Chapter 33
“A blade can always turn on the hand that tries to wield it.”
VALENTINA
THREE DAYS LATER
“Are you quite serious, Sasha?” Roksana asks—Roman’s mother, who has permitted me to call her by her first name.
I almost regret inviting Sasha to our afternoon meal, but after I’d practically hogged Roksana, I knew it was time for Roman’s most important family to meet my family.
My brother tips his head back, his dark curls flirting with his cheeks as he laughs…at my expense. “Deadly serious—and I knew Val would turn downright deadly if I did not give her rocking horse back immediately.”
I laugh softly and wave a hand. “I’d like to go on record that I don’t remember any of this.” But putting superglue on the saddle of a real prized horse, one my father taught Sasha to ride… “I guess it does sound like something I’d do.”
“Milaya moya, of course it does,” Roksana says. “And may I say how lovely you look.”
I nod a thank you. Today, I chose a royal blue velvet wrap dress with a deep V-neckline and bell sleeves with black suede slippers. The black lace choker Roman gave me complements the brand on my chest.
It still fills me with a subtle sense of wonder whenever I look at Roman’s mother—how similar they are. The same piercing emerald eyes, though Roman’s are more deeply hooded and commanding, while his mother’s are deep-set and intense.
“Val has always been a force of nature,” Sasha adds. “She outshines me in so many ways.”
Our eyes meet, and our hands find each other in a silent clasp that says more than blood ever could. We were more than siblings. We were allies, the kind who shared secrets and scars.
And yet, from what I’ve gathered—from the stories he’s shared, and the glimmers I’ve received—I was always the one our father feared.
Not because I was more beautiful, but because I was harder to mold.
Sasha, with his charm and easy grace, could be steered.
I could not. And that’s why our father wanted to get rid of me—before I learned just how much power I held.
I hold more power now.
I pause as we arrive outside the manor’s gallery, one of many rooms I haven’t frequented.
Sasha touches my elbow, leans in, and kisses my cheek.
“I promised Fleur I’d help her decorate the ice sculptures.
You enjoy your time with Roksana Ivanovna.
” Oh, he is laying it on thick with the deep tone of respect, citing her first name plus the patronymic, expecting me to do the same. Which I will, of course.
Once Sasha is gone, Roksana and I enter the gallery, and I gush at all the priceless art. I guess I’ve been too busy interacting with all the staff to worry as much about appreciating the deeper beauty in Roman’s estate. Our estate. By now, I know everyone’s names and pieces of their histories.
Roman might also have a secret gallery where I’ve frequented more. If frequented means posing in the nude so my husband can photograph me to his heart’s desire and hang the art on the walls…
Roksana moves through the long gallery, surveying the oil paintings and sketches, all Russian—melancholic winter landscapes, bold iconography, and portraits that seem to breathe with the weight of history.
She pauses before one: a family portrait with a younger Roksana standing proud beside a tall, sharp-eyed man.
Two teenage boys stand in front of them—one younger, dark-haired, handsome, and haughty, the other golden, proud, and commanding with a subtle knowing smirk.
I stop beside her, watching her expression shift as if caught between pride and regret.
“My work kept me from them,” she murmurs. “As the Bratva’s blade, I was always moving, always killing. But their father…he was the face. He played the political game better than anyone. We were unstoppable. Formidable.”
“But…” I say softly.
She smiles, faint and tired. “But…I made the mistake of having children.” Her voice is low, wistful.
“It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually I stopped taking contracts.
I wanted to be a mother. He did not stop.
If anything, he became more ruthless. My husband traveled more than he was home, building his empire—an empire made possible due to my sacrifices, my bloodshed.
Roman…he was always mine. I saw it early—his gift.
His precision. He needed discipline, strength.
I gave him that. But Anton had his father’s charm. ”
“So, you made Roman the man he is today?”
She tips her head with an amused laugh. “Hardly, milaya moya. I simply gave him the tools. Roman forged his own path. And the path was never clearer, never brighter than the one he forged on your behalf.”
I smile. From the little I have learned, mostly from Mikhail and Zina, Roman took every contract imaginable. This island, this sanctuary, was years in the making, all for one reason. “Everything. For me.”
Roksana’s eyes narrow, a smirk curling her lips. “For you, Valentina. And God help you, the only one who deserves him.”
“High praise.”
“No.” She turns, nearly incinerating me with her intense green eyes, a silent command not to diminish myself.
I don’t. I stand, tall and proud, with the supreme weight of a bejeweled crown on my head. “How is it that we never met before? You weren’t at the wedding?”
“Oh, I was. The official one with its hundreds of guests and pomp and circumstance. But I was called away on last-minute business,” she explains.
“With the boys grown, a female tycoon must have her hobbies. Such hobbies allow me to keep an eye on both my boys. My only regret in life will ever be that I did not meet you earlier, Valentina Makarova.” She smiles with keen approval.
I know better than to ask the details of her “hobbies”, but I can’t help but ask, “So what is Roman’s father like? Roman implied some bad blood in his family. I know it wasn’t a reference to you.”
“Hmm, bad blood is an understatement.” A shadow crosses her features as she stares at the image of her husband.
