Chapter 12 – Roman
I sat at my desk in the dimly lit study, a stub of a Cuban cigar perched between my lips. Smoke curled toward the ceiling, swirling around my face as I leaned back in my chair, listening to the sound of her screams.
Her voice echoed through the halls as my men dragged her to the basement. I’d ordered them to force her out of her room and lock her in a dark cell. The idea was to scare the shit out of her so that when it was time, the fear in her eyes would be authentic enough to deliver my message.
This whole thing was staged. I had her moved to a cold, dark cell, not to punish her but to paint a darker picture of her reality in my estate. I felt a strange emotion swell within me when I heard her screams; it pricked me. However, I couldn’t show any sign of weakness.
Not now.
My phone vibrated on the table, and I casually picked it up. “Is it done?”
“Yes, Boss,” one of my men replied on the other line. “She’s locked up in the basement.”
“And the camera?”
“Rolling.”
I ended the call.
Not long after, the front door swung open, and three of my men, together with my lieutenant, walked in, holding a skinny-looking man captive.
He looked malnourished. His head was bald, his lips were cracked, and he had bags under his hazel eyes. He didn’t look like the ruthless killer I once knew him to be—but I still remembered that face as if it were yesterday.
“Get over there!” Sergei shoved him forward.
Mercer almost fell to the floor but managed to steady himself. His hands were zip-tied behind his back, and although he looked weak, he refused to show any fear. He stood before my table, eyes pinned on me, his face blank.
Even though I almost couldn’t recognize this skinny man, that stubborn look in his eyes was familiar. His daughter got it from him. It was good to see that some things about him hadn’t changed.
“If you’re gonna kill me, then have at it,” he said, his voice deep and husky. “It’s long overdue anyway.”
I let out a puff of smoke, my lips twisting into a mischievous smirk. “Come on, Mercer,” I began, my tone low and even. “Is this how you greet an old friend?”
He swallowed hard, jaw locking in place.
I set down my cigarette in the ashtray, then opened a half-empty bottle of scotch and poured myself a glass. My fingers wrapped around the stem, and I lifted the glass to my lips.
I took a sip. “Scotch?”
Silence.
“No?” I let out a soft sigh. “Suit yourself.”
“Just get it over with, Roman,” he said. “Avenge your uncle…. Kill me.”
My blood boiled at his words, and my face turned ugly with anger. I tightened my grip around the glass in my hand as I glared at him, resisting the urge to put a bullet in his skull.
But I had other plans.
“Kill you?” I asked him, a humorless laugh escaping my lips. “Now would I do that?” I rose from my chair and walked toward him. “Why would I save you from your misery when I can watch you suffer?”
I halted before him, my face mirroring his as we both stood at six-foot-three. I could feel his breath against my skin and vice versa. The longer I held his gaze, the angrier I became.
“You killed my uncle, Mercer,” I said, my voice dripping with hatred. “You tricked the whole family into thinking you were one of us when, in fact, your mission was to end Uncle Akim’s life.”
A hint of regret flashed across his face, but he kept his head up, refusing to look away from me.
“He took you as his own son.” My fingers curled into a fist at my side, my blood boiling with rage. “And you fuckin’ killed him, you cold-hearted son of a bitch.”
“Uncle Akim….”
“Don’t you fuckin’ say his name!” I snapped, yelling in his face.
My shoulders rose and fell with ragged breaths, my eyes blazing with fury as I glared at him.
He maintained his composure, watching me seethe in silence. “If you must kill, make it clean. If you must betray, make it worth it,” he said.
His words triggered memories I’d long buried, and it only infuriated me.
“Uncle Akim taught me that,” he added, his voice soft and confident. “You’re so blinded by your rage that you don’t see how much your family shaped me into the man I became—the man you hate so much.”
“You were already a cold-blooded killer when you came into our lives,” I replied with the same quiet tone. I took a step back, picked up the glass from the table’s surface, and took another sip. “Tell me, Mercer, how did you feel after you killed him?”
There it was again—that glimpse of guilt and regret.
“Do what you must,” he said, then drew a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
“Hmm.” I lowered the glass from my lips. “See, that’s the problem, Mercer—you’re ready to die. Killing you right now would be granting you mercy.” My expression darkened. “And as you know, I’m not merciful.”
