Chapter 5 - Roman
The sun creeps through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, casting warm light over the opulent, immaculate space. I’ve never been one for soft mornings, but I’m willing to try to enjoy the moment today. I have to, anyway. Because today isn’t just about me anymore or my family—it’s about Gwen. And with the hell she’s about to go through by my side, I have to make sure I’m there for her for every second of it.
I stand at the kitchen island, my fingers gliding over the edge of the stack of documents before me, each one meticulously prepared to seal my fate with Gwen.
I lied to Gwen when I told her marriage was the only way to keep Riley safe and get her back. Well, it was the truth, but not the whole truth. The reality was that the second I laid my eyes on her, the second I saw those sparkling baby blue eyes, that bright smile, that sweet laugh. The second she locked eyes with me, she practically beckoned me to talk to her; I knew I was going to make her mine.
Besides, I can keep her safe this way. I can protect her now that she’s close. And I’ll take out each and every one of those fucks who thought they could ever get away with laying their predatory eyes on her.
Yet, the thought of marriage in such a rushed and unceremonious manner still gnawed at me. I’ve always envisioned a grand affair—an occasion worthy of my family, my heritage, and the Bratva. I’d probably have married someone my family wanted me to, but I never really cared for that sort of thing, true love and all of that. Marriage was a business for my family, a union between two powerful forces to expand and create more power.
For us, marriage isn’t about romance; it’s about necessity. That was also part of the case for Gwen and me, besides the fact that I simply wanted her, so I took her. I need to create a bond that protects her and asserts my strength against the threats lurking in the shadows of Las Vegas. If I can keep her close, I can keep her safe.
When I hear the soft thud of footsteps behind me, I don’t need to turn around to know it’s her. Gwen enters the kitchen, her expression a mixture of confusion and reluctance. The light glints off her hair, and for a brief moment, I’m captivated by how stunning she looks, even with the shadows under her eyes.
“Are we seriously doing this?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice is laced with defiance, a tone I’ve come to anticipate. She’s still in denial, still believes that she really has any other choice other than this one in this matter. It’s frustrating, but it also makes me feel sorry for her.
I turn, leaning against the counter, letting the documents slide into view. “Yes, Gwen. We are seriously doing this.”
She narrows her eyes, and the stubborn set of her jaw makes me want to grin.
“Fine.” She takes a deep breath, determination settling in her gaze. “I’ll sign, but only because I want to help my friend. That doesn’t mean I’m doing this for you.”
“Of course not.” I wear a slightly amused tone, masking the satisfaction that simmers beneath my skin.
“This is just a title,” She adds. “I have your last name. That’s all this is. I don’t want to talk to you, see you, be around you, nothing. You get my friend back, and then we’re done.”
I can't help but chuckle at her defiance, finding her stubborn resistance oddly endearing. As she leans over the kitchen island to examine the papers, I seize the opportunity to close the distance between us. My hands slide around her waist, fingers splaying across the soft fabric of her shirt. I feel her body stiffen at my touch, but I don't relent.
Pressing myself against her back, I bring my lips close to her ear. The scent of her floral and intoxicating shampoo fills my senses. "Oh, Gwen," I murmur, my voice low and tinged with amusement. "You're still pretending you have a choice in this, aren't you?"
I feel her sharp intake of breath, her body trembling slightly against mine. My grip tightens, not painfully, but enough to remind her of my presence, my power. "This isn't just a title, dorogaya. This is a bond, a contract, sealed in blood and unbreakable. You're mine now, in every sense of the word."
Gwen lets out a shaky breath at my words, then tries to pull away, but I hold her firmly in place. "I told you, Roman. I don’t want anything to do with you. I won’t do anything with you."
I can't help but chuckle at her persistence. My lips brush against her ear as I speak, "Is that so? Then why does your heart race when I'm near? Why do you shiver at my touch?"
As if on cue, a small tremor runs through her body. I smile against her skin, savoring her involuntary response.
"You can lie to yourself, Gwen, but you can't lie to me. I see right through you."
With deliberate slowness, I release my hold and step back. I spin Gwen around to face me, my hands still firmly on her waist. Her eyes meet mine, defiant yet uncertain. I can see the internal struggle playing out across her features—the desire to resist warring with the undeniable pull between us.
"You're wrong," she says, but her voice lacks conviction. "This is just an arrangement. Nothing more. I don’t like you, Roman." She puts on a mask of courage. “In fact, I hate you. You scare me. You creep me out. I want nothing to do with you.”
I lean in closer, my lips barely grazing her cheek as I speak. I shrug. "Sure, dorogaya . Whatever you say."
Gwen's hands come up to my chest as if to shove me back, but then she freezes. I can feel the rapid beating of her heart and see the flush creeping up her neck. It isn’t until her eyes reach mine that resilience finally wash over her, and she shoves me away. It doesn’t move me, and I smirk as I do the honor of stepping back myself.
“Sign the papers. I’ll let my brother know what is happening,” I tell her, not waiting for a response as I turn away.
