Chapter 12
Roman
The night soaked through the drive back.
The ocean breeze blew colder than before, carrying that distinctive briny tang of the tide as it caught the edge of Nadia's emerald dress.
We walked back along that stone path—half a century old if it was a day—our footsteps echoing in the empty street. One heavy, one light. One deep, one shallow. Her steps were almost floating, clicking sharp against the uneven cobblestones.
I glanced sideways at her. The streetlights cast a sickly yellow glow over her head, limning her loose waves with a fuzzy golden halo. Her cheeks still held that flush from the street food—whether from the hot sauce, the sea wind, or maybe from the ugly stories I'd dragged out into the open.
The thought made something warm curl in my chest.
"You good?"
I went quiet for a beat, hearing the smile I hadn't quite hidden in my voice.
Nadia shot me a sidelong look. "Of course. Long way from drunk."
Stubborn and proud as a cat with its tail up.
Made me want to laugh even more.
I opened my mouth, but a pack of loud drunk tourists brushed past us. Nadia's body shifted instinctively toward mine. Her shoulder bumped my arm, and that scent—coconut and tipsy warmth—invaded my lungs.
The words died on my lips.
She tilted her head up slightly, those eyes hazy with alcohol catching mine for a second before she looked away. Her cool fingers brushed—barely, maybe accidentally—across the back of my hand.
That featherlight touch scraped a spark across my nerves that could've started a wildfire.
She didn't pull away. She was leaning on me without even knowing it.
The realization sent blood rushing hot and fast through my veins.
The private elevator closed us into its cramped metal box. The polished doors turned into a perfect mirror. I stood with one hand in my pocket, watching her reflection without bothering to hide it.
She felt it too—the shift in the air between us. She bit her lower lip, that flush spreading from her pale face down her throat. She pretended to study the floor buttons, but her eyes kept darting up, catching mine in the mirror.
Every time our gazes met, she'd flinch away, lashes fluttering.
The doors slid open on the penthouse floor.
We walked side by side down the corridor. I swiped the card, and the heavy double walnut doors swung open with a soft click, sealing us away from the hallway lights and the rest of the world.
The suite's AC was cranked high. In the darkness, I only switched on the dim wall sconces in the foyer and along the living room's edge.
That silent, syrupy tension from the walk back didn't dissipate when the door shut. If anything, the quiet privacy amplified it.
Nadia stood on the Persian rug in the entryway, still clutching her purse.
She didn't bolt for her room like usual—didn't lock herself away like I was some kind of predator.
She kicked off those torture device heels and stood barefoot on the plush carpet, looking awkward and maybe reluctant in a way she didn't quite understand.
"So, um..." She cleared her throat, eyes roaming toward the floor-to-ceiling windows and the black ocean beyond. Her voice came out clear in the quiet, with a rasp underneath. "That barbecue wasn't bad. I mean, trying dinner without white gloves once in a while—not the worst thing."
"Just 'not bad'?" I unbuckled my watch slowly, tossing it on the entryway console, eyes locked on her in the dim light.
Then I moved closer.
Nadia caught the movement. She took a half-step back instinctively, her spine meeting the foyer wall.
"Yeah, not bad..." She swallowed, holding onto her composure, but her restless hands and skittering gaze gave away her racing pulse. "What, are you expecting an eight-hundred-word five-star Yelp review?"
I stopped in front of her. Less than two feet between us—close enough to feel her breathing quicken, close enough to smell that intoxicating scent of her mixed with salt air.
I leaned down, one hand braced on the wall beside her ear, caging her in my shadow and my breath.
"Don't need a review." My voice dropped low, rough with undisguised provocation. "What I'm more interested in is how Mrs. Sokolova plans to repay me."
Nadia's eyes went wide, lashes beating like butterfly wings. Her face flushed crimson, heat radiating off her skin.
"Re-repay what? You wanted to eat there!" She stammered, hands pushing weakly at my chest—barely any force behind it at all.
I laughed quietly.
Instead of backing off, I leaned closer, nose almost brushing her burning cheek, my breath deliberately grazing her sensitive ear.
"Since this is our honeymoon, sleeping in separate rooms the whole time...
if some nosy paparazzi or hotel staff figures it out, our whole arrangement falls apart.
" I drew out the words, voice dripping danger and innuendo.
"The master bed in this suite is huge. And the soundproofing is excellent.
To make sure you don't have any more nightmares about the dark, sweetheart, how about you move in with me tonight? "
Time froze.
I watched Nadia's pupils contract sharply. She exploded like a cat whose tail got stepped on.
"Roman Sokolov! You brain-dead chauvinist pig!"
She shoved me back with surprising strength, flush spreading all the way down her neck, the color of an overripe tomato, yelling at me in mortified fury.
"I'd rather sleep with the sea turtles outside than get in the same bed as you! You want me to share your bed? Dream on!"
She didn't even look at me again, just grabbed her bag and practically ran toward the east bedroom.
The heavy wooden door crashed shut behind her, the sound reverberating through the suite. Followed by two sharp, frantic clicks of the lock.
I stood there, staring at that closed door, and instead of feeling rejected, I couldn't help but smile.
So damn cute.
Made me want to pin her against that door and fuck her right through it.
Would that smart mouth of hers still talk back then?
No—that clever tongue should be wrapped around my cock instead.
I touched my chest where she'd pushed me, desire still burning hot.
One day. One day she'd satisfy me willingly.
No rush, Nadia. On this island surrounded by ocean, we had all the time in the world.
I turned toward the west bedroom.
The moment I pushed the door open, the smile vanished from my face.
Vacation and honeymoon were all well and good, but that didn't mean I could ignore the crises back home.
I walked to the bar, poured myself vodka, knocked it back in one swallow, letting the burn sharpen my mind into cold focus.