His eyes squinted as if he were wondering what I was up to.
“There’s a million ways I can make you suffer,” I said, picking up a remote control from my table. “But let me show you my personal favorite.”
At the push of a button, the live footage of his daughter in my dungeon was displayed on the TV screen.
“Scarlett…no…” he murmured under his breath.
So that was her name. Scarlett.
I watched the light drain from his eyes as he stared at the clip with trembling lips. His expression softened, and for the first time, I saw fear in his fear—raw, undiluted fear.
Good. Very good.
She lay on her side on the floor, her legs pulled up to her chest as the darkness of the cell swallowed her whole. She was shaking like a leaf, too weak to make any more sounds.
Mercer dropped to his knees before me and shook his head, his voice weak and shallow. “Please, take me instead. Let her go,” he begged, his eyes misted as well.
“Looks to me like she’s comfortable where she is,” I said, sipping from my glass. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Mercer shook his head again, his face twisted like a man whose heart was breaking into pieces.
“Not so arrogant now, are you?” I cast a pathetic look at him.
He clutched at my feet and raised his head. “You don’t understand, Roman. You’re killing her.”
At first, I wanted to dismiss his words until he explained further.
“She panics in the dark. Plus, she’s claustrophobic! She’s dying in there!” he added, weeping. “Please, that’s my baby girl; she has nothing to do with this.”
My chest tightened, and I felt a sudden urge to rescue her as soon as possible. “Take him away,” I ordered, turning back to him.
“Roman, please!” he called out. “She could die in there!”
My men forced him to his feet, and as they dragged him out of my study, he kept begging me to get her out of there. “Take me instead!”
My heart sank into my chest as I waited until I could no longer hear his voice echoing through the halls. I grabbed a spare key to the cell and stormed out of my study, hoping to find her breathing when I reached the basement.
If anything were to happen to her down there, I’d hate myself for it.
I couldn’t understand why her safety mattered so much to me, and there was no time to analyze it.
I raced down the steps, reached her cell, and then unlocked the bars. “Scarlett!” I called out, dropping to my knees beside her.
“I can’t…I can’t breathe,” she stuttered, straining to speak. Her voice was so faint that I could barely hear her.
Without a word, I swept her into my arms, cradling her like a bride as I walked out of the cell. She struggled to breathe, his fingers clutching my shirt. Her whole body was shaking, as though she would’ve passed out if I hadn’t shown up when I did.
Once out of the basement, I called out to the maids, and seconds later, Natasha appeared alongside Nikki. They followed me to her room, where I laid her on the bed and entrusted her to their care.
As the maids sprang into action, taking her temperature and getting the things they needed, I took one last look at her before leaving her room.
Downstairs, I sat by the fireplace in the living room, cradling a glass of vodka in my hand. I knew she was in safe hands, yet I couldn’t help thinking about her. A part of me blamed myself for putting her in harm’s way. Although it was never intended, I did endanger her life.
I shouldn’t care so much about it, but I couldn’t help myself. I might have gone too far trying to prove a point: that she was his weakness. And I was right. She was his weakness.
“You were right, Boss,” Sergei’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “Killing him would’ve been merciful. The fear in his eyes when he saw his daughter in your cell was priceless.” He let out a throaty laugh, mocking Mercer.
I glanced at him as he sat across from me with a smug smirk playing on his lips.
“Where is he now?” I asked, referring to Mercer.
“As planned, the men have driven him off the estate. They’ll dump him somewhere in the city.”
“Good.” I sipped from my glass.
The idea was to show him a glimpse of his daughter’s misery, then throw him out like the trash he was. The thought of his only daughter suffering in my hands would haunt him forever, especially because he was too weak to do anything about it.
In his case, that was a punishment worse than death.
“Boss,” Sergei called my attention. “What are we gonna do about the rumor flying around?”
“What rumor?”
“The same one Lucian Sokolov’s spreading,” he answered. “That you’ve got a girl living in your mansion and that you even intend to marry her.”
The image of her face flashed in my head, prompting a small smile on my lips. Since this was clearly the narrative Sokolov was pushing, perhaps it was time to make it a reality.
I emptied the glass down my throat in a single shot, my smirk slowly broadening.