Chapter 28
ROMAN
Mila's hand rests on my arm as I walk her through the ballroom to the head table.
The room is full, two hundred guests seated under chandeliers, dressed in their best attire, and every head turns as we pass.
I pull her chair out and she sits, smoothing the emerald fabric across her thighs before folding her hands in her lap without looking at me.
I sit beside her and pull my phone from my jacket, scrolling through several notifications that have come in over the past half hour or so.
I type back to Timur.
Roman: 7:15 PM: Hold on the file until I give the signal. Don't move early.
Timur: 7:15 PM: Understood.
With my instructions clear, I set the phone face down on the table and turn to Mila.
She's sitting perfectly still with her hands folded, staring at the centerpiece, wearing the same plastic smile she put on in the car.
She really does look radiant, but I can tell she's unhappy.
I know she thinks I'll be choosing one of her stepsisters tonight, but I could never do that.
I don't want either of them. I want her.
But I also can't tell her my plan before I enact it.
I don't know how she would react, and it doesn't matter.
I'm doing this for her, not for myself. I've already resigned myself to the fact that she doesn't want me.
I'll make my speech, and then I'll let her go.
Just as she wishes, and I won't take a dime of her inheritance ever.
"Tell me what's wrong," I say, quiet enough that the nearest guests can't hear.
"Nothing's wrong."
"Mila." I reach under the table and put my hand on her knee. "Talk to me."
She looks at my hand, then at my face, and the smile falters before she puts it back. "It's what the doctor said. I'm grieving my father. Sunshine, water, social interaction." She lifts her water glass an inch off the table. "I've got two out of three."
"This doesn't count as social interaction. This counts as torture," I joke, hoping to lighten her mood, but there is barely a response.
The corner of her mouth twitches but doesn't become a smile. She squeezes my hand once under the table, then lets go and folds her hands back in her lap.
It's disappointing that this is all we have. I've brought her to my bed, let her dine at my table, and shared with her things I've never told another soul. Still, she can't see how everything I'm doing is for her. It's crushing.
Movement near the entrance pulls my attention.
Vera walks through the double doors in a floor-length silver gown with diamonds at her throat, Sofi on her left in deep red and Sabine on her right in black.
They float through the room like they're expecting the same warm welcome reserved for me and Mila, and they don't get it.
Not a head turns. No one notices. They aren't half as stunning as the woman I love.
"They're here," I say. "I need to seat them. I'll be right back."
Mila nods without looking at me. I push my chair back, button my jacket, and take three steps before glancing over my shoulder.
She's already on her feet, moving toward the hall that leads to the restrooms with one hand raised to her face, dabbing at her eyes with her fingertips.
I can only stand and watch her vanish wondering how she can feel so upset that I may choose one of her stepsisters for marriage when she herself told me to do it, all while she's crying her eyes out like it's killing her. Yet she won't marry me.
What on earth did I do wrong?
When she's gone, I turn and cross the ballroom toward Vera. She notices me from a distance and swats at her daughters, whose eyes snap to attention on me. Both of them offer salacious expressions and snicker.
"Roman." Vera extends both hands and I take them, leaning in to press my cheek to hers. "What a beautiful evening. You've outdone yourself."
"I'm glad you could make it."
Sofi steps forward, grinning. "Tell me you're going to give us a hint. Even a small one."
"No hints." I tsk, raising my chin as Sabine leans in.
"Not even a letter?" Sabine tilts her head. "A syllable?"
"I'll tell you this much." I hold Vera's gaze. "It's someone you'll never suspect."
Vera's lips part slightly, her eyebrows lifting in acknowledgement.
Keeping her surprised and on her toes is my point.
I can't have her getting cold feet and leaving early, so I slowly lift her right hand and press my mouth to the back of it, holding the kiss a beat longer than necessary on purpose.
The act lands like a slap, just as I intend.
When I straighten, Sofi's grin has tightened and Sabine's smile has cooled, and Vera is flushed from her neck to her hairline.
