Chapter 13 #2
Papa clears his throat as he leans forward. “Tell no one what I’m about to tell you.”
I nod.
“We might get that casino after all.”
I whistle lowly. Fuck, that’s a big deal. The project as-is is going be a money-pinata for both families. But on top of what they’re already planning, my father pushed hard for a luxury, high-rollers casino on the top four floors.
The only problem there is that New York does not like giving out gaming licenses. Especially not to notorious Russian mobsters.
“I may have a found a way, Roman,” Papa grins darkly. “A gaming commissioner with some…personal pressure points. But I need to get Nikolai on board. He’s been against this from the start for some fucking reason.”
I nod. “That’s…huge.”
“Da,” he grunts. “Listen, Roman…” he eyes me. “When I get Nikolai on board with this, and we move forward.” He raps his knuckles on the desk and then points at me. “I want you to be in charge of securing the gaming license from this commissioner, yes?”
I hold back a smile. “Of course, Papa.”
My father is, for lack of a better word, an asshole. I’m not blind to that: it’s not like the assholery is leveled solely at other people. I get the full brunt of it all the time.
But sometimes, when he talks about the future, about me taking over the throne… I don’t know, I get the faintest whiff of a sense of pride in me from him, and I hold onto it as tightly as I can.
“Excellent.” He clears his throat and peers a little closer at me. “So—was it good?”
I frown as I take a sip of my drink. “Was what good?”
“Your rendezvous the other day.”
For a second, my entire body goes numb and cold. Like a knife made of ice has just been plunged into my heart. I stare at him, my face pale.
Papa chuckles. “That girl. Tiffany, right?”
Jesus Christ.
I exhale slowly, blinking as my chest thaws a little. He’s not talking about Val in the steam room.
Fuck…
“What?” I choke out.
Papa chuckles. “My men at the front door of your building told me she was over the other night.” He grins and winks at me. “You have fun?”
I take another sip, my brow furrowing. “Your men are spying on me now?”
Papa rolls his eyes. “So sensitive. They weren’t spying. They were jealous!” he roars, laughing. “Probably thought I’d be proud, hearing that my boy is out there fucking sexy girls like that, eh?”
He chuckles, lifting his glass to me in a toast.
“But…” His brow furrows. “You need to be smarter about it. Arranged or not, Dasha is going to be your wife soon, da? And her papa…” His lips thin. “Perhaps less excited than me to learn about other girls sharing your bed.”
I exhale slowly, dipping my chin. “Understood. It won’t happen again.”
“It can happen again, you just need to be smarter about it,” he growls. “You think I wasn’t sticking my dick anywhere I could when your mother was still around?”
My eyes narrow and my jaw tightens, but he doesn’t see it. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. Instead, he laughs and slaps the table.
“You just need to be sneakier, Roman, okay?”
“Da, Papa,” I murmur.
He nods, but then he scowls. “And when you’re with your bride-to-be?
” His scowl deepens as he jabs a finger at me.
“Do better. That party I threw… You were a disgrace. You barely spoke to her, you were never near her. You even fucking disappeared for a while. What, fucking one of the waitresses?” He scoffs. “Be better, boy.”
I dip my chin. “I will, Papa.”
“You’d fucking better be. She’ll be your wife, and she’ll give you the heir that comes after you to continue our bloodline!”
Papa jabs a finger at me again.
“Play your part, boy. Don’t disappoint me.”
It’s dark as I stalk around the side of the pool in Papa’s back yard, drink in one hand, phone in the other. The keys to my Lamborghini jangle in my pocket as I contemplate what I’m doing tonight.
A scowl plasters my face, but it’s not because of my father’s bullshit.
I'm used to it. I’ve dealt with his “legacy and bloodline” crap my whole life, not to mention his constant see-sawing between being my “buddy” and talking about girls as if we’re pals, and then lording his power over me and reminding me not to fuck up.
It all slides right off me.
My face darkens.
Could have done without the fucking pidoraz comments, though.
I exhale and then knock back some of the vodka in my glass.
My phone suddenly dings, and my heart jumps into my throat. But when I look at it way too quickly, my pulse slows again.
It's not him. The one that still hasn’t messaged me back. It’s Brooklyn.
Brooklyn
Roman! What are you doing? We’re all at Doomsday. Come! I miss youuuu!
I smile quietly.
I’m not historically one for female friends, especially if they're through my sister. I’m a “guy’s guy”: football, boxing, girls, cars…that kind of shit. But Brooklyn and I have an interesting, and honestly great friendship. And a few months back, we crashed together in a fucked-up way that…
Well, quite possibly saved my life.
I swallow as I glance down at the pool, the underwater lights casting an aquamarine glow over me and the trees.
I know I drink too much. Sometimes, it’s just because I get caught up in the night and in having a good time. But others, it’s because the darkness and the warring pieces of me pulling me apart get to be too much.
That was the case that night.
