Chapter 8
?
Roman
Niko's going on about some construction company bleeding us dry with material costs, but I can't focus. My attention's locked on the woman a few tables over, working her way through tacos and margaritas.
Our usual corner spot - courtesy of our friendship with Alfonso, the owner - gives me the perfect vantage point. The lighting's low, but I can see everything. Since she walked in with her friend, I haven't been able to tear my eyes away from those cinnamon-blonde curls, those scattered freckles. But it's more than that. Something about her eyes keeps pulling me in. She smiles, laughs, goes through all the motions, but none of it reaches those green eyes. They stay distant, guarded. And for some reason, it's driving me crazy.
“You're done staring, or should I just talk to myself?” Niko smirks, knocking back another shot of tequila.
Alfonso always keeps our Don Julio ready - knows we're coming before we do. Niko's here for the booze, but me? I come to watch people. Usually, nobody catches my eye. Usually.
"Not yet, but you can keep talking. Unlike you, I can multitask. You were saying the furniture supplier wants twelve percent more to finish the order on time. Give him seven percent. With how much furniture he makes for us, he can't afford to lose all our business. Anything else?" I ask without lifting my gaze from my new attraction.
It's been a while since I've felt this chemistry toward any woman. They've all become too simple, too boring, too desperate.
"Poor thing has no idea who she's caught the attention of," Niko laughs beside me, though I notice him analyzing her too.
He knows better than to say anything wrong about her, and although he might be interested, we've never fought over a woman, especially when he knows one has captured my interest.
Unlike me, he's the type of man who prefers multiple women at once and always has been. I'm the type who prefers to focus on a single target, and those green eyes have become exactly that. I can't see her completely, but her face is heart shaped, her nose small and slightly upturned. Her mouth is round with light pink lips that perfectly complement her hair color, and when drops from her drink linger on them, I freeze. Damn .
I feel warmth coursing through my entire body. What the hell is happening to me? I'm not some kid who can't control himself in public when it comes to a woman.
The beast in me studies her, and with each passing moment, her smile grows wider.
I watch her as she heads to the bar while her friend remains hypnotized by her phone. I bet if the place exploded, it would take her half a minute to realize she was left alone among the ruins. That's how absorbed she is in the screen in front of her while my future target waits patiently at the bar to be served.
I stand up abruptly, ignoring Niko, who's telling me about a shipment that arrived safely in England, but his voice fades as my steps carry me toward her.
I spot her silhouette and have to hold myself back. Those jeans should be illegal - doesn't she realize what kind of attention she's drawing? Every lowlife in here is probably undressing her with their eyes.
The women I usually entertain could've walked off magazine covers, but this one? She's different. Tall, yeah, but with curves that would make those runway models weep with envy.
Some guy - built like a brick wall, about my height - starts moving her way. I lean against a pillar, watching their little dance. The moment he steps toward her, her whole body goes rigid. Interesting. Sure, the guy's intimidating, but her reaction...that's not normal. That's learned behavior.
Something dark shifts inside me when I catch the fear in her eyes. As if I needed another reason to be fascinated by her - that look just threw gasoline on an already dangerous fire. I watch her grab her drinks and bolt from the bar like she's running from death itself, completely ignoring the mountain of muscle beside her.
He doesn't take the rejection well. The moment he starts after her, my body moves on pure instinct. I can't hear what he's growling at her, because of the music, but I see those meaty fingers wrapping around her delicate wrist, threatening to snap it.
How fucking dare he touch her? Touch what's mine?
I shove that last thought aside and cut through the crowd, every step calculated.
The guy's wasted, and yeah, maybe I shouldn't start something in a packed restaurant. But that look of pure terror on her face hits something primal in me, unleashes a rage I can't bottle up. I don't bother with warnings - just grab the bastard by his collar. When he turns, I make sure to give my fist enough room to rearrange his face.
Between the punch and all that tequila in his system, he goes down hard. Alfonso's gonna have my head if I wreck these tables - his precious imports from Guadalajara. But he'll live. Consider it durability testing.
"Learn to take a hint when a woman's not interested, pal," I tell him, feeling the fury radiating from me.
Control yourself, Roman. Stay in control.
It’s the same mantra I've chanted since losing my parents, the one that's kept me breathing all these years.
But my demon's already loose, hungry for more violence. My foot finds his ribs - and by 'finds,' I mean I feel them crack under my shoe. When I turn back to her, she's staring at me like I'm something from her nightmares.
"Are you alright?" My voice comes out softer than intended.
