47. Roman
SIX MONTHS LATER…
I have been shot eight times. I have been waterboarded. Beaten with an inch of my life. Targeted by the pakhan of the bratva because I was considered such a fucking threat to his mere existence that he hatched an elaborate scheme to destroy me.
Death, torture, attempts on my life. None of it was new.
But no situation has ever caught my interest more than when one an amateur kidnapper with honey-brown skin and tight lavender curls tried to ransom me.
I could have crushed her easily in the palm of my hand, yet she acted as if she were in charge.
I was intrigued.
There was something different about her that held my attention. She earned my fascination as she stood her ground even after the cowards in her crew left her in charge of me. You could even say I was impressed.
She was cute… like a kitten.
I wouldn’t hurt her. But I would make her mine.
It was in that moment that I claimed Katerina Everly for myself. I was the son of the sovietnik. Trusted soldier of the pakhan. A brigadier in the bratva. I was a man known as Zver, violent and beastly in every way.
No was not a word in my vocabulary.
I conquered, claimed, and took as I pleased. Katerina would be mine because I decided that would be the case. She had made the foolhardy mistake of trying to kidnap my father (and then me), but she was also so irresistible that I wanted her for myself.
At the time, I planned to have my way with her. Use her however I saw fit, then discard her when I grew bored, like most men in my lifestyle.
Never did I imagine that it would be the polar opposite. That I would grow so attached to a spunky, defiant woman I nicknamed kitty cat that I fell hard. That I could no longer imagine an existence without her.
Months after that unforgettable night where she tried to kidnap me, I’m still a beast. I’m still a formidable, powerful, killing machine with an appetite for blood and violence. But I’m also a man who has a woman I love at my side.
After the war with the pakhan and my victory, I assumed leadership in the family. I took over the mantle of pakhan, succeeding in a way my father, the sovietnik, never did. Though I’ll never know for sure, I suspect he would be proud in his own twisted way.
Our relationship was fucked up. It was never the typical father-son dynamic, right down to his abandonment of my mother and me during my childhood. Even as I joined the bratva and worked under him, I was never treated as his son.
I was another soldier who had to work my way up. I earned my rank as a captain.
Now I’ve earned pakhan.
The war left our numbers in America depleted. Dozens of the men loyal to my predecessor died the night we crashed the event at the Winchester. It will take us years to rebuild our ranks and even some of our standing among the Five Families.
Salvatore Mancino is giving us the space necessary to recover. A new ally even in the aftermath of the war that went on, he visits me one afternoon in my office.
I nod in greeting. “I’m not sure I remember you ever visiting the last pakhan.”
He’s composed, surveying the open space that’s my office. The handful of men he’s brought with him stand obediently behind him like a wall. “Your memory serves you right,” he answers. “I never visited him because he was an asshole.”
I laugh gruffly. “So am I.”
“You have a self-awareness he didn’t. You’re also not a power-hungry lunatic.”
“You think?”
He sticks both hands in his pants pockets and gives a shrug. “I’m a good read on people. If you are, you know the consequences.”
“You and your men decimated his men. Northam—or any of the surrounding cities—are not the bratva’s to own. We have our territories, yes. But we will always see Russia as ours.”
“It sounds like we’re on the same page.”
We part on a mutual understanding, with the bratva maintaining its place within the Five Families and the territories we still have in place.
It’s what should have happened in the first place had the pakhan not manufactured a war so he could grab hold of more power and eliminate threats.
I rise from behind my desk and glance out the window.
My office overlooks the terrace and the rest of the lawn behind the house. Relatively new, it’s only been home for the past two months.
But every day since, I’ve enjoyed the view from my window.
Now is no exception as I stand by and watch Katerina down below. The sound of her laughter plays beautifully off the sound of Lucero’s. The two of them are attempting yet again to teach him to ride his bike without training wheels.
The small boy always crashes within seconds of her letting go.
She guides him along the cement path and then gently prepares him to pedal by himself. She stands back as the bike wobbles forward and he tries his best to steer. A grin spreads on my face watching him make it farther than he ever has before.
“Look!” he yells. “Kat, look at me!”
“I see you, Luc! Keep going!”
The small, dark-haired boy makes it several more feet before he loses balance and crashes down, landing in the grass nearby. His helmet and knee and elbow pads further cushion his fall.
I leave the window and make it downstairs in time to catch him bouncing up and down and bragging to Kat about how well he did.
“I had it! I could ride around the block,” he boasts excitedly. “I could make it!”
Kat notices me approaching and shares a smirk with me before she answers. “You basically did go around the block. But how about you try again here? I want to see you go again.”
