38
H e'd made a mistake. He'd gotten angry and taken out his frustration on Alessandra despite promising himself he wouldn't do it.
Sitting in the darkened office, Roman’s mind replayed her confused expression as she’d watched him grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before leaving their bedroom. Now, fifteen minutes later, he was drowning his troubles in his second glass of whiskey.
How could he tell her the truth and expect her to understand where he stood?
Roman had spent the better part of his afternoon going through surveillance footage from a pet shop and a few other stores—all the evidence he could get his hands on from the cameras set up around the club's area.
Their own footage would have been preferable, but the attackers had made sure to shoot up the only camera covering the back entrance of the club.
It took skipping through twenty-four hours' worth of video material before he’d finally found what he was looking for.
The pet shop's CCTV camera had captured the black SUV as it rounded the corner at the nearest intersection and flew past another car waiting at a red light. As reasonably good with computers as he was, he’d still needed another half an hour to zoom in the pixelated footage and acquire the plate number.
A quick check by Slava later, he had all the confirmation he needed.
The car was owned by Nero Rossetti.
The driver’s identity was still unknown, but he would find it out, one way or another.
For now, the only other person privy to that information was Stepan—the only man Roman fully trusted beside his own brother. Alek was still dealing with their father's precarious condition, so Roman had decided not to involve him in anything related to the attack.
The need for another leader already spread unrest among Bratva men, and Roman knew it was only a matter of time before he had to take action.
With Oleg working against him, fueling his Vory brothers' fears, he had to act fast and grab the position that was rightfully his.
For that to happen, he needed to prove that he could find his father's attackers and bring them to justice.
Revenge had to be swift and merciless, the way Vitaly would have delivered it if he were still calling the shots.
How could Roman explain to his wife that he had to retaliate? That someone in her family might end up getting killed. What comfort could he bring her when he put a bullet into Matteo?
If that were to happen, he knew there would be no forgiveness from Alessandra. She would despise him for taking away her precious brother, and he couldn't handle even the mere thought of gaining her hatred.
He loved her too much, and that love stood in the way of everything he had been taught and was expected of him.
A timid knock on the ajar door pulled him from his thoughts. Alessandra pushed it open, and the heaviness in his chest lessened at the sight of her.
“I don't want to fight,” she said quietly, her voice thick. “Not like this.”
His gaze landed on her reddened eyes, and the realization that she’d been crying hit him hard. That oppressive weight returned in an instant, squeezing the air from his lungs.
“Come here,” he demanded softly, one hand already extended in her direction, beckoning her closer.
In a few steps, she was on his lap, arms around his neck and her face pressed to his skin. He squeezed her a little closer.
“ Izvini .” He pressed the apology to her ear before adding its translation into English. “I'm not the best version of myself these days.”
“I, uh…” She cleared her throat to chase away the hoarseness. “I want you to know that I trust you.”
“I appreciate that, baby.” He drew back from the embrace to look at her, his palm cupping the side of her face. “And I want you to know that everything I do, I do it with you in mind. All I want is for you to be safe.”
She nodded. “I know. Can we stop fighting?”
A soft smile tugged at his lips. “We're not fighting now.”
“No, we're not,” she agreed, letting her head loll back onto his shoulder. His fingers found the soft flesh at her hip, and he rubbed circles there with his thumb, his mind more at peace with her in his arms.
They stayed like that for what felt like a long time.
“Will you come to bed?” Alessandra murmured eventually, her voice heavy with tiredness. “It's late.”
Roman grabbed his glass of whiskey, offering her some. She shook her head.
“Let me finish this first.”
She stood. “I'll wait for you upstairs.”
When she was gone, he let out a sigh as he stared at the closed door. His earlier thoughts returned with a vengeance, obliterating the little calm brought on by Alessandra’s presence.
He downed the last of his drink and poured himself another. He was going to regret it in the morning, but for now, he needed the alcohol-induced numbness that seeped into his muscles and appeased some of his mind’s restlessness.
Discarding the empty glass on the desk, Roman left the office and ambled up the stairs through the darkness. Alessandra was propped up against the headboard, eyes lowered to the book in her hands.
He stretched down beside her, one arm tucked under his head. “What are you reading?”
“A romance novel.”
He let out an amused breath, something on the glossy cover catching his attention.
He reached over to close the book and get a better look at it.
Some jacked guy with full sleeves and wearing only a leather vest stared back at him from under a heavy gaze.
He looked like a fucking tool, but Roman refrained from commenting on that.
“Any good? ”
Her cheeks flushed, and his amusement grew at seeing her get embarrassed over book porn. “Kind of. He's the member of an MC based in California, and she’s this girl from a rich family. The plot is interesting.”
“I didn't know you liked this stuff.”
“It’s just to pass the time.”
“Mmm.”
He knew that she needed an activity to keep her occupied now that her driving lessons were over, but with the current situation, he wanted her at home where she was safe. He’d buy her a thousand romance books if it made her happy and gave her something to do.
Exhaustion set in, and he closed his eyes, the alcohol in his system kicking in at fully force.
He felt Alessandra shift in bed, and a moment later, the room was encased in darkness. She snuggled closer to him and rested her head in the crook of his arm.
“Good night,” she said quietly.
“Night', baby,” he mumbled tiredly, and was asleep within seconds.