I stride out of the kitchen, leaving Gwen in my wake. The plush carpet muffles my footsteps as I ascend the winding staircase, each step bringing me closer to my office. I step inside, the room a testament to power and refinement, with dark mahogany furnishings and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with leather-bound tomes. The scent of aged paper and fine whiskey lingers in the air as I make my way to the imposing desk that dominates the center of the room, the city sprawling out before me through the bulletproof windows behind it.
I settle into the high-backed leather chair and reach into my pocket for my phone. I dial Victor's number. He’s not going to be too pleased to find out about the plan I made without him, but he has no choice but to deal with it. The phone rings once, twice, three times. After the sixth ring, Victor's voicemail greeting plays, his gruff voice filling the silence.
“Victor,” I say. “Need to update you on the situation. I figured out a way to give us more leverage. You won’t be too happy to hear it, but you know you can always trust me on these things. I should also hear back from my men about those guys' names. Call me back when you can.”
I end the call and place the phone on my desk, running a hand through my hair as I contemplate the potential fallout from my decision. The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders, a familiar burden I've carried for years. But this time, it's different. This time, there's Gwen.
I rise from my chair and leave the office, quickly descending to the bottom floor. Shortly after, I make my way to the kitchen.
But Gwen isn’t there.
Confusion sinks in, briefly answered by the distant ding of the elevator, alerting me that someone has boarded it.
My heart races as I sprint towards the elevator, my mind a whirlwind of disbelief and anger. How could she be so foolish? I reach out as I manage to wedge my hand between the doors just as they're about to close. The sensors detect the obstruction, and the doors reluctantly part once more.
I step inside, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The elevator car is empty, but the lingering scent of Gwen's perfume hangs in the air, a reminder of her recent presence. My eyes dart to the illuminated panel, noting that the lobby button is lit. My jaw clenches as I slam my fist against the "Close Doors" button, willing the elevator to descend faster.
As the floors tick by, my mind races through the possibilities. What was she thinking? Where did she even plan on going? I was angry, but the anger bubbling inside me was tinged with a hint of worry. Gwen is severely underestimating the danger this city holds.
And she’s severely underestimating me and the lengths I’ll go to to have her.
The elevator finally reaches the lobby with a soft chime. I burst out, my eyes scanning the space for any sign of Gwen, but there's no flash of blonde hair among the well-dressed patrons milling about.
I stride towards the main entrance, my presence causing heads to turn and conversations to falter. The doorman straightens as I approach, a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
"Mr. Milov," he says, his voice tinged with respect and a hint of fear. "Is everything all right, sir?"
I fix him with a steely gaze. "The woman who just left. Which way did she go?"
The doorman hesitates for a moment, clearly torn between his duty to guest privacy and his fear of crossing me. "She... she hailed a cab, sir. Headed east on the Strip."
I nod curtly, pulling out my phone as I stride onto the sidewalk. The heat of the Vegas sun hits me like a wall, but I barely notice it as I dial a familiar number.
"Alexei," I bark as soon as the line connects. "I need you to track down a cab that just left the Diamond. Blonde woman, heading east. Find her. Now."
I end the call without waiting for a response. My eyes scan the bustling streets, searching for any sign of Gwen or the cab she might have taken. The cacophony of car horns, music, and chatter from passing tourists fade into the background as I focus on my mission.
My phone buzzes in my hand. It's Alexei.
"Sir, I've got eyes on the cab," he reports. "It's headed towards Fremont Street. Want me to intercept?"
"No," I reply, my voice tight with tension. "Keep following. I want to see where she's going." I begin to sprint down the sidewalk, striding towards the valet. All I have to do is shoot a look for the young attendant to scramble to attention, practically tripping over himself to retrieve my keys.
Within minutes, I'm behind the wheel of my sleek black Aston Martin, engine purring as I weave through the dense Las Vegas traffic. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and my jaw is clenched as I navigate the crowded streets—the neon lights of the Strip blur past, a kaleidoscope of color that I barely register.
Gwen thinks she’s going to get away from me.
I’m going to teach her that she’ll never be able to do so.
"Update," I bark into my phone, now on speaker.
Alexei's voice crackles through. "The cab's just turned onto Fremont Street, boss. She's getting out now... wait, she's heading into Paramount."
My brow furrows. Paramount? It was a popular bar further down the strip. What could she possibly be doing there? It's not exactly a place where someone could easily hide or escape. Unless...
A cold realization washes over me. Paramount isn't just a fancy bar—it's unclaimed. It’s neutral territory.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, and I slam my foot down on the accelerator. The Aston Martin roars in response, surging forward with a burst of speed that pushes me back into the leather seat. The world outside becomes a blur of neon and chrome as I weave through traffic with reckless precision, my mind racing even faster than the car.
Luka mentioned to Victor that those bastards have been circling our territory for months, pecking away at the edges, testing our defenses. And Paramount sits right on the razor's edge between our world and the lawless expanse beyond.
As I take a corner at breakneck speed, my knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, tires squealing in protest.
