24. Roman
ROMAN
Nothing about tonight is going to be easy. We’re halfway to Kuro-Tetsu, and the tension in the car only seems to be growing.
Vera sits beside me in a dress the color of dark wine, her hands folded in her lap. She looks beautiful and terrified in equal measure. I want to reach for her and offer some reassurance, but I can’t seem to form the words.
My mind keeps circling back to Konstantin’s study. Bastard. The word repeats in my skull until I want to put my fist through something.
I won’t let him diminish my child. I won’t let anyone diminish what Vera and I have built.
“Roman.” Vera’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “We’re here.”
I look up to find Artyom holding the door open, his expression as impassive as ever. The restaurant’s entrance glows ahead of us, warm light spilling through the windows.
I step out first, then offer Vera my hand. She takes it, her fingers cool against mine. I can feel the slight tremor in her grip, and I squeeze gently.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
She nods, but doesn’t speak.
The hostess leads us through the main dining room to a smaller area in the back.
It’s the same restaurant where Konstantin ambushed us before, and I have to suppress a flash of anger at the memory.
The long table is already occupied by several elders and their companions, their conversations dying as we enter.
Konstantin sits at the head, of course. Katya is beside him, her platinum hair swept up in an elaborate style that shows off her neck. She watches us approach with an expression of calculated disinterest.
I pull out Vera’s chair before taking my own seat. The small gesture doesn’t go unnoticed; I can feel the weight of every eye in the room.
“You look well, Vera,” Katya says, her voice carrying across the table. “Marriage seems to agree with you.”
Vera’s chin lifts slightly. “Thank you.”
Katya’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s performing, just as Konstantin trained her to. I wonder if she recognizes the irony of her position, a decorative piece trotted out when needed and ignored when inconvenient.
The door opens again, and my attention shifts.
Anton strides in. His black suit is impeccably tailored, his broad shoulders filling out the waistcoat. He scans the table, taking stock of who’s present and where they’re seated.
He’s not alone.
The woman on his arm is striking. She’s tall and slender, with dark hair that cascades past her shoulders and features that could have been carved from marble.
She’s wearing a dress that clings to every curve, the deep neckline leaving little to the imagination.
Her eyes sweep the room with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to being looked at.
I don’t recognize her. That alone puts me on edge.
Anton guides her to the empty seats across from us, his gaze flicking to Vera for a moment before settling on me. His smile widens.
“Roman.” He says my name with exaggerated warmth. “And Vera. What a lovely surprise.”
“Anton.” I keep my voice flat. “I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us.”
“Konstantin extended a personal invitation.” Anton pulls out the woman’s chair, then takes his own seat. “I believe his exact words were that it was important for family to be present tonight. All family.”
The implication is clear. He’s still positioning himself as part of the inner circle, still acting as though he has a claim.
“Who’s your friend?” I ask, nodding toward the woman.
“This is Masha.” Anton’s hand settles on her knee, a possessive gesture that makes Vera tense beside me. “She’s been very supportive during these difficult times.”
Masha offers a practiced smile. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
Her accent is Russian, but there’s something off about it. Rehearsed, almost. I file that information away for later.
We order, and soon the first course arrives. Conversation resumes around us. The elders discuss business and territory, all the usual fare.
I eat without tasting, my attention split between the food on my plate and the dynamics at play around me.
Vera is quiet beside me, pushing her food around. She hasn’t touched her drink even though it’s non-alcoholic, and I notice her hand drift to her stomach once before she catches herself.
I reach under the table and find her hand, threading my fingers through hers. She glances at me, and I see the fear she’s trying to hide.
We’ll get through this, I want to say. I won’t let him win.
The words stick in my throat, and all I can do is hold her hand tighter.
The second course comes and goes. The conversation shifts to more personal matters; marriages, children, the future of the family. I can feel the direction things are heading, and I know Konstantin is orchestrating it all.
Finally, Konstantin sets down his chopsticks and looks around the table.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” he says, raising his glass. “To new beginnings. Roman has asked me to share some news with you all.”
Every eye turns to us. Vera’s grip on my hand tightens.
I stand, pulling Vera up beside me. My voice is steady. “Vera and I are married,” I say. “We’re expecting a child.”
The silence that follows is absolute. Then the whispers start, spreading around the table like a disease.
Anton’s expression shifts. He leans back in his chair, his arm still draped over Masha’s shoulders, but his eyes are cold.
“Married,” he repeats, “and already pregnant? My, that’s odd.”
“Anton.” Konstantin’s voice carries a warning.
“No, no.” Anton waves his hand dismissively. “I think we should discuss this. After all, Vera was promised to me. Or has everyone forgotten that?”
“Promises can be broken,” I say. “Especially when they’re made without the woman’s consent.”
“Consent.” Anton laughs. “What a funny concept.”
“I’m not a piece of property to be passed around,” Vera snaps. She stands beside me, shoulders rigid. “I chose him, not you.”
