Chapter 49 Natasha’s Memorial
Natasha’s Memorial
Roman
I was on top of the world. The love of my life was in my arms every night, her innocent eyes looked into mine with admiration, and her joyous laughter was just for me. And soon, she would become my wife.
Me. Having a wife. I was certain that when anyone heard that, they’d think it was the biggest lie in the world. But there was nothing truer in my entire thirty-six years on this planet—I was hopelessly in love with an amazing woman who made me complete.
Who made me a better person. A woman who was the whole universe.
I did have moments when I was sure I hallucinated it all. That I would wake up one day and realize it was all a dream. For the first time ever, my reality was sweeter than any dream my mind could conjure.
She was in front of me—a diamond, the most precious possession in the whole world. All mine. Her ring sparkled so brightly, and I loved how it overpowered her dainty little hand.
But while my life with Isla was perfect, the rest of it was a dark pit. Claudio doubled down, pressuring me for those contracts. At this point, I had to make a decision—take him out or give up a part of my business and show weakness. I had no desire to do either one.
And the darkest part was, of course, Natasha's memorial and Sergei. Isla and I arrived in L.A. for the somber event, and she had an important job to do—charm Lena enough that she would spill any details about that night.
My secretary organized it all, fielding hundreds of calls from those who wanted to attend and pay their respects. Everyone loved Natasha. I limited it to fifty of the closest people to us.
As much as this gruesome anniversary ate away at me, like Isla, I also had a goal that day: get Sergei to confess something—anything—that could indicate he had something to do with her death.
Dressed in black, both Isla and I headed to the cemetery before the memorial dinner.
My skin crawled the closer we approached.
For four years after Natasha died, I went religiously—once a week, sometimes more.
But this past year I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stomach seeing her name carved into stone.
Couldn’t bear thinking about her body lying six feet underground.
"Is your mom buried here too?" Isla looked out the window of the car once we pulled up, her voice timid and small.
This was awful. This was a terrible detail that I forbade myself to think about.
"No." I cleared my throat, eyes fixed ahead.
"My mom doesn't have a grave.” It never got easier to admit that. “She passed away at the emergency department. And…my sister and I never claimed her as a relative. I was fifteen. Natasha was ten. We had maybe two grand in our bank account…not enough to bury her. And we didn’t want anyone to know she was gone.”
I gulped hard while Isla sat beside me—frozen, her beautiful eyes wide and her bottom lip trembling. “When she took her last breath…we said our goodbyes, took her purse and ID…and went home."
Isla gasped lightly, but my morbid story wasn’t over. “We didn't tell anyone she died. No one ever suspected anything at school, and we pretended that she was alive. For years. Every official call—bank, school, whatever…my sister faked her voice on the phone.”
Isla's hand slipped into mine, warm and trembling. She threaded her fingers with mine, squeezing them tight and sniffling quietly. "Holy shit, Roman,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. That’s…that’s unbelievably hard.”
Isla had already cried that morning, and her empathy and soft heart made me fall in love with her harder. She was beside me even when I revealed the ugliest parts of my life.
I was surprised to see Sergei already standing at Natasha's grave when Isla and I walked up. It looked like he was in the middle of saying something, but as soon as he caught sight of us, he quickly shut his mouth.
"Hello."
His deep voice with an easily discernible Russian accent greeted us both. Sergei had been in America for as long as I had. We were both kids when we learned English, but Sergei's Russian accent never fully went away. He never put any effort into anything except fucking and killing.
After paying our respects, we arrived at the restaurant and took our seats, the atmosphere somber and charged with anger.
Sergei was on edge, ready to start cursing at anyone who got in his way.
He’d already had an argument with the valet out front, and the hostess got a dose of his rude remarks as well.
I asked for a bottle of vodka at the table, and as the night wore on, I kept his shot glass full.
Across from us, Isla worked patiently at breaking down Lena’s cold and arrogant exterior.
It took almost two hours of idle chit-chat and subtle nudging, but finally, she succeeded.
Lena started laughing and sharing more details about her life.
Just as planned, the two of them headed to the bar together to get a drink. Lena rose to her feet, her last look at Sergei deadly, like she was sending him a silent warning to ease up on the vodka, but he didn’t fucking care.
