Chapter 63
63
Roman
“ D on’t look,” I whisper, holding Quinn’s head against my chest. “It’s not pretty, but it’s over.”
I walk her to the door. “You did great, Quinn. It was fucking amazing. I’m so goddamn proud of you.”
We sit on the porch steps, and Quinn’s head lolls on my shoulder as I reach for my cell phone. I wrap my arm around her and dial Leon.
“ Tovarisch , where are you?”
“I just picked up Ricky at the diner,” he replies. “He looked like someone told him he’s gotta go on a diet or something. Almost felt sorry for the fucker.”
In the background, I hear a voice weakly telling Leon to go to hell. “Shut up, Lubomski,” Leon says. “You’ll do well to survive the night.”
“You were already on your way?”
“Sure. We planned on waiting in the diner parking lot, maybe having a piece of pie. I wasn’t expecting to see my least favorite weasel hanging out here, but he told me what happened, and seeing as you’re calling, I guess he wasn’t bullshitting me after all.”
“You said ‘we.’ Who’s with you?”
“Viktor and a few others. You won’t want to drive back, so I’m in the limo. How’s Quinn?”
I look at my wife’s tear-streaked face. Her eyelids are heavy, but she manages to smile, and my heart swells.
“Leon wants to know how you are,” I say.
She furrows her brow. “Hungry. Did he say he’s at a diner?”
I hold the phone to her ear. “Hi,” she says, her voice husky. “I could wreck a vanilla milkshake and a cheeseburger. Please.”
“You got it, princess,” Leon replies. “Put Roman back on.”
I take the phone back. “How long will you be?”
“Less than five minutes, as long as the grill’s hot. Hang on in there.”
Cars begin arriving; an entire motorcade to escort us back to the city. A group in hazmat suits head past us into the house, and Quinn looks questioningly at me.
“They’ll get the bodies out, then torch the place,” I say.
“Why burn it down?” she asks.
“Because it’s no longer my sister’s home. It’s the site of her murder. It’s where her baby—my nephew—died before he had a chance to live.”
I close my eyes, trying to block it out. “I told Silvio I forgave him only because I knew he’d be distraught. The bastard wanted to go to hell and take my soul with him, but you saved me again. You understand that, right?”
She nods. “You told me, balls and eyes. I’m a good learner.”
My laughter is tempered by the sobering weight of the truth. Silvio Vercotti came too close to destroying us; I will never forget that feeling.
“I’m sorry.” I tilt her head back and look into her eyes. “Can you forgive me for letting this happen?”
“Roman, it was me.” Her eyes spill over with fresh tears. “I was the one who lied, kept secrets, created a diversion, turned off my location—how could I have been so stupid?”
She buries her face in my lapel. “You warned me. Carrie did, too. All I had to do was be honest.”
“I didn’t listen to you either,” I smooth my thumb over her cheek, wiping it clean. “I swear I’ll never make that mistake again. You’re mine, always, but I don’t own you, and I don’t want to. I’d rather you had your freedom and chose me, but I’d understand if you didn’t.”
“I’m going nowhere except to a warm shower and a clean bed,” she murmurs. “With you, if you’ll have me. I know I’m kinda gross right now?—”
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her deeply, almost delirious with joy. My beautiful wife is alive and by my side.
I’d say it was a miracle, but that would be a lie; it was her. By her quick thinking and decisive action, she and I get to live on together.
The limousine pulls up, and Leon gets out, holding a paper bag aloft.
“Quinn!” he says. I got your food right here, angel. Roman, get that poor woman in the car and hold her milkshake.”
The convoy moves at a steady pace along the highway toward home. I’ve already decided to take her to my place; the word is out that Quinn has been found and Vercotti killed, but things are still volatile.
Until the komissiya and commission call off their troops, I’ll be happier to keep my wife behind the fortified walls of my mansion.
We sit together in the back, and as Quinn eats, her energy returns. The whole ugly tale comes out as she tells me about Julian accosting her outside her apartment, the secret meeting, the fake arrest, and the shock of realizing it was Silvio who was behind it all.
“Who is Ricky, anyway?” she asks. “He’s not a cop?”
“Nah, just a guy who wanted to play bratva and got in a mess.” I smile as she sucks ketchup from her fingers. “It’s easy to get an NYPD uniform, but the car was a clever touch. I wouldn’t be surprised if the real cop was out cold in the trunk.”
“I wanted to handle it alone, without help.” She drops her head back on the seat. “Thought I could keep going like I always did, relying on no one but myself and keeping a wall up around me. Dumb, right?”
“If you’re dumb, moya zhena , so am I.” I hold out my arms, and she snuggles into my embrace. “That was my shtick, too, so I’m in no position to judge.”
We lapse into silence for a minute, and I think of those few minutes when Silvio had Quinn’s life in his hands. It felt like years, eons.
“I have to say,” I squeeze her hand, “sometime a hundred years in the future when my blood pressure finally drops, I’ll look back and laugh at the moment you took Silvio down. Me punching him was probably like a tickle in comparison.”
Quinn doesn’t reply. Her breathing has settled into a peaceful rhythm, and I realize she’s fast asleep, a sweet smile playing on her lips.