???
“This is a fucking mess,” Stepan concluded from across the room. He stood with his hands in his pockets, facing the shelves filled with colorful liquor bottles that were suspended above the bar unit.
Roman raised his eyes from the computer screen, rubbing them with two fingers. They'd been in that office for almost an hour, discussing, analyzing, strategizing.
“Any news of Oleg's whereabouts? ”
“He's been keeping low. Word got out that he's staying in his penthouse in Albany Park.” Stepan turned around to face him. “That son of a bitch is using the attack to turn men against you, and you keeping quiet isn’t helping. It has everyone talking, and nothing good at that.”
Roman ran his tongue across his bottom lip, fighting a fresh wave of agitation. “I'm aware.”
“What are you waiting for, then? We already have confirmation the car belongs to Rossetti. What more do you want?”
What he wanted was fucking peace of mind and a good night’s sleep. Since that wasn’t in the cards for him anytime soon, he let his gaze fall back to the computer's screen. Evidence of Nero Rossetti’s betrayal mocked him from behind a grainy, zoomed-in picture.
The test Roman had to pass was too harsh—even for an aspiring Bratva boss. It was either his position in the organization and the safety of his family, or his wife's happiness. Despite knowing which was the right choice, the decision weighed heavily on his conscience.
“Arrange a meeting for tonight. I'll break the news then.”
Stepan nodded, looking relieved to hear it. Roman couldn’t exactly blame him. It had been days since they’d found out about Rossetti’s involvement, and Roman was still hesitant to point the blame. That had to end tonight.
Once Stepan left the office to handle some business, Roman powered off the computer and headed to the clubhouse to talk to Laney about an event for that upcoming weekend. Halfway there, his phone started to ring in his pocket. He frowned at seeing Matteo’s name on the screen.
“What do you want?” he demanded, pressing the phone to his ear. Someone from the wait staff walked past him, her steps picking up when she noticed the storm clouds gathering in his eyes.
“Heard about your father.”
“Shouldn't your father be calling me?”
Matteo paused for a beat. “He doesn't know yet.”
Roman couldn’t fight the sneer overtaking his face. “I'm sure he doesn't.”
“Heard a rumor, too.”
“Oh, yeah? And what rumor would that be, Rossetti?”
“It wasn't us, Roman. My mother's car was stolen almost a week ago.”
Something close to relief expanded in his chest, but Roman snuffed it out immediately. He didn’t trust Matteo one bit. “How fucking convenient.”
“I'm telling the truth.”Matteo started to sound a little agitated.”Don't fall for this shit. It's a fucking ploy to get us at each other's throats.”
Roman turned around and walked back to the office. “I seem to remember you accused us of betrayal not long ago.”
“I was wrong.”
He wasn't, but he didn't need to know that.
“This is Kasparov; it has to be him. He's playing you because he has the most to gain from our broken alliance; can't you see?”
Roman closed the door behind him, already irritated by the conversation. He fought to keep his calm despite the tension creeping up the base of his skull and threatening to give him a head-splitting headache.
“Why should I believe you? You've been nothing but a thorn in my side ever since our fathers shook hands over my marriage with Alessa. For all I know, you could be working with the Armenians to get me out of the way and get your sister back.”
“I may not like you, but I'm not a fucking traitor.” His voice dropped an octave. “Can we meet up? I think we should discuss this in person, and I have more information that will interest you.”
Roman stilled. Was he serious?
“You're either desperate or really fucking stupid.”
“Probably both,” Matteo muttered darkly.
He let out a deep sigh. “Look; I never told my father about what I saw that day.
I wasn't sure about it, so I decided to keep quiet until I had actual evidence.
So unless you're really working with Davit to get rid of us and this is a set-up, I think it was all that fucker's plan from the beginning.”
Although Matteo didn't have the whole picture, Roman couldn't help but think that he actually made sense.
If he was telling the truth and Nero Rossetti didn't suspect anything about Vitaly's betrayal, the Don had no reason to want him dead.
Their arrangement served the Outfit just as much as it did the Bratva, and a weakened Bratva meant a weakened Outfit by simple association.
An alarming thought emerged. Could it be that Davit had somehow learned about Vitaly's duplicity, and this was him acting first?
Even if that wasn’t the case, Davit was known to hold a grudge. Slippery as a fucking viper and equally poisonous, the man was a dangerous friend to have and an even more lethal enemy.
Roman had warned his father. For the first time in his life, he wasn't happy to have been proven right as he now found himself in an impossible situation. He didn't know who and what to believe anymore.
This was Vitaly’s great legacy: a divided Bratva and two powerful enemies pushing Roman into a fucking corner.
Again, Roman had a decision to make, and this time, he went with what his gut feeling told him.
“Come to my house tonight. Eleven o’clock. Come alone and find another car that isn't recognizable.”
“I hope you realize the position you're putting me in. I’d rather we agree on a place on neutral ground.”
“You were the one to ask to meet up. These are my conditions.”
Matteo let out a disbelieving breath.”I must be out of my goddamn mind.”Then he finally agreed with a simple, “I'll see you tonight.”
After ending the call with his brother-in-law, Roman dialed Stepan.
“Cancel the meeting. Be at my house tonight at eleven.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“I don't know, but I'm hoping to find out. Be there.”