47
T he dashboard clock indicated it was three minutes to midnight. The car was filled with silence, the somber mood foretelling the danger that lay ahead.
“Fucking Oleg,” Alek muttered through clenched teeth, the first one to speak since they’d gotten on the road. “That motherfucker had it coming for a long time.”
Roman checked the chamber to his gun before engaging the safety and tucking it back into its holster. “Focus on the road, Alek.”
“Yeah, yeah,” his brother said, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “Are we sure he's still there? He could’ve moved to another location by now.”
“Stepan’s source says so.”
“Cool by me. Can't wait to shoot the old fucker in the head.”
Roman didn't comment on that. He was just as eager to get rid of Vitaly's former lapdog, though he was trying to keep a cool head and his focus where it needed to be. He couldn’t let his emotions dictate, no matter how much he hated the man.
Sixteen hours later, he was still pissed that Nero Rossetti had been the first one to point the blame at Oleg.
It made sense, of course. Stepan had worked the entire night trying to gather information and prove just that when Roman was summoned at the Rossetti mansion first thing this morning.
His father-in-law wanted an explanation for the Armenians’ unexpected attack.
Roman had no explanation to give until he had proof.
Needless to say, that meeting didn’t end well. He left angrier than he’d arrived, and his run-in with Morano hadn’t helped either.
Three hours after the meeting with his father-in-law, Roman had the evidence he needed to take action. And that was how they found themselves in a three-car convoy, heading to Oleg’s place downtown.
Roman reached for the bottle of water in the center console.
He took a long drink, draining nearly half the bottle.
His stomach let out a low grumble which he ignored.
Except for the breakfast Alessandra had forced on him, he hadn’t had anything else to eat, too busy to even think about food.
He took another drink before setting the nearly empty bottle back in the center console.
“Are we sure Nikolai is with him?” Alek asked as they waited at a red light.
“Nikolai and Sergey both.”
Roman could understand why Nikolai had betrayed him—resentment for being stripped of one's position within the organization went a long way. But Sergey... he could attribute no reasons for his backstabbing other than stupidity and a whole lot of greediness.
The opportunity to take the three of them out within the same night meant that Roman's luck was changing. As much as he hated being indebted to the Rossettis, he knew that Matteo’s intervention the night before had most probably saved all of their lives, and Roman could only be grateful for second chances.
This time, he was determined to make it count.
A young boss was an inexperienced boss, which was exactly what his enemies banked on.
Oleg's misfortune?
Roman was a fast learner. He had no intention to repeat Vitaly’s mistakes, or even his.
“Park over there,” he told Alek, pointing to an empty spot next to a trash container.
The other two cars came to a stop behind them. Stepan and Dimitri got out, followed by Andrei and Konstantin in the third car.
Roman climbed out of the passenger seat and adjusted his suit jacket over the Kevlar vest he had underneath. They’d come dressed normally, not wanting to attract more attention than necessary.
The street behind Oleg's apartment building was deserted at that late hour. Roman had no intention of hiding, but parking three cars up front was sure to alert Oleg of their presence, so they had gone to the back instead.
“Let's get this shit over with,” he said to the men gathered around him.
They entered the building through the ramp going into the underground parking. Walking around the lowered barrier, they passed the empty security booth and headed straight for the elevator.
Roman felt his lips curve up.
His luck really was turning around tonight.
He nodded that Dimitri should go first. “You know what to do.”
Dimitri got into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. He was going to disable the doorman working the front desk before he saw all of them and hit the panic button.
“Stepan, the cameras.”
“All covered,” Stepan confirmed, doing something on his phone. “Tonight's footage will be erased as soon as we leave the building.”
Roman nodded and checked his watch.
When the three-minute mark hit, he called the elevator again.
Dimitri was casually leaning against the front desk when they made it into the luxurious lobby.
The doorman was nowhere in sight, and Roman knew Dimitri had shoved his unconscious body under the heavy desk behind him.
In a couple of hours, he would be waking up to chaos all around him.
The event was sure to make the front page tomorrow, and it was exactly what Roman wanted.
A powerful statement achieved more than words could, and with the type of men he had to deal with, fear was always the most effective motivator.
Since Oleg lived in the penthouse, he used a private elevator that could be accessed only via a key code or with a little help from the front desk.
“Try not to blow your cover,” Roman told Dimitri who had snatched the doorman's employee tag and clipped it to his suit jacket .
Dimitri gave him a slow grin. “No worries, boss.” He checked the name on the tag. “Don't I look like a Ben?”
Roman ignored him. It was risky to leave Dimitri in plain sight where he could be discovered by any one of the nosier tenants. But they needed to get in and out of the penthouse without issue, and since they didn’t have the key code, this was the only alternative.
He motioned for the rest of the men to follow him as he went for the private elevator.
“He lives better than you,” Stepan observed as they passed a row of Greek-inspired marble sculptures in different stages of undress.
Andrei chuckled, his fingers brushing over the naked breast of a female statue. “Not for long though.”
Roman gave a slight shake of his head, deciding not to engage. As soon as they were in the elevator ascending to the top floor, everyone pulled out their guns, all playfulness gone from their demeanor.
“There's at least three of them, maybe more,” Roman told the group when the panel above them indicated they had eight more floors to go. “If they’re in the living room, we should be able to take them by surprise. There's five of us and we have the upper hand.”
“Stick to the layout,” Stepan said. “We can reach the living area through the kitchen and attack them from the back.”
Seconds later, the doors opened, revealing dark marble floors and a gold-plated crystal chandelier. Between that and the expensive art hung on the walls—including what looked like an original Degas—Roman felt a sudden wave of irritation wash over him at the sight of so much gaudy opulence.
