39. Roman
CHAPTER 39
Roman
“You have to answer,” Katerina says with a giggle that’s so pure I crack a grin. “Zver, you’re cheating!”
“Kitty cat, how am I cheating? I did answer. An answer you don’t like is still an answer.”
She gives an exasperated shake of her head and rolls onto her back. “Only Roman Volkova would consider ‘I don’t know’ an answer. Minus two points!”
“Who made you the judge, hmmm?” I growl, running my fingers along her sides.
She squirms as if tempted to giggle again but resists the urge.
We’re lying in bed in the late hours of the morning enjoying some much needed time together. My men have already started buzzing my phone with requests that I head to the war room for more briefings. As the hours wind down for what will likely be our final mission against the pakhan and sovietnik, it’s imperative that everything is planned out.
For my men to know the tactical ins and outs of what we’ll do.
But I’ve chosen Katerina above all else.
I’ve decided that I needed the extra hour or two with her, which could be a foolish mistake. The man I was before I met her would consider it stupid. He would call me weak for choosing to spend time with a woman rather than use these hours to plan for what will be the toughest battle of my life.
I’m no longer that man, closed off to any human side of himself. The violent, almost feral beast who saw only the bratva as his life.
I’ve grown into a man who has fallen in love with a woman and who treasures moments like these. Simple, small moments between the two of us when no one else is around. They’ve become integral to what fuels me, cementing how crucial it is that I destroy the pakhan.
If I fail…
The burden weighs so heavily that I block out any thoughts about what could happen. I’ll surely die—which I would be fine with if it were an honorable death in the throes of battle—but it’s what would happen to Kat that makes my muscles clench with unease.
She would suffer in unimaginable ways.
The pakhan would see to that.
He wouldn’t have enough decency to end it quick and kill her.
It would be worse than that—he would make sure she was kept alive just so he could use her as a trophy.
Losing this war is not an option. It’s not something I can let happen. Even if I weren’t around for the true devastating effects.
Katerina seems to sense what I do as she’s so playful in bed, like she’s aware this might be the last time we’re afforded this opportunity.
This is the last memory we might be making together.
“Roman,” she whines. Her dark, imploring eyes meet mine. “Please just answer the question.”
I cup her soft cheek and place a kiss on her lips. “I’ve told you. I have never imagined myself as those things. So I’ve never thought about it.”
“You mean you’ve never wanted children ever ?”
“Would you want a miniature me running around?”
A little smile forms at the corner of her lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I’m more than enough for the world. It couldn’t handle a second one of me.”
“You’re soft on the inside, Zver. A mini me would have you melting all over.”
“Devochka.”
“Ya shuchu? * ,” she murmurs in her best attempt at Russian.
My arms slip around her waist to roll her onto her side and closer to me. “So you have been learning.”
“I told you I want to be able to have a conversation with you. I have some phrases down.”
It’s endearing that she’s been practicing. That she’s speaking of us in a future sense as if wanting me to know she believes we’ll survive this.
I grunt, squeezing her close. “Like what? Tell me some.”
“Gde tualet? * ?” she asks almost doubtfully, her brows knitting.
“Where is the toilet?” I repeat in a roar of laughter.
“Don’t laugh!” she says, almost breaking into a giggle herself. She slaps at my chest and snuggles closer. “It’s very important to know how to ask about the restroom. It’s one of the first things they tell you to know when learning a new language!”
I’m unable to stop my laughter for several seconds as she grows self-conscious and tries to roll back over. But I’m holding onto her so tightly, I don’t let her. I press kisses onto her face and neck and urge her to tell me more.
Speak more Russian to me.
“You’re going to laugh!” she pouts.
“Devochka, I love hearing you speak it. Only you can make it sound so fucking… cute.” I kiss her again in encouragement.
Still pouting, she mumbles, “Mozhno mne vody? * ?”
“Can I have water? Very good. You’re learning fast.”