I reach for her shoulder instinctively, but she backs away like I'm made of fire. The rational part of me gets it - after what that piece of garbage just pulled. But my darker half? He's fighting for control, desperate to touch her, to make sure she's whole. Still, with that animal whimpering on the floor behind me, I know better than to push it.
“Luna! Oh my God, are you okay?" Her friend's voice could shatter glass, but I can't tear my eyes from her face.
She's studying me, trying to work out why I stepped in, what angle I'm playing. Something about the way she looks through me - like she can see past all my carefully constructed walls - it throws me off balance. Maybe that's just my beast trying to justify this growing obsession with her.
"I'm fine," she says with that same empty smile that never touches her eyes.
Her friend finally turns to me, does a double take, and practically yells, "Roman Borisov?"
"Nice to meet you. Though I prefer meeting people under better circumstances."
Niko and Alfonso haul the guy off the floor, giving me the signal they'll 'handle' him out back. Alfonso's already working crowd control, announcing free tequila shots for everyone. Amazing how quickly people forget about violence when free booze is involved. But I stay rooted beside their table, unable to move away.
"What a coincidence that you were the one who intervened," her friend says. "Would you like to join us?"
But my attention is caught by the word she used: coincidence . It's not unusual for people to recognize me, but it seems I'm missing something.
"Coincidence?" I repeat in a calculatedly friendly tone while Luna continues to study me as if she can't believe I'm real and standing next to her.
Luna . Even her name is a sign she's made for me. The darkness in me wants to envelop her. Completely.
You're losing it, Roman.
"Luna works at a company you recently acquired," the friend tells me.
I can't stop the smile forming on my face because, although I don't believe in a supreme being or fate, there's something supernatural about how things align. I was just wondering how I could engineer another meeting between us, but if she works for me, things just got simpler.
"By the way, I'm Roxy."
Luna looks about ready to decapitate her friend with her glare, but what fascinates me is precisely that spark in her eyes. I don't understand how her eyes could be so empty when that cretin grabbed her, but now they're so alive and full of fire.
I sit in one of the chairs closer to the woman, who now seems to be breathing fire, and direct all my attention to her.
"Is that so?" And the question is clearly directed at her.
"Yes. We officially start next week, Mr. Borisov." Her tone is so formal and irritating that I feel a facet of my control slip.
"Which department will you be in?"
I realize I'm not asking out of politeness. I'm genuinely curious.
"And please, call me Roman," I add with a smile.
"IT. I work as a software programmer," she answers in a soft tone, without taking her eyes off me. The fact that she maintains my gaze only cements my madness further, but she still speaks in that formal tone.
"And do you enjoy what you do?"
I want to punch myself because it's such a stupid question, like I'm some HR manager.
Luna seems to analyze me for a few moments before answering.
"I like that we all work as one so someone can breathe easier, knowing their life is being monitored."
I don't miss the pride in her voice. It's clear she enjoys working on this project.
Her friend watches us, fascinated, without saying a word, but I catch her face and see she's radiating with delight, which gives me unexpected satisfaction. I make a quick gesture to one of the waiters to approach and order a shot of tequila. When I turn back to Luna, I notice her gaze is fixed on my hand, and lowering my eyes, I see the traces of blood left from my fist's meeting with that scumbag's face.
"It's nothing. At worst it'll bruise," I tell her just to provide comfort because she looks worried, and I don't like seeing that level of concern in her eyes even if it's for me.
Since when do you care about concern in someone's eyes? I don't have an answer for that, so I file away the question for later. I'll analyze it this evening when I get home because I have many questions. Rationally, I should distance myself from this woman, who in one evening has raised too many rhetorical questions.
"You should put some ice on that, Mr. Borisov," Luna says in a soft tone.
Then her friend intervenes.
"Roman, are you here with someone tonight? I forgot to ask when I invited you to join us. We wouldn't want them to feel bad about you sitting with us."
It grates on my nerves that Luna’s still calling me 'Mr. Borisov,' while her friend's already dropped the formalities. I catch Roxy's game - she's fishing to see if I'm here for pleasure rather than business.
Before answering, I let my eyes linger on the woman I wish was my dinner companion tonight. She's frozen in place, except for those nervous sips of margarita, doing everything she can to avoid meeting my gaze. When her friend's question registers, she nearly chokes on her drink.
"Roxy! Why don't you ask for his social security number while you're at it?" Luna hisses, mortified.
