her side of the bed, her eyes closed and her breathing even. The room was brightly lit and the TV played a movie in the background on low volume.
Seeing that she seemed peaceful, he dimmed the lights then walked into the bathroom for a shower, removing his clothes as he went.
He tossed everything into the laundry hamper, making a mental note to get rid of them in the morning, before Alessandra could see the blood splattered on them and be reminded of today.
He took his time in the shower, letting the hot water relax his muscles and soak away the tension that hadn't left his body since he stepped out of the restaurant so many hours ago.
Grabbing a fresh pair of boxer briefs from the dresser, he pulled them on and walked over to the bed. He tried to slide in gently, but as soon as the mattress moved, Alessandra’s eyes popped open. She blinked rapidly, her body immediately going into a state of acute stress.
“I didn't mean to wake you,” he said softly, climbing in and reaching for her. Her heart was beating wildly inside her chest, so he held her close, petting her hair with tender strokes .
She let out a deep breath, pressing her face to his naked chest. After some time, she began to relax again.
Roman gazed up at the ceiling, his fingers feeling the soft texture of her long strands. The words spilled from his mouth almost involuntarily. “I love you, Alessa. I just... I need you to know it.”
She was quiet for a while—so quiet Roman thought she’d fallen asleep again.
“I love you, too,” she said, lifting her head to look at him. In the dimmed light, he could see the sadness on her face as she unfolded a memory in her head. “They, uh... they wanted to... before they killed me.”
The impact of her confession slammed into him so hard he could barely breathe. Logically, he knew what men like him were capable of. But hearing her say it, and knowing what could have happened to her if he didn’t get there on time, was almost too much.
He remained silent, unable to speak without sounding like a feral animal.
“I thought you should know,” she added, looking down with a small frown. She sounded almost ashamed for something that had been out of her control, and that made him even angrier.
“I'll never let anything like that happen to you again,” Roman said, his voice rough with emotion. “I swear to you.”
When she met his eyes again, hers were glistening with unshed tears. “I believe you,” she spoke softly. “I trust you.”
It was the most perplexing thing he'd heard in his entire life, and it took his brain a moment to make sense of it. After everything, she still had faith in him. It was an unexpected gift, and he was going honor it, no matter what it took.