Chapter 18 #2
A single table sat in the center of the restaurant, candlelight flickering. Through the panoramic windows, the entire glittering Bahamas nightscape stretched out below.
"But if you actually did that, you'd waste this extravagant dinner," I shot back, trying for composure, but under his intense stare, my voice trembled slightly.
He laughed low in his throat and led me to the table, pulling out my chair like a gentleman.
It was a perfect candlelit dinner. Top-shelf French wine. Exquisite filet mignon. And across from me, a man whose gaze never left me for even a second.
Honestly, under Roman's eyes—the kind that looked like he wanted to devour me whole—I couldn't even taste the steak.
When the dessert plates were cleared and the servers vanished silently like ghosts, we were alone on the terrace.
Roman suddenly reached into his jacket's inner pocket and pulled out a black metal case. He slid it across the table toward me.
"What's this?" I looked at the box curiously. I was already wearing the diamond necklace and earrings he gave me. Had he prepared some expensive bracelet too?
"Open it and see." He leaned back in his chair, playing with the stem of his wine glass, smiling as he gestured.
I pressed the latch. The box clicked open with a soft pop.
Lying in the black foam padding wasn't jewelry at all, but a compact matte-black handgun. The body was engraved with intricate dark patterns. Next to it sat a high-quality tactical holster and two boxes of spare ammunition.
I gasped and looked up at him, shocked.
"This is—"
"Glock 43X," he said, his expression serious but gentle. "Designed for women. Low recoil, high accuracy. I had it customized. It'll fit your hand perfectly."
I stared at the gun, throat tight.
"Why give me this?"
Roman reached across and took my hand, his thumb drawing slow circles on the back of it.
"Because I can't always be with you." His voice was low but carried an unshakable certainty. "I want you to be able to protect yourself whether I'm there or not. I hope you never need to use it, but if that day comes—"
He paused. Those deep brown eyes looked straight into mine.
"I want you to have the power to defend yourself. Not be locked up like some caged canary."
Warmth flooded my chest.
This man—Chicago's most dangerous mob boss—was telling me in his own way that he cared about my safety. That he cared whether I could take care of myself when he wasn't around.
"Besides," he said suddenly, switching gears with a wicked grin, "if another woman tries to hit on me, you can just pull the gun and scare her off. I guarantee it'll work better than glaring."
I blinked, then burst out laughing.
"Can't you be serious for one second?"
"I am serious." He said it with a straight face. "Seriously want to see you with a gun. It'd be sexy as hell."
"Roman Sokolov!" I glared at him, face burning.
"What?" He leaned closer, warm breath ghosting over my cheek. "Am I wrong? Picture it. You in a nightgown, hair down, holding this gun—"
He paused. His voice dropped even lower.
"God, I want to throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to the room right now."
"Can you not always think about that?" I shoved him away, face on fire.
"No." He said it without shame. "Because you're my wife. Wanting you is my right."
I bit my lip, trying not to smile.
"Okay, okay." He raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes danced with amusement. "I promise I'll control myself until after dinner at least."
"Only until after dinner?"
"Yeah." He nodded, eyes turning dangerous. "After that, no promises."
I glared at him. My heart raced anyway.
Then he took my hand and led me to the edge of the terrace.
"One last surprise," he said, checking his watch.
"What?"
"Three, two, one—"
Fireworks exploded across the night sky. Gold and red, purple and blue—brilliant bursts lit up the entire Caribbean like daylight. The thunderous sound drowned out the whisper of the waves.
"Oh my God." I covered my mouth. The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over, hot against my cheeks.
"This is for you," he murmured in my ear, arms wrapping around my waist from behind. "Only for you."
I leaned back into him, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart. Through the blur of tears, my gaze drifted down without meaning to.
On his left hand, wrapped tight around my waist, the pinky finger that had always worn that old ring was bare. Empty. No cold gleam of metal anymore.
My heart stuttered.
Questions still circled endlessly in my mind.
Who had that ring belonged to? What kind of soul-deep past could make him cry out in his sleep? Did it connect to that locked room at the manor?
That... Miss Carter?
The questions clawed at me like a cat's paws. If I asked now, in this soft moment, maybe he'd actually tell me.
But I looked up at him. At the way he gazed at me under the exploding fireworks, so focused it felt like drowning. I swallowed the words back down.
It didn't matter anymore.
Whoever had held that place in his past, the ring that carried those memories now lay at the bottom of the cold ocean. I didn't need to compete with a ghost. I didn't want to shatter this night that belonged only to us with a name wrapped in grief.
Because right now, in this moment, on this island lit up by fireworks, he was here. And in his eyes, in his arms, there was room for no one but me.
"Do you like it?" He looked down at me, voice richer than a cello.
"I love it."
I turned in his arms, hands sliding up to his broad shoulders, rising on my toes. Amid the deafening roar of fireworks, I closed my eyes and kissed him, eager and fierce.