Chapter Twenty-One – Roman
In three hours, I’d read through books, crammed an ancient Greek mantra, and mused over Aristotle’s note:
“Anybody can become angry—that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way—that is not within everybody’s power and is not easy.”
He was right. It wasn’t.
The effort was equivalent to trying to calm a raging sea—impossible.
So, I paced the floor, waited it out, and paced the floor again. Two cigars, one bottle of vodka, and an emptied gun. Across the room, strewn on the floor, was a dummy with thirteen holes in it.
Still… impossible.
Now, I stood in the office, gazing at the view through the large ceiling-to-floor glass window, my hands buried deep in my pockets, curling and unfurling.
I looked out over my city. The skyline stretched out before me, with the skyscrapers rising like giants. Beyond was a vast landscape of stone and steel, city lights that never dimmed. But my mind was elsewhere, consumed by the woman who had just walked in.
The door opened with a soft click, and she entered. I faced her.
When she spoke, her voice was innocent, but her eyes betrayed her guilt. “You called me?”
I took in her appearance. She looked nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.
Unable to keep the storm from rising to the surface, I ordered, “Come here.”
She hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, her eyes fixed on mine. Fear lurked behind her gaze, the knowledge that she had crossed a line.
“Is everything okay? Why do you look so mad?”
The storm morphed into something more vicious, and I grabbed her wrist, grating my teeth and curling my fingers into her skin. “You are many things, Maria. Many things but a terrible actor.”
Her eyes ballooned in shock, and she wriggled her wrist, trying to break free. “Roman, let me go. Let me go right now!”
I yanked her, drawing her closer. Close enough to see the mix of hurt and fear in her eyes. “The only person in this room that can give orders here is me . Let that fucking sink in.”
I shook her, watched her tremble violently in fear, and ignored the tears that quickly formed in her eyes. “Now, you’ll fucking answer me. I was informed that you stopped by a café. Who did you go to meet?”
She didn’t say anything, and I shook her again, more violently.
“You will not fucking lie to me, Maria. Do you hear me? Who the fuck did you go to meet?” I growled, my grip tightening.
She winced in pain but still refused to speak. With a snarl, I pulled her closer, our faces inches apart. My chest ached, and my breathing felt labored, like I’d been punched in the fucking gut.
Looking at her, my insides twisted and tangled, and there was a constant nagging that echoed through my mind: She betrayed you, Roman. She doesn’t trust you enough to tell the truth.
I wanted to hurt her in the best ways I knew how but couldn’t bring myself to do anything.
“If you don’t speak up, I’m going to—”
Before I finished my sentence, she pulled out her phone from her pocket and pressed play, lifting up the speaker, so I heard every word.
A man’s voice echoed through the room, and I instantly recognized it.
The bastard himself.
Finn Jameson.
“ As much as I’d love it to be, it’s neither a million dollars nor eating Roman Varkov’s juicy leftovers…I want the girl.”
When my eyes met hers, she looked away. Ashamed, embarrassed, but mostly apologetic.
“No, not Polly. She can’t be harmed, Finn. I won’t let that happen.”
“No harm will come to her. I promise. My boss wants her alive.”
“Why does your boss want her?”
“I’ll text you the details.”
My grip on her wrist loosened, and she stumbled backward. With sad eyes and quivering lips, she walked back to me, trying to make me look at her.
“You do realize I don’t regret doing any of that, right?”
My eyes dipped, my anger still roiling beneath my skin. “You should have come to me, Maria. You didn’t trust me enough.”
“Trust?” She choked on a sob and reached for my cheeks. I backed away, and visible pain settled in her eyes. “Roman, this is not about trust. Don’t you see? I had to do it that way to keep him unsuspecting. We obviously needed more details, something more tangible to pin Finn down.”
“And you decided to be Wonder Woman.”
She reached for my arm, and I took steps further away, retreating to my chair behind the desk. “Please, don’t be like this. I wasn’t trying to play hero. I was thinking about Polina….”
And I wanted to yell, “But you didn’t think about me!”
She didn’t think about how I would feel when I learned she changed routes. First, I’d been concerned for her safety. Maria didn’t have family we knew of, and her social circle had more children than adults.
Then, I’d been mad. My mind has spiraled with different scenarios, different possible thoughts.
Maybe it was another man.
Or maybe, all this fucking time, she’d fucking outsmarted me. She could have been a spy, the very fucking mole under my own roof, putting my daughter in danger and pretending all along to love her.
In this world of mine, those were high possibilities.
But after listening to the recording and seeing the tears roll down her cheeks, I saw her genuineness and reconfirmed what I’d known all along: Maria would never hurt Polina. Or me.
But her distrust didn’t fucking hurt less. It felt like two fucking flaming arrows had gone right through my chest, puncturing every organ in their wake.
“And I don’t think about protecting her?” I said instead. “I’m still standing on what I said: You should have told me your plan. This is a fucking dangerous game, not a playground.”
“I know.”
“Finn’s not just a crazy person. He sold his soul a long time ago. Going to see him alone was putting yourself at risk. You were fucking playing with fire, Maria.”
Sobering up, she occupied the seat across mine and clasped her fingers together. “If I told you, guns and men and resources would have been the first things you would have considered. Playing to be on his side was the most secure option, and I will not apologize for it.”
Damn her stubbornness. It excited me as much as it angered me.
I wanted to smack her hard on the ass and kiss her senseless, all at the same time.
Thankfully, her phone rang on the table before I truly did something irrational. I glared at it as she answered and put it on speaker.
Maria’s eyes locked into mine as she said, “Hullo?”
There was a static cackle, and then….
“Tomorrow, four hours after noon, bring the little Varkov princess to the old warehouse on the Hudson River waterfront, near the old piers in Red Hook.” Finn’s voice was a low hum in the background, his words making my blood boil. “You know, the one with the faded sign that still reads ‘The Brooklyn Yards’?”
She was quiet for a while before she said, “You said you’d text the details.”
“Do you know the fucking faded sign or not, Maria? I don’t have time to fucking waste.”
She responded, “Yes, I do.”
Silence.
“Good. That’ll be it. When you come, I’ll take care of the rest. And about your request to get away from the monster, I gave it some thought and decided to help you out. You’ll have your perfect escape, and maybe afterward, I’ll reconsider having a taste of his leftovers.”
Maria didn’t look at me because we both knew what “leftovers” meant. He was talking about her. He was talking about a lot of things that stirred up that ugly, angry monster again.
It took every bit of control not to snap, snatch her phone, and slam it against the wall.
My mind raced with doubts. Did she really want to escape from me? From us? My trust in her was flickering, and my heart —a part of it that had come alive—suddenly felt like it was being ripped apart.
But her gaze never wavered; her eyes locked onto mine with a reassuring intensity. She nodded. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the raging storm. “What. The. Fuck. Was. That. Huh? Monster, escape, leftovers ? You are not my fucking leftover, Maria. You’re….”
I trailed off.
She’s fucking what? my mind snapped.
Jesus. No one ever made me lose my cool like she did. She riled me up and was also the antidote to my rage, calming me down.
She gaped expectantly for the rest of the sentence.
I cleared my throat and recomposed myself. “You are important to this household. And your contract isn’t up yet. So, where exactly are you running to?”
Disappointment flickered, and she muttered, “I had to make him believe me.”
“I had to make him believe me,” she repeated, louder this time, and offered a small smile. “Let’s look at the bright side, shall we? We have Finn Jameson right where we want him. Tomorrow, we’ll finally bring him down.”
And she was right—we finally had the upper hand.