"Your table is right this way." I walk them to the table of honor near the front, pulling Vera's chair out first, then Sofi's, then Sabine's. "Enjoy the evening. Dinner will be served after my remarks."
By the time I return to my table, Mila's back. Her face is freshly washed, the redness around her eyes concealed, the plastic smile firmly in place. She sits with her back straight and her hands folded, and though she looks composed and beautiful, I know she's completely miserable.
I'd harness the sun and bring it to her for warmth if she told me she was cold. I'd dive to the depths of the ocean and harvest the blood of her enemies if she asked me. But the pain in her heart is a secret so well kept, I have no idea how to untangle it. But if she asked me, I'd try.
All I can do is follow my plan and hope whatever path life leads her down, she can be happy and heal from the life she's lived up until now.
The string quartet begins their first piece. Waitstaff circle with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne. Mila takes a glass of water while I drain half a champagne flute in one swallow. I offer to get her wine, thinking she doesn't like the champagne, but she doesn't even respond.
When the meal is over and the last trays have been cleared, I pull my phone from my jacket and find a message waiting.
Timur: 7:58 PM: I am ready when you are.
I look across the room at table nine. The Police General's leaning back in his chair with a glass of wine, his Major-General beside him. Both are relaxed, well-fed, looking every bit the honored guests they believe themselves to be.
Then I steal a glance at Vera's table. She's laughing at something Sofi has said, while Sabine watches the room with those careful appraising eyes of hers. They have no clue what's about to happen, and I've managed to shake off some of my own discouragement to bolster my excitement to finish this.
Roman: 7:59 PM: Present the file now. Table nine.
I stand and the room begins to quiet as I move toward the stage.
Conversations die down in a wave that rolls from the front to the back.
The string quartet stops mid-song as I step onto the platform, taking the microphone from its stand, and the overhead lights dim as the projector hums to life behind me.
"Good evening," say to a warm round of applause that quickly fades.
"Thank you for being here tonight. This gala has been a tradition for seven years, and every year, the generosity of the people in this room makes it possible for Perm General to treat patients who would otherwise have nowhere to turn. "
The first slide appears—photographs of the hospital, the pediatric wing, the surgical suite funded by last year's event.
I talk through the numbers and the lives saved while the room listens with polite attention.
Doctors and nurses are honored, and I mention some wonderful community-focused programs they have, and then I turn toward my real purpose, my chest absolutely bursting with anticipation.
"But tonight is about more than the hospital." I pause, letting the quiet settle over the room. "Tonight, I need to address a matter that affects every family represented here."
The slide changes. Vera's photograph fills the screen—not the smiling socialite at the table of honor, but a younger version taken years ago under a different name.
The lights are almost too dim. I can't see her, and it's hard to make out, but I can feel her shock literally shift the atmosphere of the entire room.
"The woman you know as Vera Koval-Radin, my honored guest here tonight, has gone by several names over the past two decades.
" I click forward to a list of names, dates, and cities.
"Vera Volkov, Vera Tarkova… And then in marriage, Lebedev, Koval, and Radin.
She's had three husbands who either vanished or died under circumstances that were never adequately investigated. "
Two hundred pairs of eyes move between me, the screen, and the woman at the table of honor whose face has drained of color.
She stands abruptly, gesturing to Sofi and Sabine to move, but Timur has the spotlight shine right on her now, and Yegor and Radimir stand behind her, ready to grab hold of her if she tries to make a move.
The next slide shows death certificates, police reports, and financial records documenting asset transfers within days of each death.
"The evidence compiled tonight has been shared with the Police General's office.
I've invited General Marinsky and Major-General Orlov here this evening not as social guests but as officers of the law.
" I gesture at them, but I notice they're going through the file, not fully paying attention, which isn't a problem.
They have the evidence and soon, they'll have the woman too.
Radimir and Yegor have moved into position behind the three women, blocking the exits on all sides. Vera turns her head, sees them, and her composure cracks. Her hands cling to Sofi's skirt and Sabine's wrist and her eyes dart from Radimir to me.
I glance down at Mila. She's sitting rigid with her eyes wide and her lips parted as her stepmother's crimes play out on the screen above us.