At the wide mahogany desk, I opened the laptop—encrypted to hell and back. My fingers flew across the keyboard, entering a complex rotating password and retinal scan.
A few seconds later, the screen lit up, opening a secure encrypted video conference.
The image flickered. Victor and Danny appeared on screen.
Unlike my tropical paradise, their backdrop was the cold, heavily guarded safe room beneath Sokolov Manor. Danny's suit jacket hung off his chair, tie askew, half-burned cigar between his fingers. Victor looked as rigid and emotionless as ever—a killing machine without feelings.
"Good evening, Pakhan." Victor nodded slightly, voice distorted through the encrypted channel.
"Looks like our Pakhan's having a hell of a time on those Bahamas beaches.
" Danny exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, shameless in his teasing.
"Heard you chased off some blonde at the hotel lobby today, flashing that blinding emerald ring to prove your devotion to your bride.
Christ, Roman, that's not like you. You used to ignore those women without a second glance. "
"Shut your damn mouth, Danny." I shot him a look, settling back in the leather chair with my glass, eyes sharp as knives. "I didn't build a multi-million-dollar satellite encryption network to discuss my personal life. How's the situation?"
Danny's grin vanished instantly, expression turning grave and vicious. He crushed the cigar in the ashtray and leaned toward the camera.
"It's tight, Roman. Worse than we thought.
" Danny's voice dropped low, tight with tension.
"That old rabid dog Miller's got his teeth in us.
The church shootout at the wedding gave him the perfect excuse.
The federal organized crime unit's circling like sharks smelling blood. They're closing the net."
I narrowed my eyes, fingers absently tracing the rim of my glass. "What's he touching?"
"Raided a few distribution points in the South Side last night.
Lost a shipment. Just street-level guys, but they hauled in a dozen people for interrogation.
" Victor consulted his tablet. "Bigger problem—Miller's trying to flip Old George.
George has a third of our West Coast smuggling accounts.
If he cracks and turns state's witness, we're looking at massive federal indictments. "
"Old George is smart. He knows betraying the family is worse than federal prison.
" I smiled coldly, mind churning with lethal intent.
"But smart men get stupid when they're scared.
Send someone to test him. If he breathes one word to the feds, mail his debt-ridden son's fingers to him from Canada. He'll know how to shut up."
"Understood." Victor nodded.
"And Morozov, that old bastard," Danny added. "After you rejected his thirty percent demand, he's been quietly meeting with what's left of the Irish mob. Looks like the fox wants to stab us in the back while the feds have us pinned, swallow up control of the West Coast docks."
"Let him meet them." I tilted my head back, draining the last of the vodka. "When I get back to Chicago, I'll personally twist his head off and hang it outside the Irish crew's clubhouse. But right now, while the feds are tightening the noose, we absolutely cannot make any moves."
For the next stretch, I'd be stuck on this island, running things remotely through encrypted channels, watching that line back in Chicago. One tiny mistake right now could bring the entire Sokolov empire crashing down.
I'd have to trust Danny and the others to handle the manor.
"We can hold the big picture." Danny frowned. "But there's one more thing you need to decide. About... Mrs. Sokolova."
At the mention of Nadia, my fingers paused on the glass.
"Talk."
"You had me put surveillance on her parents before you left.
You were right—that couple's just a pair of money-grubbing idiots.
" Danny sneered. "Miller's people already approached them, posing as community surveyors.
Didn't get much yet, but I'd bet if the feds or Morozov's crew dropped a few hundred grand in front of them, they'd sell Nadia out without blinking.
Hell, they'd testify in court that you kidnapped their daughter. "
I tapped the desk, eyes going cold.
Those parents sold Nadia's future for money once before. Of course they'd sell her again for profit. They didn't give a damn about the girl sobbing in that black box. They only cared about cash and their worthless degenerate son.
"Double the surveillance. Eyes on them twenty-four-seven." I issued the order. "Cut off all outside communication we don't approve. If they contact anyone suspicious or try to leave the neighborhood, break their legs and throw them in the basement. Don't bother reporting back. Clear?"
I wouldn't let anyone—or anything—become a vulnerability that threatened Nadia. And I sure as hell wouldn't let the people who hurt her drag her into the abyss again.
"Clear. But the real problem isn't those two.
It's Nadia's brother." Victor pushed up his glasses, showing rare signs of fatigue.
"You wanted us to keep searching for her brother, but the guy's vanished.
We checked every underground casino he frequents in Detroit and Vegas, even used our contacts in Mexico. Nothing."
"Keep looking." I set down the empty glass and rubbed my temples.
Richard was a ticking time bomb. That three-hundred-grand gambling debt was just the tip. His compulsive gambling, his willingness to do anything for money—if Miller or a rival family found him first, he'd become a blade to threaten Nadia and build a case against me.
"Listen," I leaned toward the screen, voice ice-cold. "Whatever it takes, use every resource we have. Tear apart Detroit and the entire Midwest underground network. I want him alive or I want the body. The feds cannot find him first."
"Roman, pouring this many resources into hunting down a degenerate gambler for a debt bride—it's not in the family's interest." Danny looked at me, clearly confused by my obsession.
"In this family, I am the interest." I leaned back, eyes cold as Siberian permafrost. "Do what I said. If anyone has a problem with it, they can come talk to me personally."
Danny and Victor exchanged glances, then both lowered their heads. "Yes, Pakhan."
The video feed cut off. The screen went black.
I sat in the quiet study, turning toward the east bedroom.
Through the thick walls, I could picture Nadia clutching a pillow, that dim wall lamp still on, maybe tossing and turning in bed, mortified over my crude joke.
So damn cute. So easy to control.
I closed my eyes, emotions churning.
Nadia. My Nadia.