Chapter 32 Our WayDeath
Our way or death
Roman
Isla hit the floor right before I got to her. My mind buzzing with shock, I gently picked her up and brought her over to the couch, inspecting her face. It was red, but she wasn’t cut. She wasn’t hurt; she was alright. My Angel was alright.
All of her blurred, and it took me a moment to realize that I had tears in my eyes. I hadn’t cried since my sister passed.
This was ruin.
This news that we both discovered—there was no recovery from this, this was pure devastation.
I was fully responsible for the death of her parents. I planned it, I made the final decision, I was the one who left Isla without a family.
Oh God, what kind of a fucking night was this?! My mind was ablaze with a thousand questions. What the fuck were the chances that we would be brought together like this?! Why the fuck didn't I pay attention to her last name?!
But I knew the answer to that. I was so smitten and interested in her from the moment she landed in my arms that I didn’t care what her last name was.
On my knees in front of the little couch, tears streamed freely down my face now. I ran my fingers down her soft cheek, but she was out cold. I knew she’d wake in a minute, so I rushed to get a bottle of water, and when I turned back, she was already stirring.
But as soon as she saw me, she jolted upright with a gasp and scrambled to her feet, cautiously backing away from me. I reached out, my voice a half-whisper. “Ange-”
"Don't...don't touch me. Don't. Please. Just stay away,” she pleaded quietly, her hands out in front of her like a barrier. I nodded silently and plopped down on the couch, shutting my eyes. I was descending into a black hole.
Isla stood a few feet away, just to the side, her face buried in her hands as silent sobs shook her entire body. She was trembling in that soft little dress, her hair extra wavy after our sudden departure from the bathtub.
She looked so small. So fragile.
I didn't know what to say. I'm sorry I murdered your parents? What the hell kind of sentence was that?
"D-did you...” She choked on her words but then steadied herself. "Did you know my parents had kids? Before you destroyed everything?" Her pure eyes devastated and wet, she wrapped her arms around herself, like she was trying to shield herself from me.
"No." I told her the truth. "I didn't know anything about your dad's personal life. It's easier..." I hesitated, knowing how unhinged and inhumane my next words would sound. "It's easier to do...what I did if you don't know the person's background."
At those words, she turned away slightly, a new wave of sobs overpowering her.
This was the worst night of my life. What was worse, actually? When my mother died? When I had to identify my sister at the morgue? Or this? Close call.
I couldn't take it—couldn’t watch Isla fall apart all by herself. I stood slowly, but she stepped back right away, alarmed at my movements.
She was afraid of me.
Oh my fucking God. I couldn't. I wouldn't. I refused to lose her. Whatever I needed to do to fix this, I would do it. I’d spend the rest of my life begging for forgiveness, but I was not letting her go.
"How did they actually die?" Isla squeaked out, her body visibly shaking.
Yes, this was it—the worst night of my life.
When my mother passed, when I saw Natasha on that steel table, those moments were final; there was nothing to be done, no bringing them back.
But this…this was like some medieval torture technique, where you watch how your heart gets ripped apart little by little.
The best night of my life quickly turned into the biggest nightmare I'd ever had to live through.
"Isla...I don't think this informa—" I tried to shut it down, but she cut me off loudly.
"How did they actually die, Roman?!" She was ready to physically attack me, so I nodded, choosing to defuse the situation.
"They were...they were strangled, but they died a quick death, Isla. They didn't suffer, I swear.” The words rushed out of me, her eyes widening at what she’d heard.
“The goal was just to eliminate them, not torture them.
" I heard myself and hated it. I sounded like I was explaining a business transaction to a child.
At that, she let out a sound I’d never forget—a loud, aching wail, filled to the brim with pain and grief. She collapsed on her knees and began sobbing in earnest now, pulling at her hair, her world tumbling into chaos.
“No, no, no, no,” she chanted without pause, her cries echoing in the room. She was falling apart in front of me, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find a solution.
There was none.
This was me five years ago when I found out about the death of my sister. In one second, it all shattered, and I never fully recovered.
I moved closer, getting on my knees beside her, careful to maintain distance so she wouldn't feel threatened and back away. I couldn’t just leave her there abandoned.
Isla slumped down on the floor and curled onto her side, her little white dress riding up high enough to expose the scars on her thighs. She sobbed, her face flushed and streaked with tears. Tears that I had caused. How many tears had she shed because of me?
I cried too. I sat beside her, wiping my tears, fully understanding that this…this was irreparable. In a minute, in one minute, everything between us changed. Forever.
"You...killed...my parents,” she whispered slowly, like she needed time to understand the words. She lay on the floor and tried to catch her breath, staring right past me.
"Isla..." I began, not sure what to say. That I was sorry? That word didn't even begin to express my remorse. "I–I don't know what to say. This isn’t even a nightmare situation. I wish—”
"Let's go." Her voice cut through my words like a whip, and she suddenly sat up. "Let's go. I'll grab my keys and some of my things, and then take me home. To my home."
No. No way was I letting her go.
"No," I said firmly. "No, Isla, you’re not going anywhere. You can’t live on your own; it’s too dangerous.” But in response, she threw her head back, breaking out in bitter laughter.
"Go fuck yourself!” she shouted, a new wave of tears overpowering her. “You don’t get to tell me anything anymore!”