Paramount looms ahead, its neon sign a beacon. I screech to a halt, tires smoking, and leap from the car before it's fully stopped. The valet rushes forward, but I wave him off with a snarl, tossing him the keys without breaking stride.
The bar's interior is a cacophony of noise and flashing lights. Bodies press against me as I push through the crowd, my eyes scanning frantically for a glimpse of blonde hair. The bass thrums through my body, but I barely hear it over the pounding of my own heart.
Then I see her.
Gwen is at the bar—
And she’s surrounded by four men.
The sight of Gwen surrounded by those men sends a surge of rage through my veins. I recognize them instantly—the same burgundy-suited thugs from the casino. My fists clench at my sides as I push through the crowd, shouldering past oblivious patrons.
Gwen's face is a mask of defiance, but I can see the fear in her eyes. One of the men leans close, his hand resting possessively on her arm. She tries to pull away, but his grip tightens.
I'm there in an instant, my hand closing around the man's wrist with crushing force. He yelps in pain, releasing Gwen as he spins to face me.
"I believe you're touching my wife," I growl, my voice low and dangerous.
The man's eyes widen in recognition. "You," he spits, a smug grin taking over. “Nice of you to join us.”
The leader of the group, a scar-faced brute with cold eyes, steps forward. "Wife, huh? Funny, she didn't mention she was married."
“Y-yes, yes, I am,” Gwen sputters. She meets my eyes, regret and fear glistening in her own.
My jaw clenches, but I maintain my composure. "Walk away now,” I growl as I make eye contact with the seeming leader of the group. “And I might just let you leave unscathed.”
The leader exchanges looks with his friends, and the group laughs. It sends tendrils of anger down my spine, and when I see the fear intensify on Gwen’s face, it takes everything in me not to kill each and every one of them right there.
I reach behind my back, wrapping my fingers around my pistol, clicking it to life. The men freeze, and then the leader scoffs in my face.
“Relax, pal,” He chuckles smugly. “What, you gonna shoot us? Here? In front of all these people?” He laughs. “Cut the shit. You’ll do no such thing. Besides, you’re in neutral territory. It’ll bring your family more heat than they can handle.”
“Are you willing to risk testing that theory?” I say coldly, carefully. My gaze is deadly, my stare unwavering from the leader’s eyes.
For a moment, nobody says a word, nobody moves. I wait for a response, wait for him to dare to call my bluff. To give me the excuse I’m dying for to put bullets in between each of their eyebrows and take Gwen away from all this.
Instead, and to my disappointment, they back down. “Take it easy, pal,” The leader of the group says, taking a step back and raising his hands in faux defense. “We were just being friendly to her, that’s all. Right, Gwen?”
Gwen doesn’t say anything.
“Let’s go,” I command her in a voice that leaves no room to refuse. She immediately rushes over to me, clinging onto my arm as I remove it from behind my back. Together, we both turn and move for the door.
“Hey, Roman!”
The leader calls out to me, and I narrow my eyes. I don’t know how he knows my name, and when I turn to face him one last time, his expression tells me he is proud of showing me that he’s found it out.
“Do me a favor,” He says. “Tell your cousin the Vultures would love to do business with him.” He winks. “We own the bar down on Heritage. Give us a call sometime, eh? And then maybe we’ll arrange a way to get that friend of yours home safely.”
I no longer acknowledge him as I leave the bar, Gwen clinging to my arm. When we return to my car, and I start the engine, the air is so thick and tense I can almost taste it. For a minute, we are consumed in silence. I don’t move the car, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I calm myself down. I almost killed someone in there, but more importantly, I could have lost her.
"Roman, I—" Gwen begins, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't," I cut her off, my tone sharp enough to make her flinch.
Gwen swallows hard but is determined to break through my icy demeanor. "Please, let me explain. I wasn't thinking clearly. I was scared and—"
I whirl to face her, my eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and concern. "Scared? You have no idea what real fear is, Gwen. Do you have any concept of the danger you just put yourself in?"
She shrinks back against the leather seat, her eyes wide. "I... I just wanted to help Riley. I got a text. I didn't mean to—"
"To what?" I snap. "To stumble into the very men threatening us? To nearly get yourself killed or worse?" My hands tightened on the steering wheel, and my knuckles turned white. "Those men… those filthy fucks could only dream of nothing more than to use you against me. And you almost gave them the chance on a silver fucking platter."
Gwen's face pales as the reality of the situation sinks in. "I didn't…think," she whispers.
"No, you didn't," I say. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. My voice is low and controlled when I speak again. Moments later, I turn to face her fully, my gaze intense. "This is the reality of your world now, Gwen. Every move you make, every place you go—it all has consequences."
She nods, her lower lip trembling slightly. "I understand. It won't happen again."
Finally, I pull out of the parking spot, returning my focus to the road.
"You're right. It won't," I say firmly. "Because from now on, you don't go anywhere without me or one of my men. Have I made myself clear?”
Weakly, she mutters a yes .
I inhale sharply. “When we get back, sign those fucking papers. You’re mine now, Gwen.” I turn to look at her, just momentarily.
“And from here on out, you’ll stop pretending like you have the choice not to be.”