Christ, she's gorgeous when she's flustered. Those freckles stand out against her pink cheeks, her lips glistening from the margarita. I have to clear my throat, force my mind away from thoughts of those soft lips and where I'd like to feel them.
"I'm so sorry about my friend, Mr. Borisov."
Her blush deepens, and something primal stirs in me.
My phone buzzes - definitely Niko, probably ready to explode behind the restaurant. I knock back the shot the waiter just brought and push away from the table, throwing Roxy a smile before answering.
"I'm getting a call now; I should go attend to my date."
And I don't miss the surprise in Luna's eyes. Was she expecting me to be alone?
"Dinner’s on me. Enjoy the rest of your evening," I tell them. With that, I start to leave when her velvet voice rings out.
"Good evening, Mr. Borisov!" I could swear her tone now carries a slight note of sarcasm meant precisely to irritate me.
I turn my head and respond.
"Roman, call me Roman." I try to stay calm.
She shouldn't see how much her resistance affects me. Does she sense what kind of predator she's dealing with?
"I'd prefer to keep things formal, Mr. Borisov. Thank you for your intervention tonight."
Something's eating at her, but I don't have time to unravel that mystery - not with Niko waiting. So I switch to my boardroom voice, the one that reminds people exactly who they're dealing with.
"I prefer Roman. And since I'm signing your paychecks now, I suggest you remember that."
I head toward the back of the restaurant where, undoubtedly, my brother will demand an explanation, but Luna's reaction has awakened the beast inside me, and tonight I really feel the need to let it loose.
I'm barely past their table when I catch her whisper, my predator's ears picking up every word.
"Ugh, I hope you choke on that date."
A smile appears on my face, but I shake my head as if trying to shake off her presence.
"His Majesty finally graces us with his presence," Niko says the moment he sees me exit the restaurant.
"Don't start," is all I offer while looking at Alfonso, who has tied up the animal who dared put his hands on her.
"I’ll cover the tab for the girls' table where the problem started, Alfonso."
He knows not to ask questions, just nods and says, "If that's what you want, Roman," and gestures toward the unconscious man. "What do you want us to do with him?" he asks, and I think about what I want to do with him.
I feel my beast scratching at the inside of my mind, wanting to be let loose to wreak havoc, and although a bit of violence would relax me, I can't indulge it. The earlier outburst was already too much. In public, this side of me shouldn't come out, especially not twice in one hour.
"Rough him up a bit before letting him go and make him understand he's not welcome here anymore."
Alfonso drags him back into the restaurant, where he'll probably wake up with some unpleasant memories and broken ribs.
When I look at Niko, I see him studying me, and I know he wants to start his interrogation, so before he has the chance to speak, I answer with a sigh, "I don't know why I did it, okay?"
It's the truth.
Yes, I've always been instantly attracted to certain women, but my fascination was purely physical. I don't seek feelings because it's not something I can offer in return. I didn't care if they cried, didn't care if they poured their life at my feet or if their expectations were shattered the next morning when I invited them to leave.
"She has something special. I see it in the way you looked at her, but Ro..." And again he gathers his words.
This is what my brother has always done around me. Walked on eggshells trying not to disturb me.
Not me, but the demons inside me.
"You look at her like she scares you," he finally says.
Then I look at him, slightly exasperated, because that's exactly how I feel.
Apart from Victoria and her episodes, fear isn't a frequent emotion in my life. The idea of dying isn't so terrible in this world. I constantly have a headache, an anger that gnaws at everything inside and that I pour ice over daily to keep it from spreading like lava through my veins.
I don't answer, and that gives him all the confirmation he needs. It's a fear of being read. Even though Niko often sees me, the real me, the true face under this cheap CEO facade is a face that no one sees. But today those green eyes penetrated the shield I keep raised high, and I know the demon in me smiled at that connection.
That's terrifying.
"She's employed at the new company we acquired."
I try to change the subject precisely to stop thinking about the look on her face when she saw my bleeding hand. A look of terror, fear, but also concern. What a mix of emotions.
"Wonderful. The last thing we need is for all our employees to hear about this scene," is his response, and although there's a risk Luna might tell others what happened tonight, I doubt it.
Maybe it's just the beast in me that likes her and wants to believe she'd keep her mouth shut, but there's a certainty in me when I answer.
"She won't tell anyone. Don't worry."
Niko lowers his head, tired of this discussion.
"Anton called. Devin and his gang assaulted a shipment of machine guns two hours ago. The driver is dead, along with the three soldiers who were with him," he tells me, and his fury is as palpable as dust in the air.
"So Damien was right. It was just a matter of time," I conclude with a sigh.