Papa was out of town, and Evie and I decided to throw a party at the house. She and her friends mostly did their own thing, and me and my buddies did ours. But then it got late, Evie’s friends went home or out to more bars, my sister went to bed I think, and my friends took off.
I was drunk. Scratch that. I was fucked up.
Confused.
Lonely.
And…I don’t know. Twisted up inside.
I barely remember downloading Grindr, the gay hookup app. I vaguely remember telling myself it was a mistake. That this wasn’t me.
That I wasn’t gay.
But suddenly there I was sitting on the edge of the pool, wasted, alone, and uploading a photo of my bare torso to my profile.
I got a reply in seconds.
“Hey baby, need someone to throat your fat dick tonight?”
As far as I know, that’s the only time I’ve had a panic attack. A full-blown meltdown.
It was too real. Like the war between the me I told myself I was and the me I was always burying came to a violent confrontation.
Then I blacked out, or…something.
And at some point, I became aware of someone screaming my name and dragging me out of the shallow end of the pool.
Brooklyn.
Brooklyn, who for some unknown reason was still at the house.
Brooklyn, who definitely saw the open Grindr app on my phone.
Brooklyn, who had vomit on her shirt and dropped a bottle of my dad’s prescription oxycodone when she dragged me out of the pool.
Neither of us pushed the other for answers. But there was something unspoken that night: we’d both chosen to live another day.
And I will forever—platonically—love her for that.
Me
Maybe. I might be bad company tonight tho.
Brooklyn
All the more reason! C’mon, buddy, I miss your face.
Me
lol. OK, maybe. I’ll let u know if I’m headed that way.
Brooklyn
Yay!
“There you are.”
I blink, turning and feeling my brows arch when I see my sister. She grins, blushing a little as she looks down at her outfit. “Too over the top?”
From a normal human perspective? No.
From an overprotective big brother perspective? Fuck yes.
My brows knit. “You going out?”
She nods. “Yeah, I’m going to go join the girls. It’s not too much?”
“It’s definitely too much.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m asking you not as my big brother.”
I sigh. “You look great,” I mumble begrudgingly. “Where are you going?”
“Doomsday, where else?”
Right. Brooklyn literally just texted me that.
Honestly, if that's where they’re going I feel better about it.
Doomsday gets wild, but the whole security staff there knows who my sister is—enough that if any guy there tries getting shitty, he’ll have his arms broken and his ass tied to a chair in the basement in seconds, waiting for me to get there to ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing being a dick to my sister.
I scowl as I remember something.
…I still haven’t talked to Evie about that convo I saw on her phone.
Then again, she hasn’t mentioned shit to me about it suddenly being deleted and her profile being set to private after I was in her room.
…Maybe this is a mutual agreement never to mention it, ever. Honestly, that sounds like the best course of action. I don’t have slightest fucking clue how to ask my sweet, innocent sister what the fuck she was doing on a kink website arranging to meet a fucking stranger in the woods for sex.
Fuck. Maybe I need to accept that my “little sister” is a twenty-one-year-old woman capable of making her own choices.
“So, not too much.”
I shake my head. “You look great, Eves.”
She beams. “Thanks. The girls are trying to get me to loosen up a little.”
“Well, just don’t lose who you are in the process,” I smile.
She nods. Then she clears her throat. “Hey, two questions. Are you busy right now, and how drunk are you?”
I shrug. “Not busy, and this is only my second.”
She gives me the big cheesy grin that means she needs a favor.
“Spill it,” I sigh, chuckling.
“Can you give me a ride to Doomsday? Puh-lease?”
“Why me? You have a highly protective Russian mobster father who literally has a whole army at his disposal to drive you anywhere.”
Evie shrugs. “Well, for one, you have a sweet car. And Papa’s men….” She pouts. “They’re creepy and scary.”
I chuckle. “That’s the point, Evie. They’re also loyal enough to die to protect you.”
“Still creepy and scary.”
“Stepan isn’t.”
Evie sighs. “Stepan is the greatest. But he’s also a pay grade or five above driving me to clubs.” She gives me the look that’s basically gotten me to do her bidding since the day she was born. “Please, Rome?”
I exhale heavily and wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Okay. Yes.”
“Thank you!” she squeals.
“Who all’s going to be there?”
“Oh,” she shrugs. “The girls. Miguel. James.”
I’ve vetted every guy at the Zakharova, gay or straight. I mean, come on: my sister spends like eighty hours a week with these people.
Miguel and James are both fine in my books. Miguel has a girlfriend he’s devoted to; James is gay and also in a committed relationship.
“Oh, and Val. Obviously.”
My jaw tightens.
“Ooo, I forgot something inside!” She turns, shoving her clutch and her phone into my hands. “Can you hold these for a sec? Thanks!”
Then she's off in a pink tornado to get whatever she forgot.
I stare at her phone for all of two seconds before I open it, click on Val’s name, and save his number—which he's never given me—in my contacts.
A minute later, Evie comes back out. “Ready to go?”
“Yup.”