Chapter 44
44
Quinn
T here’s no doubt now. I was clinging to hope that this was all some horrible coincidence and Roman was being paranoid, but no.
Someone out there wants me dead. Someone he knows.
My husband and I are standing beside the ambulance, and he’s talking to me, saying he’ll make it okay. I’m too numb and tired to respond. It feels like years since I met him; too much has happened.
Sugar Rush is gone. Roman could rebuild it if he chose; there’s nothing he couldn’t give me, and he wouldn’t deny me a thing. I want his love without being forced to accept the fear and uncertainty that comes with it.
“Don’t tell me it will be fine,” I say. I don’t believe you, not yet. I need honesty if we’re going to make it, but there’ll be time for that.” I gesture at the injured people around us. “Where will they go? They’re very sick.”
“I will handle it.” Roman pulls me into his embrace. “No expense is too much. I’ll have Leon contact each hospital and set up cash retainers for the highest-quality private care money can buy.” He kisses me. “Come on. We’ll take Carrie to my on-call medical team.”
The hospital suite is pristine and comfortable, but it feels a bit cold. Carrie is settled into her bed, and a nurse observes before drawing blood.
“A few tests, and we can get you on some steroids to help your lungs,” she says. “Smoke is nasty stuff.”
Roman follows the nurse into the corridor, and I hear muffled voices as he chats to the doctor, giving instructions for the tenth time. There’s nothing he’s unwilling to pay for. If Carrie wants caviar and Dom Perignon, she shall have it. Just put it on the tab.
“Quinn, come here.” Carrie smiles as I sit beside her. “Am I dead?” she asks. “This isn’t heaven, but it could be the waiting room.”
“No, we got out, no thanks to you,” I reply. “Telling me to leave you. There was no way I’d ever do that, and you knew it.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. I must say, I prefer life.” A frown crosses her brow. “Roman came back. He had to be worried. Have you asked him what he knows about all this?”
The question is there, knocking at the back of my mind, but I think I already know the answer.
The gunshot wound, the secrecy, the shadowy business dealings. His ability to breeze past legality and do whatever he wants.
I know he’s super-rich, but even the wealthy are not above the law to the same extent. He threatened that paramedic convincingly; I really thought he would shoot him.
The Cyrillic letters on his knuckles, the scars, and even the tattoos all point to one thing, but I don’t want to ask. I can keep lying to myself if I don’t know for sure.
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to him,” I say, “and I’m scared to do it.”
“You’re married.” She raises her eyebrows. “For better or worse, you’re in it together. Can a man get as rich as Roman Kazanov without doing a few questionable things?” She shrugs. “I doubt it. But you owe it to yourself to discover the truth, even if it’s ugly.”
We left Carrie to sleep as dawn broke. I didn’t want to go to Roman’s house, but he refused my apartment, saying it wasn’t safe there. Instead, he sent a guy to guard my place, and we went to his suite at The Mandarin Oriental.
I watch him as he sidles over to the mini-fridge, his movements relaxed despite the high tension of the night. He doesn’t feel things like I do; he’s accustomed to danger. It can’t be good to be this laissez-faire about it.
It’s been less than a week since I last visited, and so much has happened. If someone had told me Roman Kazanov would buy out Sugar Rush and my apartment, take my V-card and shred it, and force me to marry him, then whatever the hell this evening was—well, I’d have directed them to a friendly psychiatrist.
I’m most surprised by myself. There’ve been some significant firsts for me, too, and not only in the sexual sense.
It’s true; I saved myself tonight in more ways than one, and I feel proud for the first time.
Carrie sees Roman’s love for me and has faith in its strength. He said the words, and I said them too, but it might not be enough. Fairytales aren’t reality; he may be a beast, and even if he thinks I’m his beauty, I don’t know what I’m prepared to overlook.
I can’t call it until he opens his mouth and says what I fear he’ll say.
“I won’t wait for you to ask me again.” Roman retreats behind the kitchen counter and takes a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “You deserve the truth but know this. I’m in love with you, which won’t change even if you understandably react badly to my life’s secrets. It won’t make the slightest difference to my feelings or what happens next. You’ll be stuck with me, at least for now, and I’ll continue to protect you even if you despise me to my bones.”
He reaches out and hands me a glass. Although the space between us is only a few feet wide, it feels like light years.
