42
S creams of agony rang out across the vast emptiness of the warehouse with the eerie cadence of a horror scene stuck on repeat. The man’s body jerked forward with each cut into his mutilated flesh, eyes bulging out and a bloody mouth opened wide to sing his pain.
When Dimitri took a step back to admire his handiwork, there was finally some silence.
That didn’t last long though.
“P-please!” Arsen yelled hoarsely, barely able to form the words anymore. “I-I don't know anything.”
Roman blew out a cloud of smoke, watching the man’s body swing into the thick chains, hanging from the ceiling like meat in a butcher’s shop. They’d been at it for the past hour or so, but the bastard was more resilient than they’d given him credit for.
“You see,” he said lazily, throwing the butt to the ground and taking his time to light another cigarette.
“Something tells me you're lying, Arsen.
You're a slimy prick, but I know Davit trusts you.
Even if you weren't directly involved, you know who was.
Now, I'm going to ask you again . Who was behind my father's attack?”
“Roman,” Arsen groaned, his head lolling back, barely hanging on to consciousness. “ Mi arek’ sa .”
“Don’t do this?” Roman asked, translating for him. “I have no reason to stop. Give me a reason to stop, and maybe I will.”
Beside Roman, Matteo stood quietly, his suit jacket hanging from the crook of his arm, despite the biting wind haunting the old industrial building.
Two Outfit soldiers lingered by the entrance, along with Stepan and other Bratva men.
Unsurprisingly, instead of gracing them with his presence, Nero Rossetti had sent his son to supervise things.
Like Vitaly, the Italian Don had become complacent in his old days, and he didn't get his hands dirty unless absolutely necessary.
Taking another drag from his cigarette, Roman gestured to Dimitri that he could resume what he'd been doing.
The newly-named Brigadier nodded and quietly went back to his task.
Turning the knife in his hand, he cut a deep line from Arsen's sternum to his bellybutton.
The horrible scream that followed made Matteo let out some sort of noise.
Roman turned to him, noticing the greenish hue in his complexion. “Problem?”
“This is taking too fucking long,” Matteo muttered, eyes still set on Arsen’s writhing form.
Roman felt slightly amused by his companion's obvious discomfort. Apparently, Matteo wasn't a fan of torture. Not that Roman was either, but he could stomach it when necessary. “He’ll talk eventually. As you can see, Dimitri is very skilled with the knife. ”
“I can see that alright.”
Looking at the younger man, it occurred to Roman that he could see the similarities between his wife and her brother. Even the small, vertical line that formed between her eyebrows when she scowled, he could now see mirrored on Matteo's face. Something about that didn’t sit well with him.
He gave his head a slight shake, his attention going back to where it needed to be.
Less than five minutes later, they finally had what they wanted. Good thing too, because Matteo looked on the verge of throwing up his guts on the dirty cement floor.
“It was us! I-it was us!” Arsen sputtered breathlessly, blood dripping from his mouth. “ Da menk’ eink’ .”
Roman signaled Dimitri to stop. “I want names.”
“T-tigran and Hovak.”
“They stole Nero Rossetti's car?”
Arsen barely managed a nod. The man was half-dead already.
Roman put out his cigarette, crushing the butt with the tip of his polished shoe. He buttoned up his suit jacket. “What’s Davit’s end game here? Hmm? What does he want?”
When the Armenian just hung limply from the chains, his gaze lowered to the bloody floor beneath him, Roman walked up to him and slapped his cheek to bring him around. He groaned, barely able to open his eyes to half-mast. “Tell me the truth,” Roman demanded. “Davit's plan.”
Arsen let out a shaky breath, his eyelids fluttering in Matteo's direction though he couldn’t keep his gaze there. “H-he wants y-you out. Both of you. ”
“Why?” Roman slapped him again. “Eyes on me.”
“Hates you,” was all he could get out. “Traitor. He… scum.”
Roman understood enough. Russians were traitors and Italians were scum. Davit had decided to rule Chicago by himself. Nothing shocking there. It seemed that the young Rossetti turning a deeper shade of green a few feet away had been right all along.
Seeing as Arsen wasn’t going to last more than a few minutes, Roman gave Dimitri the order. “Finish him off.”
“No.” The chains rattled as Arsen jerked against his restrains with the last bit of energy left in his dying body. “P-please!”
Words broken, he pleaded over and over again in his heathen tongue, but it was too late. He had to go.
Roman couldn't bring himself to feel even an ounce of pity for the asshole headed straight for the gates of Hell. He wasn’t a religious person, but he imagined if Hell were real, it would be reserved for men like Arsen.
With the reverberation of the screams following him out of the building, he didn't glance back and he didn’t stop walking.
Matteo was hot on his heels as he reached the deserted parking space up front, illuminated by a single street light. Stepan and the Italian soldiers followed but kept their distance.
Instinctively, Roman reached for his pack of cigarettes. He knew he had to cut down at some point, but now wasn’t that time.
“What?” he said, annoyed, looking at Matteo’s frowning face.
“I have to say, you’ve adjusted pretty damn fast to the new position.”
He lit up a smoke and took a deep drag. “I've been preparing for it my whole life.”
Matteo nodded, though he still looked a little disturbed. “I should go. I’ll give my father the rundown.”
Roman checked the time. He'd promised Alessandra he would be home before midnight. It was nearing one in the morning. “You do that.”
Not bothering with a goodbye, Roman put the cigarette pack into his pocket and headed for his car.
???
The fucking things were everywhere.
Roman bent down at the waist to pick up the very red and very sparkly hair tie.
Just another one of Alessandra's hair paraphernalia lying where it wasn't supposed to.
