Chapter 17
Roman
By the time we got back to the suite, Nadia had already fallen asleep in my arms.
Her cheeks still held that post-sex flush, lashes casting shadows on her face. Her lips parted slightly, breathing even and steady. She'd curled up in my shirt like a cat who'd finally found safe harbor.
I set her down carefully on the bed and pulled the covers over her.
Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting her face in soft light. I sat on the edge of the bed, unable to resist brushing back a few stray locks of hair from her forehead.
She nuzzled into my palm in her sleep, then let out a contented sigh.
Something unfamiliar and soft bloomed in my chest.
The feeling was strange.
I'd seen plenty of women, slept with more than I could count. But never once had I wanted to just sit and watch one sleep afterwards, wanted to make sure she was resting peacefully, wanted to stay by her side until dawn.
Nadia Sokolova.
My wife.
That title felt oddly real when I repeated it in my head.
I leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.
"Goodnight, Kitten," I murmured.
Then I stood and walked out to the balcony.
The sea breeze swept past, carrying away the lingering heat from my body. I pulled out my cigarette case and lit one up. The taste of nicotine and tar expanded in my lungs, clearing my head somewhat.
That's when my phone buzzed.
I glanced at the caller ID—Danny.
I hit accept and brought the phone to my ear.
"Pakhan." Danny's voice came through with a faint crackle of static.
"Talk." I exhaled a thick plume of white smoke, staring out at the dark sea.
"The shipment from the West Coast got unloaded at that abandoned California dock without a hitch.
Our guys paid off the port informant, dodged every sweep from customs' sniffer dogs.
" Danny spoke fast, sharp and efficient.
"As for Miller, that rabid dog who won't let go—last night he led his fully-armed federal agents on a big dramatic raid of three of our Chicago South Side transfer stations. "
"And?" I let out a cold laugh.
"They found a few dozen boxes of moldy Cuban cigars and a pile of scrap metal.
" Danny chuckled on his end. "Heard Miller was so pissed he threw the search warrant in his agent's face.
Now he's sitting in his office having a tantrum.
He'll never figure out that the 'opening' you left him was just an appetizer to string him along. "
"Good work. Keep him running in circles. And keep eyes on our core accounts. Can't afford any mistakes right now."
"Got it."
After business was done, I heard the click of a lighter on his end, his tone relaxing.
"Sounds like the Bahamas sunshine and honeymoon got our Pakhan feeling lazy." Danny laughed lightly, teasing. "I saw the photos. Real dramatic. The way you looked at her... Christ, Roman, if that was just an act for the FBI, you deserve an Oscar."
My fingers, holding the cigarette, paused briefly. I didn't argue.
Because I knew damn well there wasn't an ounce of pretense in that moment. I'd genuinely wanted to devour her whole, wanted to announce to the world she belonged to Roman Sokolov and no one else.
When I stayed silent, Danny seemed to catch on. He dropped the joking tone.
"Roman," his voice turned serious, "I know the past weighs heavy on you. But you've got a new life now. You've got Nadia. Maybe... maybe it's time to look forward."
"I know," I said, voice low.
"You know, but you can't do it." Danny cut straight to it. "Because you think you owe her. You think if you forget, if you move on, it's a betrayal."
I said nothing.
Because he was right.
"But Roman," Danny continued, "the dead don't need your loyalty. The living do."
I took a deep drag, letting the nicotine burn through my lungs.
"I'll handle it," I finally said.
"Hope so." Danny sighed, then hesitated. "One more thing, Roman. Miss Carter's caused trouble in Paris again."
The name "Carter" hit like lightning out of nowhere, shattering the brief peace of the Bahamas night.
My fingers clenched around the cigarette. "What'd she do now?"
"Racked up big debts at an underground casino, then smashed a local gangster's head with a bottle. They're holding her. Want two million cash or they'll chop off her hands." Danny sighed, helpless. "She's been spiraling lately, acting without thinking. Next week is the 'day'... you know."
I shut my eyes hard, jaw clenching so tight the muscles twitched.
The day.
The day I could never forget.
Fire. Screaming. That burnt wood smell.
The ghost from my past. The crushing promise I'd sworn my life to keep.
"Wire the money." My voice came out low and hoarse. "Send someone to Paris. Bring her back to Chicago. Put her in the manor. Twenty-four-hour watch. She doesn't leave without my permission."
"Understood." Danny paused, like he wanted to say more. "Roman, you can't clean up after her forever. You've made up for enough already, you—"
"Just do it." I cut him off, voice cold as ice.