A conflict with the Irish has been looming for a while, but any war leaves dead behind, and although blood and violence bring me peace, Victoria remains a vulnerability.
She's not the only vulnerability , whispers the demon in me.
"Call Anton. I want to know every move that Devin makes. NOW."
While we walk to the car, Niko talks to Anton, giving him clear instructions. Until now, I've tried to ignore the Irish's small intrusions, but their audacity might give others ideas, and I can't allow that. They need to understand that in this city, there's room for only one of us at the top of the food chain, and that person doesn't have Celtic ancestors.
The next moment, my phone vibrates with an incoming message, and when I look at the screen, I see a single sentence from a private number.
?
An emptiness settles in my stomach at what this could mean, but I’ll wait until I get home to discuss it with Niko and Anton. Meanwhile, I grab my phone and call Damien.
"One of my shipments was stolen two hours ago," I say, indignation tangible in my tone.
"Let me guess? They're four-leaf clover fans who drink Guinness?" Damien's voice is amused.
"I'm not in the mood for jokes, Damien. Any news about Devin?"
Since this whole thing started, the Irish leader has barely shown his face in public.
"No, but my men are looking for him. I'll let you know if I spot the redhead," he says and hangs up.
?
The drive home is relatively short, and by the time we arrive, I already see Anton waiting for us at the entrance.
"Any news?" I ask.
My back is tense from nerves and my fists are clenched. I try to restrain myself from shaking my lieutenant, but that shipment was important, and Anton is directly responsible for routes and their security.
"That route was changed six hours ago. From what we could determine at the scene, there were ten men on it, Roman." I see the nerves and agitation in his eyes.
He knows he's responsible and he'll have to talk to the families of the dead, so his duty is the greatest punishment for the earlier error.
"Someone tipped them off," Niko now confirms exactly what I'm thinking.
"If we have a mole among us, maybe the Irish aren't our biggest problem," is all I say while walking toward the office.
I look at my brother and lieutenant, who are vibrating with rage just like me.
"I received a message when leaving the restaurant. Start with the driver and his accounts," I tell Anton.
It's almost midnight and I need sleep, but my brain is more awake than ever trying to find the missing piece.
Who would dare turn their back on us? It's clear the driver isn't the mastermind. All soldiers are paid royally, all have houses provided by us, and although there's always a risk, we normally don't have casualties on our side.
So, why would a driver who's worked with us so many times accept a sum of money he could easily make by working another run for us? I cross my arms over my chest and look at Anton.
"I want a list of everyone who knew about this shipment, right down to their dogs’ names. I'll have Lev take a look at their communications. And don't forget to bring me the driver's banking data."
This is the moment Anton's shoulders relax because he knows he's not a suspect.
Letting him in on the strategy proves how much I trust him. Sure, that botched shipment cost us four good men and more money than I care to count - and yeah, I still want to throttle him for it. But this is the same man who took a bullet meant for me. The kind of loyalty you can't buy. He treats Victoria like his own sister, looks at Anuska, our housekeeper, like she's his mother, and even though he'll always see me as his boss, he knows his words carry weight with me. When he speaks, I listen.
"I'll go gather the names. You'll have them in an hour, along with the banking data."
And in his eyes, I see gratitude when he walks out the door.
"Don't keep him on pins and needles so much, Ro," Niko tells me while pouring himself a whiskey and settling on the blue velvet couch.
"Even if we have a mole among us, this shipment was under his watch. Something slipped past him." But I know my argument is weak.
I'm still agitated because of some freckled redhead who looked at me with fear and wouldn't let me touch an inch of skin. And that leaves me confused. Usually, women are much more cooperative when it comes to me.
I've never had to struggle too hard to have one, and the thought that I have to do it now for a single touch unsettles me. Meanwhile, I pick up the phone and call Lev.
"Ro, I hope it's urgent."
His rushed tone indicates either someone's head is between his legs or he's the one doing due diligence.
"I have a mole and need you to check a list. I'll send it to you in an hour."
I hear a sweet voice in the background, but I can’t make out any words until Lev responds.
"Fuck. You sure?"
"Yes, Lev. I'm damn sure. I want some answers by tomorrow."
I hang up because he seems to have a job to finish and I'm out of patience for anyone.
"I'm going to sleep for an hour until Anton comes with the list," I tell Niko while leaving the office.
"Dream of some green eyes, brother," is all he says, and I smile automatically even though he can't see me because, even if he hadn't said it, surely my subconscious wouldn't have let me escape.