“Roman was always mine. Nikolai claimed Anton. He was never satisfied with just politics—he wanted a legacy. And Anton… he wanted power without honor. When he was eighteen, he betrayed me. Used my name. My contacts. My network. For flesh. A trafficking ring, disguised as humanitarian aid.”
I flinch, bile rising in my throat. “Oh, God.”
Disgust gnaws at my stomach lining. No wonder Roman goes to such extreme lengths for me, for everyone.
“When Roman found out, he began to burn it down,” she goes on. “One deal at a time. One buyer at a time. Quietly. Without mercy. Anton took out a contract on him. Family,” she says with disgust, “meant nothing. But my son—my son—killed every last hitman who came for him.”
She pauses, eyes straying from the portrait, and I follow as she moves on, putting it behind her.
“Anton is more of a lion. He would never do the real dirty work his brother does. Roman topples empires. Anton sifts through the rubble and builds thrones from the ruin. Power and money versus Roman’s cunning and intelligence.
” Her voice quiets. “My youngest son has been lost to me for a long time. The blood was already bad, Valentina. You simply made it personal. You are Roman’s softest spot…
and the sharpest blade they’d use against him if they ever got the chance. ”
“A blade can always turn on the hand that tries to wield it,” I say, straightening, shoulders back, chin high.
She turns, her eyes gleaming. “Whatever loss I feel for my son pales in comparison to what I have gained in you as a daughter, Valentina.”
“Valentina.”
Roksana and I both turn at the familiar voice. There is my storm standing in the entryway. Lowering his hooded eyes, Roman crooks a finger, a simple summons. I lean in, giving Roksana a cheek before crossing the gallery to my husband. I overhear her laughing softly behind me.
“I must steal my wife away for a short time, Mamma,” he tells her, offering me his arm.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Somehow, I will cope, moy syn. I’ve been wanting to connect with Fleur in any case.”
Roman smirks. “Don’t get any ideas, Mamochka. I may lend Fleur to you for a party or two, but they are my floral designer.”
I refrain from giggling as Roksana stiffens and wrinkles her nose. “I have offered to pay them double what you do.”
He pats the back of my hand with a snicker. “If only you could buy blood loyalty.”
She hisses, but I can see the subtle upturn of her mouth. All in jest. Without another word, Roman escorts me into the hallway.
“What are you up to, moy korol?” I tiptoe my fingers along his arm.
“It’s time to give you a lesson in self-defense.”
My lips part in shock. “Seriously? You’re going to use me as a punching bag now?”
He raises a brow. “Your twisted mind never ceases to surprise me, Moya Koroleva. No, I have something more suitable in mind. A knife may be a useful tool, but I intend for you to be armed more accordingly.”
He leads me to an elevator at the end of the hall, presses his thumb to the sensor on the right, and it opens to his print. Once we’re inside, I stare up at him, reading the concern creasing his eyes. “Roman? Is everything okay?” I cup his shoulder.
A shadow crosses his face, and he glances away.
“Hey.” I touch my fingertips to his cheek, drawing his attention back to me. “I’m your wife. Your queen,” I remind him.
With a firm nod, Roman locks eyes with me and says, “Anton and my father may know our location.”
A cold wave strikes my chest. “How?”
He sighs and rubs a hand down his face. The elevator stops on the basement level. “Sasha. He and your father met with Anton shortly after the crash.”
“Did Anton cause the crash?” I ask as the doors open.
Roman shakes his head. “No, but he knows you are the greatest chink in my armor.”
“Why now? After two years?
He leads me down a dark hall with concrete walls.
“I cannot tell you that, Valya. I destroyed the tracker I found injected under Sasha’s skin.
” My eyes turn wide, but Roman goes on, “It was small enough. All he would have felt was a prick. But the winter season affords us more protection. Much riskier to get here by boat or plane. And this island is equipped with the best security money can buy.”
I smirk, thinking of a certain day, stepping on a landmine. “You don’t say.”
He rolls his eyes and urges me around the corner. “I also have radar scramblers. By the time the weather turns in their favor, I will have dealt with Anton and my father.”
My blood chills. “What do you mean by that?” I don’t want him anywhere near those demons.
He pauses before the next corner, firmly cups my chin, and searches my eyes. No, he hunts my eyes. “I will deal with it, Valentina. I will protect you.”
“Fine.” I ball my hands into fists and glower. “But you have to promise me you will protect yourself, too.”
He smiles before leaning in to kiss my forehead. “As my Queen commands.”
The next corner opens into an underground shooting range. My breath catches at the concrete walls, dim lighting, and the faint, lingering scent of gunpowder. Rows of paper targets hang at the far end, riddled with old bullet holes. Others are cruciform metal T-frames and steel plate target walls.
“Impressive,” I say while entering one of the booths.
“You will be far more impressed with my skills, Moya Samotsvet,” he practically purrs behind me.
Setting one hand on my hip, I turn with a knowing smile. “I would expect nothing less, Moya Korona.”
“Your knife skills are exceptional,” he teases, folding his hands behind his back and lowering his head toward me. “I am quite eager to learn if your gun adeptness will match.”
I grin. “Let’s find out.”