"Fine." Danny sighed and gave in.
I hung up.
The cigarette had burned down to the filter, scorching my fingertips. I crushed it out but didn't light another.
I stood on that balcony for a long time.
The sea wind blew past, carrying the damp cold of an approaching storm, stinging my skin.
Carter.
That name always dragged me back, back to memories I thought I'd buried.
I turned and walked back into the bedroom.
Nadia was still asleep, covers slipped down to her waist, exposing her smooth shoulders. Her cheeks still held that sleepy flush, lashes casting shadows, breathing even and steady.
I stood by the bed, watching her. A tangle of emotions stirred inside me.
I wanted her. No question about that.
I wanted to possess her, protect her, keep her by my side forever.
I'd promised her a marriage worth remembering. Promised to be her real husband, not just a name on paper.
But at the same time, I carried debts from the past—debts I couldn't repay, heavy and blood-soaked debts.
Could I keep both promises—to the dead and to the living—at the same time?
Could I protect Nadia while still atoning for the past?
Or was I destined to choose between them one day?
I climbed into bed and pulled Nadia into my arms.
She naturally curled against me in her sleep, burying her face in my chest.
"Roman..." she murmured my name, voice thick with sleep.
My heart slammed hard.
Then I lowered my head and kissed the top of her hair.
I'm here. I'll always be here.
I thought it but didn't say it out loud.
The dream tore open like a festering wound.
Fire. Fire everywhere.
Orange flames licked the ceiling, thick smoke poured in from all sides like something alive, choking off air. The smell of burnt wood, charred skin, and that blood-curdling scream—
"Roman! Roman, help me—!"
I charged in, but the smoke was too thick. Couldn't see anything. I reached out, flailing through the scorching air, trying to grab something—
Then I did.
A hand. Cold, weak, losing its warmth.
"No—"
I jerked awake, gasping, drenched in cold sweat.
My heart hammered in my chest like it wanted to break through my ribs. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, but my lungs burned like they'd been scorched.
Outside, rain pounded against the windows.
Sometime during the night, the Bahamas' clear skies had turned into a raging storm. Thunder boomed, lightning tore white gashes through the darkness.
I sat up, instinctively reaching for my left pinkie finger—
Empty.
The ring was gone.
My blood froze.
I threw off the covers and tore through the tangled sheets and pillows. Then the entire room.
Nothing. It was nowhere.
"Fuck..." I cursed under my breath, breathing ragged and uneven.
I couldn't lose that ring. I'd promised. I'd sworn. I'd remember forever. Forever.
"Roman...?"
The violent motion woke Nadia. She sat up, rubbing her sleepy eyes, bare shoulders still marked with bite marks from last night's loss of control. She'd curled up in my shirt like a kitten who'd found shelter.
I didn't answer. She picked up on my distress immediately.
"What's wrong? Bad dream?" Her voice thick with concern. She shifted closer, reaching out with those warm, soft hands to touch my face.
"Don't touch me."
My voice came out cold enough to shock even me. The instant before her fingertips made contact, I jerked my head away instinctively, defensively.
Nadia's hand froze mid-air.
Hurt and confusion flashed in her blue eyes. She bit her lower lip, gaze sliding down my tense jaw to my bare pinkie finger.
"Is it because of your ring?" she said softly, understanding dawning. "That ring on your pinkie—it's gone, isn't it?"
"None of your business." I shot to my feet, running a frustrated hand through my hair. The guilt and panic from the dream and the missing ring stripped away all my usual control. I was too dangerous right now, too dark. I couldn't let her near me like this.
"Roman, don't do this..." Nadia pushed back the covers to get out of bed. "If that ring matters to you, when it's light out, I'll help you—"
"I said stay away from me, Nadia!" I spun around and snarled at her like a cornered animal.
She flinched back, face going pale.
"Sorry." My chest heaved as I forced down the rage, tone harsh as I ordered, "Stay in the room. Don't move. I need to be alone."
I didn't look at her wounded expression again. I turned and strode out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
I went to the main sitting room and stood in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky outside had been swallowed by heavy storm clouds, wind whipping rain violently against the glass. A fierce Caribbean tropical storm had descended without warning.
I braced both hands against the cold glass, forcing myself to breathe, to calm down.
It's just a ring.
Just an object.
It's not a person. It doesn't breathe, doesn't talk. Having it or not doesn't change anything about me.
Right. Exactly.
I barely managed to push down that violent bloodlust churning in my chest.