"Vera Koval-Radin is a murderer," I say calmly, though my chest is burning with so much anger over what Vera did to Mila.
I have to remind myself to stay calm and not let my emotions get the better of me.
"She married into three families, extracted their wealth, and eliminated her husbands when they were no longer useful.
She married Anton Radin with the same intention.
When he died, she positioned herself to steal the inheritance he left for his daughter. "
The final slide appears—a side-by-side of Vera's former identities, each paired with the death record of the husband she left behind.
"General Marinsky." I nod toward table nine. "The evidence has been delivered. I'll leave the rest in your hands."
The Police General stands, his Major-General beside him. They cross the ballroom toward Vera's table and the room erupts—chairs scraping, voices rising, guests craning in their seats. Vera's on her feet, backing away from the table, and Radimir steps forward to take her arm.
"Get your hands off me." Vera's voice cuts through the noise. "Roman, this is absurd. These are fabricated lies, every single—"
"Mrs. Koval-Radin." The Police General takes her other arm. "You need to come with us."
"I will not." She wrenches against Radimir's grip as her gown twists around her legs, tripping her. "I will not go anywhere with you people. Roman! Tell them this is a mistake! You know me. You know our family. Tell them!"
I don't answer her. I stand on the stage with the microphone in my hand and watch the Police General and Radimir walk her toward the side exit while Sofi and Sabine stand still at the table, frozen.
Vera's heels scrape against the floor as she resists and her voice rises to a pitch that makes guests at the nearest tables flinch.
"You'll regret this, Roman! Do you hear me? You'll regret every second of this!"
The side door opens, closes, and Vera's voice cuts off.
The ballroom holds its breath for several seconds before the murmuring starts, a confused, buzzing energy that I have to quiet in order to finish my speech. I'm happy things went the way I planned—mostly—though I regret having to do it so publicly at an event meant to be wholesome.
"Please." I raise my hand and the room settles.
"Please, I understand this is unexpected.
I ask for your patience as we continue the evening.
" I wait for a few more seconds for the rest of the chatter to die down.
I know people have questions and I won't make it out of here tonight without answering a million of them, but it appears a few won't wait for me.
Sofi steps away from her table and walks toward the stage with her chin raised. She reminds me of her mother, and it makes me cringe. "Make your announcement, Roman." Her voice carries across the room, cutting through the murmur. "You said you'd tell us who you're marrying."
Sabine stands behind her, watching and waiting, but I can see it in her eyes that she understands it's neither of them. She's hurt and angry, and it's not her fault, but I don't care.
I look down at Mila. Tears are running down her cheeks and her hands are trembling. It almost brings me to tears to see her hurting too. I nearly climb off this dais and go to her, but I have to finish this.
"I can't marry either of you," I say, and my chest feels like it's being torn apart. "I won't."
"Why?" Sofi takes another step toward the stage. No one in this room speaks. You can hear a pin drop. "You promised a marriage alliance…"
"Because my heart belongs to someone else.
" I don't mince words as I say what needs said, and Mila's gaze sweeps up to meet mine.
I hold it, unable to turn away from her.
"Someone very beautiful and very wise told me not too long ago that to know the right thing and to not do it is shameful.
And I know that it's wrong to marry for money or power, especially more so when your heart beats someone else's name. "
My gut feels hollowed out as I stare down at Mila, now fully sobbing and ruining her makeup.
Sofi stands frozen in the middle of the ballroom. Sabine reaches for her arm and pulls her back. I can see the understanding settle across the room in real time—the exchanged glances, the heads turning toward my table and the woman in the emerald dress sitting beside my empty chair.
"Dinner will be served momentarily," I say quietly, and then I set the microphone back on its stand.
I step off the stage, walk past my table without looking at Mila, past the rising guests and the waitstaff gathered at the kitchen doors, and I push through the side doors into the hallway. The noise of the ballroom fades behind me as I walk until I'm alone in the darkness.
Given how I feel, it's not safe to be around anyone right now.
I need air.