Anton stands, his chair scraping against the floor. “Tell me, Roman, how long were you planning this? Did you seduce her while Dmitri was still alive, or did you wait until after you’d killed him?”
The table goes silent.
I feel Vera’s hand tighten in mine, her nails digging into my palm. I can feel her fear, her anger, and I share it.
“Careful,” I say. “You’re treading on dangerous ground.”
“Am I?” Anton takes a step toward us, his smile sharp. “I’m simply asking questions that everyone here is thinking. The timing is convenient, isn’t it? Roman returns from exile, his brother dies under mysterious circumstances, and suddenly he’s married to the widow and she’s carrying his child.”
He turns to address the table, his voice rising. “What kind of man seduces his brother’s widow before the body is even cold? What kind of honor does that show?”
I release Vera’s hand and step forward. The movement is deliberate, but I can feel the rage building inside me.
“Say what you mean, Anton.” My voice is low, deadly. “Don’t hide behind implications.”
Anton’s smile widens. “I’m saying that your intentions were dishonorable from the beginning. You saw an opportunity and you took it, consequences be damned. Now you’re standing here, asking us to accept this arrangement... as legitimate?”
“It is legitimate.” I rise to my full height, towering over him. “Vera is my wife. The child she carries is mine. That’s the end of it.”
The room is frozen. I can feel the weight of every stare, the tension crackling in the air like static before a storm.
“Vera was promised to me,” Anton continues. “By rights and tradition, she should be mine. Yet here she is, married to you, carrying your child. Tell me, Roman, how am I supposed to interpret that?”
I don’t answer. Anton misreads my silence. He thinks I’m backing down, that he’s won this round. His smile grows.
“You know what I think?” He lowers his voice, though everyone in the room can still hear him. “I think you got her pregnant on purpose. You saw a chance to cement your claim and you took it, just like you took everything else that belonged to Dmitri.”
The rage that’s been building inside me finally boils over.
I move faster than Anton expects. One moment I’m standing beside Vera, the next I’m inches from his face with my hand closing around his collar.
“Say that again,” I snarl.
Anton’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t back down. “You’re proving my point,” he says, his voice strained. “This is the behavior of a man who has something to hide.”
“I have nothing to hide.” I release him with a shove that sends him stumbling backward. “You won’t have her, Anton.”
The room erupts.
Someone rises from his seat, his face red with anger. “This is outrageous! We should be discussing the future of the family, not squabbling over a woman.”
“A woman who was promised to another,” someone else counters. “Roman has violated tradition.”
“Tradition?” I turn to face the elders, my voice cutting through the noise. “You want to talk about tradition? Dmitri violated tradition when he framed me for betrayal and had me exiled. He violated tradition when he trafficked in human lives and drained the family’s resources for his own gain.”
I reach into my jacket and pull out the file I brought with me, the one containing the financial records we found in his private study. I toss it onto the table, the papers scattering across the surface.
“Look at these,” I say. “Look at what your golden boy was really doing.”
The elders lean forward, their eyes scanning the documents. Konstantin’s expression doesn’t change, but I see something flicker in his eyes. He knew about some of this, I’m sure. But not all of it.
Anton recovers himself, straightening his jacket with a scowl. “This has nothing to do with Dmitri’s crimes. This is about you, Roman, and your questionable actions.”
“My actions are not in question.” I step back toward Vera, positioning myself beside her. “I claimed what was mine. I protected what was mine. I’ll continue to do so, regardless of what anyone in this room thinks.”
The elders exchange glances. Some of them are clearly on my side; they’ve seen the evidence of Dmitri’s treachery and they understand the implications. Others are firmly in Anton’s camp. I know without having to ask.
Konstantin is watching from the head of the table. He’s enjoying this, I realize. He’s enjoying watching Anton and me tear each other apart.
“Let the council decide,” Pavel says finally.
“There’s nothing to decide,” I counter. “I’m not asking for permission. I’m informing you of the facts.”
The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. I can feel Vera trembling beside me, and I reach for her hand again.
“It’s time to go,” I say quietly.
She nods, and we make our way toward the door. The elders part before us, some with expressions of support, others with barely concealed hostility.
Anton’s voice follows us. “This isn’t over, Roman. You can’t just walk away from this.”
I don’t turn around. “Watch me.”
The hostess is waiting by the exit, her face pale. She’s clearly overheard some of what happened, and she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Is everything alright?” she asks.
“Everything is fine,” I say. “Thank you.”
We step outside into the cool night air. Artyom is already waiting with the car, his expression alert.
“Get in,” I say to Vera. “Quickly.”
She slides into the back seat without argument. I follow, pulling the door shut behind me.
“Go,” I tell Artyom. “Now.”
The car pulls away from the curb, leaving the restaurant behind. I lean back against the seat, my jaw tight with barely suppressed fury.
Vera is quiet beside me, her hand still clasped in mine. I can feel her pulse racing through her fingertips.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
She shakes her head, then nods, then shakes it again. “I don’t know,” she says finally. “That was...”
“Tell me about it.”