Chapter 22 Roran
Roran
Irub my back, hissing at the sharp pain crawling up from my tailbone. That jump was definitely stupid, but I won’t let them lock me up again. Not when Diana is missing.
He promised me she’d be safe. And here I am, stuffed into this white dress I’ve come to loathe more than the idea of the wedding itself… and Diana is nowhere to be found.
That night, I’d stashed ten vials in the back of the van, weighing them in my small bag like treasure, careful not to make a sound.
Diana grabbed five, but they tumbled across the pavement as we ran.
Footsteps pounded behind us, shadows flickering in the streetlights.
We didn’t dare stop. Not once. Someone had already heard us.
The street entrance should have been safe. Should have.
Then a hand clamped over my shoulder. One of Father’s men. His grip was iron, and the smell of him—sweat and smoke—made my stomach twist. He called Father, and that was the sound of the world cracking open beneath me.
I’ve been trapped ever since, accused of ruining the plan with Ivan. Diana? God only knows. Hidden. Somewhere. Safe… I can only hope.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes. My chest tightens. I force my mind away from imagining what she’s going through, but every second stretches. I pray—desperate—to any god who’ll listen: just keep her alive until I can reach her.
“Look at that lost bride,” a man’s voice cuts through the silence, startling me.
Barefoot, I freeze.
Shit. My heart slams against my ribs so hard I’m convinced the whole neighborhood can hear it.
“And they say brides shine brightest on their wedding day…”
Is he mocking me?
I spin around fast.
The man’s getting closer. His shoes don’t click like the others. Not like my father’s men with their stiff leather old-fashioned man-heels. He’s in white sneakers—expensive-looking, but quiet.
My eyes trail up from his jeans to a loose white button-down shirt, open low enough to reveal a scarred chest. Not just any scars—shapes. Strange ones. Everywhere.
Then he clears his throat, and I meet his eyes.
Silver.
Not gray—silver. Like cut gems. Too real to be contacts. Too unreal to make any sense.
And then I see it. A crescent moon scar on his forehead.
Where have I seen that before?
Strangely, I feel like I remember his face.
Is he working for my father?
Panic spikes. I can’t let them lock me up again.
I step back. “I won’t let you monsters lock me again,” I hiss, voice low and sharp as I whirl around to run—
But I don’t get far.
His hand clamps around my arm like a vice. It’s solid. Like stone. And it doesn’t even feel like he’s using full strength.
No. No. No.
I can’t be dragged back. Not before I know what’s happening to Diana. I need to check the Konfetki, the basements, and the private rooms. God knows what sick plans they have for her.
“Lock you again?” he murmurs, his voice dropping.
I twist to look at him again, my voice shaking. “Please…” I try to pull away—but it’s useless.
“So you really are Fedor’s daughter,” he says, a slow, cunning smile curling his lips. That’s not a smile of reassurance. That’s the smile of someone playing a game.
Why am I so unlucky?
“Malec, all of them are back in their cars. Waiting for your update.” A woman’s voice slices through the tension.
I jolt.
She steps into view. No heels, either—slippers. A redhead in a white tank top and jeans, calm and collected. Her eyes shimmer… violet? Quite a gemstone collection here.
What the hell is going on with these people’s eyes?
“Are you okay?” she asks gently, like we’re old friends. Doesn’t even glance at the man gripping me.
“That was a hell of a fall.”
“Who are you? What do you want from me?” I demand, trying to sound firm—but I’m losing control. I can feel it. He probably feels it too.
Then I get a better look at her. Then back at the man—the scar on his forehead. Something clicks.
“You helped my sister… at the bar, right? When she got drunk?” I squint at him. “That was you.” Now I remember. He wanted to send her home safely. I let out the breath I was holding.
The man’s eyes widen slightly. But he recovers fast. Too fast.
He starts scanning me, weirdly. His eyes are focused on something over my head.
What? Is my hair that bad? I probably look like the mess I am.
“So you’re the one who thought I had a thing for minors,” he says with a smirk.
My face burns.
“Did your father know you were partying outside your territory? I bet he wasn’t too happy about that.”
The way he says it—your territory, not our—and the lack of any Russian accent…
He’s not working for my father.
And she called him… Malec.
Wait.
I gasp, my eyes snap open wide. “Are you Maleciandro Spallo? The one who killed Solas?”
He grins wider. “Well, I caught him. But I can’t take all the credit for his death. You should thank Abert, too. You’re welcome.”
His grip tightens.
I should be terrified.
And I am.
But something about the way he holds me… the way he looks at me… it’s like my body’s trying to relax into him, even while my brain screams danger. Something is not right with him. I feel my skin tingling at his touch.
My cheeks flush again. Thank god for the layers of foundation my father’s new whore caked on me.
Otherwise, I’d be a tomato right now.
“Let’s get out of here first,” he mutters, pulling me slightly closer to him. I don’t even try to fight it.
What's wrong with my body?
“Don’t worry,” the redhead says, resting a hand gently on my shoulder. “I won’t let my nephew hurt you. He’s just acting cold, don't be scared.”
My eyes widen.
Nephew?