Jesus Christ. I would have gladly been cut to pieces instead of enduring her hate.
“I never want to see you or anything here again.
I'm going to leave! Tomorrow. I'm going back to New York. Fuck absolutely everything!” She jumped to her feet and headed for the door.
"Let's go!" Violently, she swung the office door open and stormed out, leaving her sorrow and anger behind.
My soul threatening to burst out of me, I climbed to my feet and followed her, joining her at the elevator which she couldn't take without my key. She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, the devastation of our news settling between us like a curse.
In silence, we made it back home, and without throwing me a glance, she opened the door to her side of the closet and looked over her things. She tugged a few pieces off their hangers and shoved them into her travel bag, purposely leaving everything I’d bought her.
I leaned against the doorway, waiting for her to calm down.
I wouldn’t let her leave. I would fight her, I would tie her up, but I wouldn't let her leave.
"Isla, stop packing.” I spoke loudly, making sure she heard me, but she acted as if I wasn’t there. "Don't ignore me. I'm serious. I'm not letting you go anywhere."
"Shut the fuck up, Roman. Who the fuck are you to tell me anything? You're a fucking murderer!" She spun to face me, tears bursting out of her eyes once more. She yanked open a drawer and pulled out a few bras and other lingerie, stuffing them into her bag.
"Isla, please. I had no idea that was your dad." I also had no idea how to uphold this nightmare of a conversation.
"Oh, I'm sure you fucking didn't! But that doesn't even matter!” She zipped up the bag and threw it on our bed.
“It doesn't matter whose parents they were!
Us getting together was just a fucking freak accident, a very strange and weird coincidence!
The fact is you killed two innocent people!
You took their lives! And you ruined mine! "
She was shaking, unable to catch her breath. I could barely recognize her. All her pain and sorrow reflected in her eyes, and her angelic face contorted with such devastation. "Who are you, the fucking devil?! Who does that?! Who just fucking kills people like that?! Why aren't you in prison?!”
"Stop!" I shouted back, but that brought on more of her tears.
"Isla, stop." I calmed myself down and took urgent strides toward her.
Shuddering with grief, she tried to pull back when I took her hands into mine.
"Isla. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry that your parents' death was my cause.” I stepped closer, pulling her in.
“But the love we have...can't be broken by anything, Isla.
You can't leave, and I won't let you leave," I implored her, but she couldn’t look at me.
"H-had,” she choked out, unable to rip her hands out of my grasp. "We no longer have anything. Whether you let me or don't let me...I'm leaving.” She finally gave up, like she lost all her strength. “I’m leaving you. LA. Everything."
No. No.
I pulled her in, wrapping my arms around her perfect body, holding her as she descended into more tears, her sobs muffled against my chest. She stayed there, not reciprocating the hug, but unable to hold herself up.
My heart hammered inside me as I waited for her breathing to even out and my mind to calm down.
We just had to talk about it.
"Angel…” I prayed, holding her tight, afraid she would slip away. “I'm not letting you go. I've done awful and bad things in my life. I can’t deny it. I’m so sorry I inflicted pain on your family, but it's not because I'm a serial killer and get pleasure from it."
Holy fucking shit, I was trying to justify having killed her parents with the worst possible explanation.
"In my line of work...it happens a lot. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry that your family fell victim to it.” I breathed in her scent, getting momentary respite from the pain of our reality. “I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
The thought turned over in my head—Isla seemed to have no idea who her father really was.
He moved in my circles, and the rules were black and white.
I didn’t kill him because I simply wanted to.
It wasn’t out of spite or personal malice; it was business.
I was very clear about the consequences if he didn’t cooperate.
I warned him again and again, but he was the one who picked the path of war.
In fact, he was the one who initially barged into our territory. If he hadn’t made that first move, our paths never would have crossed. But how could I possibly explain any of that to her? She’d never believe me. Not now. Not after the details she’d found out.
Alarmingly calm, Isla listened to my words but then asked a question I’d dreaded since the moment I met her. "What exactly is your line of work, Roman?"
We both knew I never told her the full extent of it.
I chewed on my bottom lip and divulged nothing, unsure how much lower I could possibly fall in her eyes tonight.
"Hm?” She prompted me, seeing my hesitation. “You can tell me. It's obvious you do something fucking sinister, so just spit it out."
There was no way around it now. My secret would be revealed, and all the gory and horrible details of my life would start popping up like mushrooms after summer rain. The plan was to hide it from her for a few years and then disappear. But now…that plan flew out the fucking window.
After a few more seconds of charged silence, I finally gave her the truth.
"Bratva."
The word fell between us, and I prayed that she wouldn’t understand and never ask for clarification.
"I don't know what the fuck that means, so why don't you tell me exactly what you do, Roman?” She was serene and eerily composed, like she didn't just cry for a whole hour.
"Don't be scared,” she almost taunted. “Your worst fears are already coming to pass; there’s no need to hide anymore.
Tell me." Deep hate reflected in her gray eyes.
I took a deep breath in and out. There was no point in holding back anymore.
"I'm in the Russian Mafia, Isla. And I steal and kill.” She stared at me, her expression giving nothing away. “The West Coast is my territory. Everyone has their piece of the pie. I did what I did because there was no other choice. It's either our way or death. And your father knew that."