“Quinn.” His steady gaze wavers a little. “My business is less than orthodox, as I said. A lot of it is not even legal. Most of the RoKaz companies are legitimate but I use them to launder vast sums of money.”
“You’re associated with the mafia. Deep down, I knew, but I didn’t want to face up to it.”
“I’m not associated as such.”
“Oh, come on, Roman.” I glare at him. “Don’t minimize it, and don’t tell me it’s something it isn’t.”
“Alright.” He sips his wine before he speaks again. “I’m bratva. The Russian mafia. And I’m not involved, rusalka . I’m in charge.”
I feel suddenly nauseous and grip the side of the counter to steady myself. “The boss? Of the Russian mafia?”
“In New York City, yes.” He can’t keep the hint of pride out of his voice. “I worked hard for it, believe me. Much sacrifice went into getting where I am today.”
The Mafia. My parents died at the hands of the mob. I can’t say life was perfect before then, but after? It was hell on Earth, and I was so alone until Roman. How can all the misery of my life spring from the same world as the man I adore?
“Who are you?” My eyes spill over. “How can you be what you are to me and the ruler of a depraved kingdom of violence and pain, and—and,” I stammer, anger cutting through my grief, “murder. You’ve killed people, right? Yourself, with your own hands.”
“Yes.” Roman’s voice is clear and robust. “I have. And it will happen again. Why do you think I wanted to find your uncle? He deserves to forfeit his life. Some people deserve to live, like Carrie, and some don’t. I can be fate’s instrument and deliver some true justice.”
He sets down his glass and steps out from behind the counter.
“This is the way I live, moya zhena . If you want to leave me, I won’t stop you, but let me deal with the danger first. I’ll put thirty million dollars in your account, and you can do whatever you want. Start afresh, a thousand miles from everything and everyone that ever hurt you, me included. But I can’t let you go until I’m positive you’ll be safe.”
Despite the horror of knowing Roman’s true identity, the thought of leaving him cleaves my heart like a razor blade.
He’s so broken, so defeated, as though he’s sure he’s undone all the good in his life with just a few words.
“I want you to promise me something,” I say.
“Anything.”
“Find out who killed my parents and make them pay,” I say. “Bring the law down on them.”
“I can do that.” He tilts his head at me. “And Julian?”
“Forget him, Roman,” I say. “It was long ago, and nothing was proven, so the police couldn’t do jack. If he stays away, that’s good enough for me.”
“So I can kill him if he’s dumb enough to show his face?”
“Try to understand.” I hold his gaze. “I don’t come from your world and won’t be dragged down by it. Do not murder him for me. Like I said, it’s not your fight. I’ve put it behind me.”
He nods, and we fall silent. I realize I have another question.
“Who is the girl I saw in the photo online?” I ask. “It was years ago, at a gala dinner.”
His shoulders sag. “My sister, Bianca.”
“Where is she now? You never mentioned her.”
“She’s dead. She committed suicide after her husband was murdered. I went to her house to tell her, but it was too late; she’d shot herself.” His voice drops to a near whisper. “She was five months pregnant.”
“Oh my God.” I move closer and touch his arm. “Her husband was mafia too?”
“No, he had nothing to do with it.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Antonio asked to be involved, but I wouldn’t allow it. I wanted Bianca kept away from that world, but I didn’t do enough to safeguard her.”
He sees the question in my face. “It was my fault. Guilt is the most crippling emotion of all; for a time after it happened, I could do nothing but be crushed by the weight of the responsibility I felt.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I say. “She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”
“The bratva has a way of creeping in and sullying everything it touches. I swore I’d close myself off and never care for someone again, but as you can see, I didn’t learn my lesson well enough.”
His smile is steeped in sadness, but his eyes are bright. “I tried, Quinn. I tried not to let you steal my heart, but it was impossible. Keep it; I don’t want it back, even if the truth kills your love for me stone dead.”
I close the space between us, resting my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear. His scent is familiar and comforting, and despite it all, just being with him soothes the frightened little girl I’ve always been.
To my surprise, exposing the bare bones of reality does nothing to dampen my feelings. Devotion is often forged in the white-hot crucible of suffering, and Roman and I are no different.
He is imperfect, he made mistakes, and he is tormented. Who can stand before God and swear they have nothing to fear when judgment day comes?
“I love you,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t, and I may regret it for the rest of my days, but I can’t help it.”
“I love you too, rusalka .” He kisses me softly. “I’ll do whatever I can to be the man you deserve.”