“I need to learn how to say asshole in Russian for times like these.”
“Mudak,” I say grinningly.
“Good. Now I know what to call you when you make fun of me.”
“My kitty cat loves it.”
She surrenders in a fit of more giggles as I tickle my fingers along her sides and then drop more kisses all over. Soon she’s slipped under me and I’m hovering over her, the room full of the sounds of our playfighting.
I nibble at the ball of her shoulder and nuzzle her neck like a beast to more of her laughs. Her hands roam my broad chest, gliding over the scratch marks she’s left everywhere after our passion-fueled night.
I pin her back against the pillow and peer into her eyes, finally ready to answer her question. It’s taken long enough.
“I don’t know was the truth,” I clarify. “Because I have never imagined myself as a father. But I have begun to… sometimes. Only sometimes. Only after meeting you. And if I were to ever become a father, you would be the only woman I would want as the mother to my child.”
Tears gloss her eyes immediately. Different emotions flicker across her beautiful, bare face. Some of them leftover from the grief she’d been feeling last night after losing her friend. Fresh pain that slowly fades for hope and optimism.
I press a final kiss to her lips before I’m forcing myself out of bed.
I’ve indulged long enough. It’s time to begin preparations for the next phase of this war.
“Zver,” she murmurs, sitting up in bed, clutching the sheet to her chest. “When will you be back?”
I pause footsteps outside the closet, keeping my back to her. I could lie, tell her I’ll be back tonight and we’ll spend more time together.
But I’ve learned it’s best to be honest. We’ve been through so much together in a short amount of time that there’s no use leaving her in the dark.
“I don’t know, kitty cat,” I confess. “But a crew of men will be here with you. Protecting the building. If they tell you it’s time to evacuate, then something has happened, and you go with them. They will take you to a different location where it’s safe.”
She shakes her head. “Not without you?—”
“You go where they take you,” I order. “I’m not asking, Katerina. You must go with my men.”
I stride into the closet to change and get ready for the day, aware she’s unhappy with what I’m telling her to do, but it’s necessary given the war we are in.
“This is insanity,” Kazan objects, slapping a hand on the war planning table. “Zver, we’ll be heavily outnumbered. We can’t go through with this!”
I aim a deadly glare in his direction. “Shram, know your place. I suggest you shut the fuck up right now or I will make sure you quickly learn it.”
He bites back the next response he wants to give, falling silent. I look around the room at the rest of my men waiting on my direction.
“Eto poslednyaya bitva? * ,” I say. “We have no choice but to be victorious. Finish getting ready. Tonight, we head out.”
Kazan remains in his chair until the rest of the men have left and then he chooses to backtalk some more.
“Zver,” he says through gritted teeth, “you said we would be smart about taking out the pakhan. A direct attack is anything but. We need to scrap this plan. It is suicide.”
“You will have to trust that it will work.”
“Trust? What trust when it will be twenty men against one hundred?”
“It is my decision. Not yours.”
He half-lunges out of his chair until I do the same, rising to full height. I eclipse him easily, glaring down at him in a final warning.
“Tonight is the night the pakhan is becoming the new owner of the Midnight Society. Which means tonight is the night we attack. If you are too much of a pussy, then get the fuck out of my sight. If you are as loyal and brave as you’ve claimed, then go get ready. We leave at twenty hundred hours.”
Kazan’s nostrils flare from his anger boiling on the inside but he gives a reluctant nod. Rising to his feet, he marches out of the room. Presumably to go arm himself for our departure.
I crack my neck and close my eyes, taking the moment to center myself. In front of my men I’ve had to appear unyielding and fearless, but the truth is, the possibility we might fail tonight lurks in the shadows of my mind.
I’ve put faith in many things working out in my favor tonight.
There’s a chance it won’t happen that way. There’s a chance it will be the opposite.