Lena had always been a strange woman, but I’d never suspected she could have been a dangerous one. She popped up out of nowhere, and within months of meeting Sergei, she got pregnant, before he proposed.
It had always been clear to everyone that Sergei didn't respect her. He would often crack jokes at her expense—her social background, her behavior, and even her laugh. And he cheated on her like clockwork—any chance he got, it wasn’t a secret.
Yet, I got the sense that Lena was oblivious to it all. She looked at Sergei as if he were a king and she were his dutiful servant. He was often rude and condescending, careless with his words, but she accepted it, never putting him in his place.
She did everything for him. Ran the house, raised the kids, knew his schedule, and managed it all behind the scenes, and he treated her like a possession or maybe a personal assistant.
I suspected that she was deeply in love with him while he merely tolerated her.
"You know, Roma…you're a lucky man," Sergei slurred beside me while I watched Isla and Lena stand together at the bar. Lena was a head taller than Isla in her sky-high heels, but Isla stood out from everyone, like she descended from heaven.
Was she really an angel sent to me from above?
"Yeah? Why's that?" I wasn't fully paying attention to him, noticing Lena speaking in an animated fashion.
"She loves you.” He dragged his gaze to Lena and Isla for a swift second. “And…what's even more important is…you…are in love. I never thought I'd see the day when you’d love a woman the way you love her."
Sergei blinked slowly and nodded. His cold, ruthless mask was slipping—the vodka had done its job, and now was my chance to delve deeper into what I so wanted to know.
"I am," I said evenly, feigning nonchalance. "That's why I almost killed you for what you said, Seryoga. You don't fucking say that shit to her. Or to anyone, for that matter. What the fuck is wrong with you, brother?"
Brother. That word had long lost its meaning between us.
I turned to him, witnessing another one of his repulsive smirks. He paused for a moment, as if choosing his words. "I'm sorry.” He threw the sentiment out there, but this time it sounded genuine. “I don't know why I said it. I guess I was just jealous…that you felt that way about someone."
"You've been married for, like, five years, man. You have a family and kids. What are you talking about? Lena loves you,” I probed deeper, but he was shaking his head before I could even finish my sentence.
"No.” That one word carried such a heavy weight.
“I don't love Lena. I never loved her. My heart always belonged to someone else.
Someone who we lost. Someone…who couldn't see how much I wanted her.
" His voice dropped, the implication of his words sending a shiver down my spine.
Tears collected in the corners of his eyes when he added, "She never gave me the time of day. "
My stomach fucking dropped. He was talking about Natasha.
All my suspicions blazed like a hot fire inside me. The way he was around her. The way he always asked about her. The way he looked at her…like I look at Isla.
Your sister is great.
Natasha is such a good girl.
Are you inviting Natasha?
Will Natasha be around?
Let’s hang out with Natasha, make sure she comes too.
She’s so funny.
She’s so innocent.
She’s adorable.
She’s such a smart woman.
She has such a pure smile.
She’s such a grown-up now.
She, she, she, she.
She!
She!
She!
She!
I breathed through the shock of the confirmation I’d just received and approached from afar. "Is that why it was so hard for you to let her go?"
But Sergei hid nothing anymore, laying out all his cards. He turned to me fully, his drunk eyes blazing with pain and regret. "Yes, Roma. I loved Natasha. Always.” The words spread through me like a slow poison. “She was everything to me, but she never, ever took me seriously.”
The severity of his confession froze me to the chair. I’d been such a fucking fool.
“I left for the army because of her. Because she was too young and I was too fucked up over her.
And I wanted to show her that I was a man who could be worth her while.
I served our country. I made something of myself back home; I wasn't just a fucking killer and drug dealer!
" The force in his voice translated all his regrets.
I didn’t dare interrupt.
"Do you know how many times I asked her out, Roma? Hundreds.” His voice shook at that last word. “I chased her for years. And every time…Every. Single. Fucking. Time…she shut me down.”
Sergei took a deep breath in and swallowed hard, but I knew he had more to say. I sat motionless, half-turned toward him, afraid to move and distract him from spilling his soul.