20. Roman
TWENTY
Roman
Something is wrong, and I don’t understand.
Lucas and I have been here for a few days now, and it’s been the best few days of my life. We eat good food and have a comfortable bed. We have a couch and an entire bathroom. We have windows. We even have a deck and can sit outside .
I don’t like the noise of the TV, so after the first try we haven’t watched it again, but I have brought lots of books. Lots . We have sex throughout the day, and we get to clean up afterwards. We have clean clothes. No one is bothering us or hurting us.
Everything is so, so good.
So why does it bother him so much that I won’t let him leave the room?
He doesn’t need to go to the library or the kitchen. I’ll bring him anything he wants. I even brought some free weights from the gym so we can work out.
But every day he’s a little more upset. I’ve tried not to leave the room because it just makes him worse, but I don’t have any choice right now.
“How long will you be gone?” Lucas asks from where he’s sitting cross legged on the bed. I’m sitting on the couch lacing up my boots.
“I don’t know. Maybe a few hours.”
“You’re sure it’s not dangerous?”
“I’m sure.”
Vitali has captured Liam Crowley. I don’t care that much because he’s not the one who bought me and held me and Lucas prisoner. I’d never seen him before the hockey stadium, and I didn’t even get a good look then. He wasn’t my focus. Oscar was, and he’s dead, as is Briggs. O’Neil too and most of the other guards.
My only focus now is Lucas.
But Vitali wants me to go with him to interrogate Liam Crowley. I don’t know why it matters to him.
I don’t know why I agreed.
I think it might be that I need the violence.
I love the peace I’ve had here with Lucas. I want more and more and more of it. But there’s something awful and destructive in me. I feel it building up inside me. I don’t want it coming out with Lucas.
I stand from the couch and grab my jacket. I prefer being naked, but I’m getting used to my old clothes again, even though I need a belt now. I’m pretty sure I was never fat, so I’m a little confused by that, but everything fits well enough.
I walk to the door without looking at Lucas. There’s a shift happening in my mind. I’m tightening up, getting sharp.
“Be careful,” Lucas calls after me as I grab the doorhandle.
I pause. I look back at him. His eyes are unhappy, and I don’t like that, but I do like seeing him in a clean t-shirt and comfortable joggers. I like that the bruise has faded from his cheekbone.
I take the image into my mind and seal it there. I open the door and leave, glad that I can carry that with me, glad that I know Lucas will be here, safe and secure, until I return.
***
I’m shaky from the drive when I get out of the car. I’m dealing better with sights and sounds, but I’m still getting overloaded. I feel like I need to catch every bit of environmental information, and it’s coming too fast.
I catch myself hiding the struggle. It’s unpleasant to feel that habit returning. I had gotten used to being completely unfiltered. Even with Lucas, I’ve felt that freedom because that’s how he met me. He accepted me that way before knowing any other version of me.
But Vitali …
He makes me aware of myself in a way I haven’t been for a long time. He knew me before. He sees the difference, so I feel the difference when I’m around him.
We follow Sasha into the old boxing gym. The ring and punching bags look like they’re still in use, but that’s mostly for appearances. This place is for killing.
We head to the locker room. A man standing guard at the door pushes away from the wall.
“Holy fuck,” he mutters. “I didn’t believe it.”
“Joe,” Vitali warns like they’ve already discussed something. Me, I assume, based on the way Joe is staring.
I think I recognize him, but I’m not sure. I deleted too much of the past. Some of it’s coming back. Some of it isn’t.
We enter the locker room to the sounds of running water and begging. As we walk to the shower bay, I experience a confused sort of déjà vu. Memories of this place—working here with Vitali, with our father, with our uncle—mix together with memories of the shower bay in Crowley’s warehouse. I push them all away.
At our approach, another man I kind of recognize turns off the water that’s raining down on the guy zip tied to a metal chair. Liam Crowley’s hair is plastered to his head and his soaked white dress shirt clings to his paunchy belly. His shivering, along with the whimpering, suggests the water was ice cold.
“I told you I didn’t know!” he blurts, eyes darting between Vitali and me. “I was never involved until the hockey stadium match!”
Vitali moves so damn fast that I’m almost as surprised as Crowley when my brother is suddenly at his side with a knife at his throat.
“Listen, you piece of shit. You’re here to answer questions. You will speak only when spoken to. Do you understand?”
Crowley’s head is tilted back to avoid the razor-sharp edge, but he manages a shallow nod.
“Good.”
Vitali drags the knife down Crowley’s neck and chest, leaving behind a trail of blood that has him crying. The knife settles on the visible peak of his nipple.
“First question: when did your cousin Oscar acquire my brother?”
“Last summer. I don’t know when exactly.”
“And where did Oscar get him?”
“I don’t know—ahhh!” Crowley shrieks when the knife digs in. “Somewhere in Eastern Europe. A prison! Please don’t! Stop!”
“Where in Eastern Europe?” Vitali demands.
“I don’t know, I swear!”
“Who runs this prison?”