All members of the Midnight Society show up in their dazzling black-tie dress and masks to the Winchester Hotel. We watch from a high rise across the busy city street as limousines and town cars pull through the circle valet, and some of Easton’s richest residents get out to head inside.
The pakhan arrives later than everyone.
The guest of honor, he pulls up in a motorcade of sleek black cars. The doors fly open and he steps out along with his men. Just his security detail outnumbers the crew of men I have.
That doesn’t count the men already inside. The other crews he must have on standby or in the area.
I can sense Kazan’s irritation. He yearns to tell me I told you so, but it doesn’t fucking matter what he thinks.
We’ll proceed with our plan as discussed.
If we wait any longer, then the pakhan will have the Midnight Society under his thumb and the opportunity to stage an attack first, putting us in a defensive position. The same defensive position it seems we’ve been playing for a while since I was unaware of his motives.
It’s time we make the offensive move. The pakhan must be taken by surprise. What better opportunity than the night he believes he’ll be assuming power over another organization?
“Alright, time to move in,” I say, speaking into the mic attached to my tactical vest. The men I have stationed on the ground level are able to hear every word spoken. I motion at the small team who have stuck with me. “Remember the plan. Same entry routes.”
My men advance on the Winchester from all angles. Some come up the rear while others approach the sides. Me and my small crew approach the front.
The valets stationed outside the hotel rush toward us to inform us there’s a closed event happening.
“I’m sorry but this is invitation only,” one of the men says.
We don’t slow down, unsheathing large knives once we’re within reach and twisting them into their stomachs.
“This is my invite,” I growl, stepping aside to let the one I’ve stabbed flop to the ground. We carry on through the front entrance.
More men start toward us, these security for the hotel. They meet a similar fate. A few reach for the holsters strapped to their hips, but we’re quicker than they are. We take them out with relative ease, barely making a peep.
For now, it’s important we’re as quiet as possible so as not to alert the rest.
The Winchester is known for its extravagance for a reason—the entrance hall is massive, comprised of marble and gold everything.
No wonder the mudaks that are part of this club attend these events; it’s pure luxury, from the ornate fountain statues spitting arcs of water to the waitstaff walking around with endless champagne. Several of them scream and run off once they notice us.
We’re crashing the party, clearly here for trouble in our combat gear and weapons.
My men converge. The ones who have come in through the sides and the back appear in time to join us as we approach the main ballroom, where the members are gathered. The event has begun with everyone’s undivided attention on the front of the room.
The pakhan sits behind a long table with an assortment of other club members. They each wear masks except for him, hiding their identities. A woman in a sweeping black gown speaks to the room, going on about how the pakhan has been the club’s savior.
Without him, the Midnight Society was on the brink of collapse.
I’ve heard enough. We stride through the double doors of the ballroom. I’m in the front, clearing my throat and making our presence known.
The woman speaking on the microphone cuts herself off. Everyone else in the room glances around in confusion until they turn and see us at the back of the room.
I grin at the pakhan once our gazes meet. “Privet, pakhan? * . My prishli prisoyedinit’sya k vecherinke? * .”
He remains in his seat as if without a care in the world. “Khorosho. Ya tebya zhdal? * .”
The pounding of dozens of feet sound from behind us. We turn around to find the atrium that we’ve just moved through suddenly crowded with crews of the pakhan’s men.
The one hundred to twenty that Kazan had predicted.
The outnumbering I had anticipated and hoped I’d planned against.
But I refuse to back down. The bloodthirsty grin clenched on my face only spreads.
It looks like only one group will survive the night.
* ? Ya shuchu - I’m kidding
* ? Gde tualet - where’s the toilet?
* ? Mozhno mne vody - can I have some water?
* ? Eto poslednyaya bitva - this is the last battle
* ? Privet, pakhan - Hello, boss
* ? My prishli prisoyedinit’sya k vecherinke - We came to join the party.
* ? Khorosho. Ya tebya zhdal - Okay, I was waiting for you