He rushes to grab hold of his bike and push it back toward the starting point.
I stop at her side as we watch him. “He’s gotten better.”
“Slowly… but surely. Were you spying on us again?”
“Maybe,” I answer, grabbing her by the hip. “It’s good to see him smiling.”
The days haven’t always been so bright.
When a young boy loses his mother, it’s a tragic, traumatic experience. It was no different for Lucero, who spent the first few months in our custody holed up in the bedroom we reserved for him, refusing to do anything young boys tend to do. He wouldn’t even eat unless we forced him. He and Kat grieved together over time, sharing memories of Rosita and even visiting her grave to keep the flowers fresh.
But it was a new season. It was over time that he came out of his room. That he started showing some interest in things like riding his bike.
Neither of us have experience raising a child. We’ve taken it by the day, learning together, becoming a family of our own.
I’ve even started bonding with Lucero. He’s curious about the bratva, though we keep him away from the specifics. He seems to understand the criminal world to some degree, likely a product of the environment he was born into.
Someday, when he gets older, I’ll tell him more. Maybe I’ll take him under my wing.
Kat rests her head on my chest and sighs. “I didn’t think it could ever be like this.”
“Me neither. But it is.”
“How did the meeting go with Mancino?”
“Well. We are on the same page.”
“That’s good. No more wars, okay? At least not for a little while.” She tips her head back to aim a pretty smile up at me.
I squeeze her closer, my arm still swathed over her hip. “Wait ’til you come to Russia with me. If you think that was a war, you have no idea what real fighting in the bratva is like.”
“You better be kidding!”
“Ya shuchu? * , remember?”
“Mudak? * !”
I bark out a laugh. “I should’ve never taught you that word.”
“Little do you know, I’ve been having your staff teach me more.”
“Good. Then you really will be prepared for Russia.” I laugh some more as her eyes widen and she goes still in my hold. I drop a kiss on top of her curly head and say, “Kitty cat, you know I would never bring you to a place that was dangerous. You will come with me to visit Russia eventually, but you will be kept safe at all times.”
“I’ve never been out of the country before.”
“Then it’ll be one of many places we go. Lucero too.”
That evening we settle down for a dinner prepared by my private chefs. They often make us authentic Russian meals, but I’ve made sure they incorporate foods that Katerina and Lucero are used to as well.
At the table, Lucero talks our ears off about what he’s learned from the tutor we have him seeing. It’s what’s best for now instead of attending public school.
Katerina and I listen in amusement until he grows bored and then asks if he can play video games in his room.
“An hour and a half tops,” Katerina scolds. “Then you have to start getting ready for bed. I’ll be up to check.”
He almost rolls his eyes before catching himself and then nodding. “Okay, okay.”
I wait until he’s gone and it’s just the two of us seated at the long table.
“You are becoming a mom, devochka,” I tease. “You’ve even taken on the tone.”
Her jaw drops open. “I have not!”
“You saw him. He almost rolled his eyes. That’s what sons do when their mothers nag them.”
“And what about you?” she asks accusatorially. “I heard you telling him he can have an extra slice of honey cake when you thought I wasn’t listening.”
“He’s a growing boy. He needs to be big and strong like…”
She arches a brow. “Like who? His surrogate father? You?”
I grin crookedly and then motion at my staff. “Maybe now is the right time.”
“For more dessert?”
Katerina’s confused as two of my waitstaff return and set down flutes of champagne for us to enjoy. They place a plate in front of Kat that’s not quite what she is expecting. It’s not more honey cake, or more dessert for that matter.
It’s a ring box.
She gasps and then claps her hands to her cheeks. Her gaze flicks from the box to me and I laugh all over again.
“Go ahead. Open it.”
She hesitates another second as if terrified the box might bite her. Finally propping it open, her jaw drops at the diamond ring gleaming up at her from inside.
“Zver…” she chokes out. “What…”
“I want you to be my wife. I want to marry you so you will be mine forever.”
“Mrs. Zver?” she releases a sound somewhere between another gasp and a laugh. “It’s beautiful.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s an I can’t believe I’m about to be Mrs. Zver!”
We laugh together as I grab her hand to hold in mine and take the ring from the box to slide it onto her finger.
“Yes, Mrs. Zver. Otherwise known as Mrs. Katerina Volkova.”
“That… that actually sounds damn good together.”
We come together in a kiss that’s light and celebratory, and in between, more laughter rings out of us.
We rise from the dining room table hand in hand, taking our flutes with us as we head upstairs to finish our celebrations.
The price we’ve paid has been worth it for the life we’re about to have together.
THE END
Thanks for reading Roman and Kat’s story!