Like in the middle of the foyer, most likely dropped there by his sometimes distracted wife.
It had been like that since they moved in: hair ties, bobby pins, and even long, curly hairs he found in the most unexpected places.
Getting used to it was still an adjustment, but waking up in the morning with his wife's stray hairs wrapped around his balls was the icing on that strange, domestic cake.
How, and most importantly, why , did women shed so much?
Roman straightened and glared at the offensive item in his hand before tossing it on the entry table holding a vase filled with orange-colored flowers.
Walking into the living room, he was surprised to see Alessandra dozing off in an armchair. Vladik was on the couch, his eyes moving from the silent TV to Roman when he felt his presence. On the TV screen, some movie's credits rolled out.
“Where’s Konstantin?” Roman asked quietly, his gaze returning to the woman commanding his attention. She was wrapped up in a yellow blanket, her leggings-clad legs peeking out from underneath it.
“Just got out through the back.” Vladik’s voice matched his. “He's doing the rounds.”
Konstantin covered night shifts whenever he was required to, and tonight was one of those times. Roman glanced at his watch. “Your shift ended three hours ago.”
Vladik got up and shrugged. “I knew you had a busy night, and I didn't mind staying. Vladimir left around midnight.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I'll get going then.” He nodded at Alessandra. “Passed out halfway through the movie. Didn't feel like waking her up.”
After Vladik took his leave, Roman shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it on the couch.
Approaching his sleeping wife, he brushed some hair from her face, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of her looking so peaceful.
When he put his arm under her knees to pick her up, she stirred, glassy eyes blinking up at him in confusion.
“Roman?” she rasped, rubbing a hand over her face.
“Yeah, baby.” He kissed the top of her head, lifting her into his arms easily. “Let's get you to bed.”
“Fell asleep,” she mumbled, burying her face in his chest.
“I can see that. Good movie, hmm?”
“Lots of shootings and explosions. More like Vladik's thing.”
“Glad to see you two get along.”
She ran her fingers through the short hairs at his nape as he carried her up the stairs. “He's alright when he's not scowling at me.”
“It's his job to look intimidating.”
“Hmm.” Her lips found the skin at the base of his throat. “You smell good. Like cloves and smoke.”
“I didn't know smoke smelled good.”
“It does on you.”
In the bedroom, Roman eased Alessandra onto the king-sized bed. She tossed the blanket off, pulling on his hand to get him down on top of her. Roman chuckled, his lips meeting her neck as he peppered a few soft kisses there.
“I love you.” She gazed up at him, her sleepy eyes full of devotion, and his heart warmed for her.
“Love you, too, milaya .”
“I also love it when you call me that.”
“Yeah?” He smiled, his fingers dropping to her stomach. Reaching under the thin sweater she had on, he stroked her abdomen gently.
“Mhmm.” Her legs wrapped around his hips and she pulled him closer.
He was hard for her already, but he pushed down his lust, wanting to simply enjoy their intimate embrace for a moment.
He gave her a brief kiss then dropped to his back, dragging her body on top of his instead.
Alessandra let out a small laugh, her knees digging into the mattress as she pressed her chest to his.
Roman grabbed her ass and squeezed, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair.
They stayed like that for so long, Roman had almost dozed off when she spoke again, her voice quiet.
“My father called me.”
He blinked, chasing sleep from his eyelids. “When?”
She lifted her head to look at him. “Yesterday morning. You were so busy, and I wasn't sure if I should bother you with it.”
Yesterday . Most likely after Roman had broken the news about Vitaly.
“What did he want?”
“He was mad I didn't tell him about your father's attack.”
“Was he,” Roman said drily. That bastard. He was still trying to manipulate his daughter even after he'd sold her off so easily.
“I didn't tell him anything. Mostly, I just played dumb.”
Her appreciated her sincerity and obvious loyalty to him. From the day he'd married her, Roman knew Nero Rossetti intended to use his daughter to get information on Bratva business. A few months ago, he might’ve been worried about it. Now he knew he could trust Alessandra implicitly.
His cupped her cheek. “You have no obligation to him.”
“I know.”
“If he ever tries to force you to do anything you don't want, you'll come to me. Understand?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Now,” Roman murmured, brushing some hair from her face. “Help me get these shoes off and let's sleep.”
Alessandra rolled her eyes, though he could see she was amused. “Why are you so lazy?”
He pushed his arms under his head, watching as she stood from the bed and went to remove his shoes with a small pout. Roman felt the desire to bite it off her lips.
When she was done, he nodded to his lower half. “Pants too. Then the shirt.”
“Really?” She huffed, planting her hands on her hips.
“Hurry up.”
She set into motion with pursed lips and a frown between her delicate eyebrows. Fleetingly, her hand brushed over his cock as she unzipped his pants, and he fought a smile, knowing she was doing it on purpose.
As soon as she was done undressing him, Roman grabbed her hand and pulled her back on top of him. Her thighs clenched on either side of his hips, and he rolled them over so she was trapped between the mattress and him.
His mouth found hers, a sigh escaping her lips as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“I think I'm in the mood for something sweet,” he said, grabbing the waistband of her leggings and pulling them down her legs.
“There's some leftover lava cake in the fridge.” She laughed then yelped when he bent down and nipped the skin above her purple cotton thong.
Roman’s eyes never left her pussy as he got rid of the panties and ran a finger over her slit. “I'd rather have this.”
When his mouth kissed the juncture between her thigh and pussy, she grew quiet.
But when his tongue flicked out to taste her, she rewarded him with a breathless moan.
And when he dipped his tongue inside her, the nails digging into his shoulders made him smile.
She was his.
Always would be.