Chapter 20 – Roman
I sat in the backseat of my black SUV, seething in silence, fingers absently toiling with my cufflinks.
My blood was boiling with rage, my face twisted into a frown. The smell of sweat and gunpowder clung to me like a second skin, a reminder of the chaos that nearly claimed my life.
Two hours ago, I was in a meeting with some high-profile clients seeking to close a deal with the Bratva. At first, everything was going smoothly until I realized that those bastards were trying to double-cross us.
They’d already signed the same contract with a rival organization. The plan was to reap from both sides, get the two organizations to fight against each other and then profit from the bloodshed. They would’ve succeeded if I hadn’t seen through their lies.
The second I discovered what they were up to, I refused to sign the contract and decided to withdraw. However, those greedy bastards wouldn’t have it. They resorted to insults and threats.
Wrong move.
The one thing I hated more than betrayal was a threat, and they should’ve known better. I might have ignored their veiled insults, but they just had to threaten my business. And to make matters worse, they dragged my wife’s name into this.
That was the blow that broke the camel’s back.
I snapped, pulled out my gun, and shot the speaker in the head without thinking twice. My action plunged the room into chaos; gunfire filled the air as both parties clashed.
Bullets sprayed like perfume, knocking down anything and anyone in their paths. Blood stained the walls and the floor, while bodies dropped dead on every fire.
The leader of the other gang rushed at me, throwing punches and kicks. He was fast, driven by anger, but that single emotion was his downfall. I dodged all his advances, retaliating with skull-crushing blows that soon knocked him to the ground.
While the chaos intensified around us, I pounced on him, drilling heavy punches into his face. My knuckles were covered in his blood, each strike denting the back of his head into the floor.
In no time, all of his men were dead, their corpses sprawled across the room—on the table, the chairs, and the floor.
The fact that they had the audacity to drag my wife into their threats only fanned the flames of my fury. I beat the man with my bare hands until his face was battered beyond recognition.
I kept slamming my fist on and on, ignoring the blood splashing on my face. My men watched from a distance, no one daring to calm me down, not even Sergei. My heart was dark with hatred, and every blow only seemed to make me angrier.
He never should’ve mentioned my wife—never should’ve threatened her safety. His insensitivity was what unleashed the beast within me. Now, all of his men were dead, and he was next.
I didn’t stop until he stopped breathing. His body was limp beneath me, his face looking like mashed potatoes. Only then did I feel a sense of satisfaction. My chest heaved with heavy breaths as I rose from his body, my eyes fixed on the sight before me.
Sergei stepped forward and handed me a white handkerchief, and with it, I swiped my bloodied hands and face.
I hadn’t planned to kill anyone today. No. It wasn’t on my to-do list. But those assholes forced my hand, and they learned the hard way that no one messed with my wife and survived.
Even now, seated in the backseat of the car, my knuckles still ached from the punches I’d thrown, and my fury had barely settled.
The gravel crunched beneath the tires as Sergei brought the car to a halt in the courtyard. In silence, I unlocked the door and stepped out into the moon’s ethereal glow. I adjusted my tie, brushed off some dust from my suit, and then walked toward the entrance.
My shoes scuffed against the polished marble floor as I strolled down the hallway, anger still coursing through my blood. I couldn’t understand why I’d been so triggered by the thought of losing Scarlett.
Even after sending those bastards straight to hell, I still couldn’t find peace. Deep inside me, I felt empty and restless, as if there was a void no amount of violence could fill.
When I passed by a few maids in the hallway, they bowed their heads in reverence—too afraid to look at my face.
I didn’t slow down until I reached the master bedroom, where the door stood slightly ajar. Through the crack, I saw her lying on the bed, facing the entrance. She looked so beautiful and innocent.
Like magic, this unnatural sight of my wife in a peaceful state tugged at the anger twisted in my chest. A wind of relief blew across my face, my expression softening the longer I gazed at her. Little by little, I felt my anger dissipating into thin air, replaced by something much lighter.
Quietly, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. My footsteps were soundless against the floor as I waltzed over to the bed, my eyes never leaving her face.
She lay on her side, dressed in a translucent nightgown with one strap hanging off her shoulder. Her cleavage caught my eye, and I found myself drinking in the curve of her breasts. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept like a baby.
The hem of her dress grazed her soft skin, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of her alluring thighs. The sight stirred something magical within me, and my heart burned with desire.
She wasn’t just gorgeous. She was sexy too.
As I towered over her, she whispered something inaudible in her sleep, and I could only wonder what she was dreaming about. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket over her.
A soft, harmless moan fell from her lips—and when I tucked some hair strands behind her ear, she responded. It was a small, unconscious shift in her weight like she’d melted at my touch. She didn’t wake up; instead, she let out a sigh that told me she was comfortable.
As I watched her, it dawned on me that all that anger had completely disappeared. As fascinating as it was, it still unsettled me because it meant her effect on me was more powerful than I thought.
I found peace just by staring at her while she slept—how was that even possible? She wasn’t awake, yet her presence filled the room, and her scent was intoxicating.
As I sat there staring at her, I knew in my heart of hearts that I was never going to let her go. Mercer’s daughter, enemy or not, had become more than blood debt; she’d become my possession now.
The line between punishment and desire was gone, replaced by a hunger that felt as dangerous as any war.