“I don’t know!” Crowley sobs.
“Fucking tell me something or—”
“Oscar said it was an underground fighting ring. The fights were some kind of gladiatorial thing.”
I don’t know what I was expecting from this interrogation, but for some reason, I wasn’t actually expecting it to be about me. Not like this.
When I start pacing, Vitali’s dark eyes flick to me, then he refocuses on Crowley.
“What do you mean, a gladiatorial thing?”
“Fight. Big fights. To the death. Lots of money.”
It flashes through my mind. The harsh light in a dark place. The circular stone walls containing us, separating us from the spectators above. The sand. The blood. The screams.
“And your cousin acquired my brother”—Vitali doesn’t want to say bought—“from this … prison. How?”
“He paid for him. Millions. He’d seen him fight. Oscar had no idea he was a Constantine! He never would’ve—”
“What did Oscar want with him?” Vitali’s voice is getting sharper.
“To make him fight. For money. He was unbeatable. They called him the Beast. He’d been fighting in the prison arena for years.”
I’m still pacing, but it’s not helping. I don’t have my punching bag. I don’t have my quiet space. I don’t have Lucas.
Everything inside me is winding up tighter and tighter. More pressure. More heat. More anger.
Why is Vitali asking about this?
“And how did my brother end up in this prison?” Vitali demands. His voice is sharp but controlled.
I’m not controlled, however. Even seeing that someone new has entered the shower area barely registers with me. Even though I know who it is and that his hand is hovering by his gun. Maybe my uncle sees what Vitali doesn’t, that I’m about snap.
Crowley blubbers, “I don’t know. I don’t know if Oscar even knew. He didn’t know who your brother was. Your brother never said. Oscar said he didn’t speak at all. I swear , Oscar would never have bought him if he’d known— please , we can make a deal.”
“Your men came onto my property. They drove through my gate trying to kill my brother.”
But not just me. Lucas too. He could’ve died that night.
I reach Crowley in three strides. With a roar, I yank him and the chair he’s bound to off the ground. Vitali leaps back as I slam the screaming man to the ground. His head cracks on the tiles. I pick him up and slam him again.
And again.
I lose track of what I’m doing. When I snap like this, my rage distills itself. There’s nothing else in me.
This is why I survived the prison arena.
This is why they called me the Beast.
The chair breaks away and rebounds so hard it flies over my shoulder. I don’t stop. Blood is splattering. The body is limp. When it’s no longer satisfying to slam it on the tiles, I sling it across the shower bay with a roar.
People skitter back as I wheel on them.
They’ve forgotten to collar me. I can kill them all.
I stalk forward. One man stands in my path. My hands are fisted. My lip is curling back as I growl.
“Roman.”
I hear my name, spoken in a familiar voice. I see the face, one from the past.
It makes no sense.
“ Roman .”
I grab my brother—my brother?—by the edges of his waistcoat. His eyes flash with violence. He doesn’t like being grabbed. He wants to fight me.
But he doesn’t. He says my name again. He waves back the men who creep near.
I let him go.
He tugs his waistcoat straight. He says, “Come on,” and we walk out like nothing happened.
Our uncle Anton joins us in the main part of the gym. Vitali is leaning against the edge of the elevated boxing ring. I’m pacing again.
I feel both of them watching me.
“It’s a fucking miracle he’s still alive,” Anton mutters. He means me, I guess, because Liam Crowley is definitely dead.
“No kidding,” Vitali agrees.
“Didn’t seem like you got much information from Crowley.”
“A better picture,” Vitali says. “No actionable information.”
“It hardly matters. We know it was the DiMaggios.”
Vitali hums in something like confirmation.
“Has he been like this the whole time?” Anton asks.
“He’s fine.”
“He doesn’t look fine. Maybe you need a hand with him.”
“I’ve got it.”
“He could be dangerous.”
“I fucking said I’ve got it. You’ve got no business—”
“Watch your mouth, Vitali. Don’t forget who runs this family.”
That has me stalking back to them. My uncle’s eyes widen. My memory of him must have locked when I was a kid because he looks old to me, older than four years could account for. His hair is mostly gray. His face, though still ruggedly handsome in that very Greek way, is weathered. He’s shorter than I remember.
I still hate him. That, I never deleted from my mind, even if I haven’t thought about him in years. The hatred is still there like something I’ve simply set down and am now picking back up. It burns like it always has.
Anton doesn’t step back, but he does lean away from me. It’s Vitali who steps between us, Vitali who cocks his head toward the door. It’s Vitali that I follow, like I always used to, like some muscle memory kicking in.
We exit the gym and walk through the chilly damp of an April night to the car. Vitali gets in the driver’s seat. Sasha drove us here, but she’ll be busy with disposal for a while.
Or maybe, I realize as Vitali starts the car and looks at me from the corner of his eye, he wants to keep me away from other people.
“What do you need?” he asks me as he pulls onto the road.
“Lucas,” I answer, not even having to think about it. All I want is to get back to him in our safe, private space where nothing else exists.