“Let's go,” he ordered quietly, his black Oxfords shining under the warm glow of the chandelier.
They walked across the foyer, taking a left in the hallway connecting to the west wing where the living area was, according to the plan of the apartment Stepan had so diligently procured in just a few hours.
There was no sign of staff or Bratva men, so they kept advancing through the dimly-lit hallway.
Roman stopped just shy of the open kitchen doors, listening for any sign of activity.
Laughter and the sound of talking reached his ears, but they were coming from farther away, and if the layout they had was correct, the kitchen was directly connected to the dining room through a side door.
From there it was a straight path to the living room.
He entered the empty kitchen, noticing the take-out bags on the counter and the dirty dishes in the sink.
He opened the side door, and the talking got louder.
Looking into the room, he saw the vacant dining table, and past it, the arched entryway leading to the living room where a conversation carried on animatedly.
Keeping close to the walls, they rounded the table and slowly made their way into the other room.
Wide green eyes made contact with Roman’s blue ones. A young girl, maybe in her early twenties, wearing a red sequin dress and stilettos, stared back at him in horror from her place near the ostentatious bar that looked fit for a nightclub.
Holding his gun up and aimed at her, Roman brought his index finger to his lips, silently ordering her to be quiet.
The girl stood there, frozen, her red nails visibly tightening around the champagne flute in her hand. Past her, wide marble steps descended to a lower level of the room where the sitting area was located.
Roman’s gaze moved away from her terrified one.
He was not in the business of hurting innocents, and even though she was about to see all of their faces, he knew she wasn't going to tell a soul about what she'd witnessed.
Girls like her—prostitutes, to be more exact—had a formidable survival instinct.
They had to, in order to survive in a world where every powerful, corrupt client could become their last if something went wrong.
Roman’s eyes landed on Oleg instead. The smug bastard was sitting in a swivel armchair upholstered in rich, green fabric, thick smoke drifting from the cigar resting between his meaty fingers.
A young blonde was perched up on his lap, her short dress riding up her tanned legs and nearly exposing the white panties visible underneath.
There were three other men in the room, Nikolai and Sergey included, but Roman's attention was focused on Oleg.
As if sensing his presence, Oleg turned his head and his eyes met Roman's.
First there was confusion.
Then came recognition.
And finally, fear.
A satisfied smirk touched Roman's lips.
Everyone knew revenge was sweet, but no one ever mentioned it could be beautiful too.
Hand still raised, he pointed the gun at the face riddled with terror and felt the beauty of a bad chapter ending with a single pull of the trigger.
?? ?
“Roman?”Alessandra’s sleepy voice greeted him from the other end of the line, and it was the most calming sound in existence.
“I'm outside,” he said, his eyes set on her bedroom window. It was late, almost three in the morning, but he couldn't wait another few hours to see her. After the past two days, he needed to be close to her.
“What?”There was the rustling of sheets then her pretty face came into view at the window.”What are you doing here so late?”
“Come downstairs.”
She didn't argue. Ending the call, she turned around and disappeared from the window.
When she rushed through the front door a minute later, she was wearing pink leggings and an oversized Nirvana T-shirt, her bare feet shoved into a pair of house slippers. She opened the passenger door and climbed inside with a smile on her face.
Roman shifted into gear and drove to the other end of the driveway for some privacy, since the two guards at the front gate still had their eyes set on his car.
Once the engine was off, he turned to her, his palm finding the side of her neck. She opened her mouth to speak but didn't get the chance to before he was swallowing her breath in a deep kiss.
The taste of her, the warmth of her skin beneath his touch went straight to his cock. In an instant, he was hard and aching for her.
Alessandra moaned into his mouth, her fingers finding refuge in his hair. He shifted, grabbing her waist and pulling her into his lap over the center console. Her slippers tumbled to the floor noisily. With a yelp of surprise, she straddled his hips then laughed quietly before resuming their kiss.
“I love you,” she whispered between kisses. “So much.”
Despite having heard those words before, something in his chest tightened. The way he felt about her was more than he could express through a simple declaration. So he showed her instead.
He slowed his pace, caressing her sides as he peppered reverent kisses along her throat and collarbones.
Alessandra let out a soft sigh as she closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
She was so beautiful, sometimes he still couldn’t believe she was all his.
Her long hair was loose, cascading down her back in gentle waves.
Roman ran his fingers through the locks and a whiff of her shampoo mixed with her favorite perfume hit him like a dose of pheromones injected straight into his bloodstream.
“Fuck,” he cursed, pulling her closer. “I need you.”
“Then take me,” she said, looking down at him with the same want he felt in every cell of his body.
Roman's hands felt unsteady as they grabbed the waistband of her leggings and tugged them down her hips. She lifted herself up to help him take them off then reached for his belt.
He let out a hiss between clenched teeth, watching as she unzipped his pants and cupped him through his boxer briefs. He grabbed the outer side of her thighs, squeezing the flesh greedily as he dragged her hips closer to his aching cock.
Alessandra met his gaze, an impish twinkle playing in her brown eyes. Bracing one hand on his shoulder, she used the other to pull him out. Then, without hesitation, she pushed her thong to the side and sank down on him until he was buried to the hilt inside of her.
Roman had to hold back a groan at the feel of her wrapped so tightly around him. He caressed her thighs, his head falling back against the seat's headrest as he watched her through heavy lids.
She took the lead, rising up and down at a slow pace that drove him wild. He felt her, deep under his skin where no woman before her had ever reached. It was thrilling and it was terrifying all the same.
But he knew it in that moment. He would gladly accept that weakness because she was everything to him.
For her, he was going to make everything right again.