Chapter 20
Nadia
The Bahamian sun still blazed bright enough to burn, the waves crashing against the rocks in a rhythm that felt like hypnosis.
Chloe and Ben dragged me to that secluded white sand beach on the southern tip, claiming they'd found the perfect snorkeling spot.
I floated there with my mask on, watching tropical fish slip through my fingers, coral blooming like wicked flowers in the turquoise depths.
But I felt hollow.
After Roman left, the island lost all its color and warmth. The air no longer carried that cold bite of his cologne, my pillow at night missed his steady heartbeat, and even the sunlight on my skin felt fake. Empty.
"Nadia! Look at this fish! Nemo!" Chloe splashed around, pointing excitedly at an orange-and-white clownfish.
I forced a smile and nodded. Clownfish. The star of my favorite childhood cartoon. Ben should've been interested. But right now, my mood sat at the bottom of the ocean like a dark reef—cold and heavy.
Today marked the fifth day since Roman left. Past our agreed timeline. And still no sign of him.
Maybe I should go back to Chicago. Find him. But...
I sighed and dove under.
"You're still moping." That evening, we sat at a beachside grill, Chloe shoving grilled shrimp in her mouth while offering her assessment. "Roman's been gone five days, and you're wilting like seaweed left in the sun."
"I'm fine." I pushed salad around my plate. No appetite.
"Please." Ben laughed, taking over. He had a way of reading people. "Nadia, we've been there. Newlyweds separated—it's hell for anyone. Especially when you two were practically inseparable."
"Inseparable." The word dug into me like a thorn.
I let out a bitter laugh and set down my fork.
"Maybe we're not as close as you think." My voice dropped. "I mean... we've only been married a few months. There's so much I don't know about him. So much he doesn't know about me."
"But you two look completely in love." Chloe blinked at me, confused. "Roman looks at you like—God, I've barely seen that look in my life. Like he wants to tuck you inside his chest and gouge out the eyes of anyone who looks too long."
I stared down, fingers picking at the rim of my glass. "Maybe."
"Maybe?" Chloe nearly jumped out of her seat. "Nadia, you can't seriously think Roman doesn't love you?"
I went quiet.
Did he love me? I didn't dare think about it.
"Are you kidding me?" Chloe's eyes went wide, her shrimp falling back onto the plate.
She leaned across the table, locking onto me.
"Nadia, why are you so insecure? You're hot enough to make every guy on this beach drool, but the second it comes to Roman, you act like some disposable accessory waiting to be tossed. "
I couldn't speak.
My throat felt packed with waterlogged cotton.
How could I tell them? Tell them this was a contract marriage with a one-year expiration date?
That my husband was a feared Chicago Bratva Pakhan, and I was just a pretty chess piece to handle the FBI and family politics?
In a world soaked in blood, calculation, and power, the word "love" weighed nothing.
Even if he favored me now, I'd stolen that. Hormones and island isolation. Back in Chicago, everything would reset.
Seeing my silence, Ben sighed and set down his beer.
"Listen, Nadia." His tone turned serious. "Chloe and I have known you guys for half a month. We don't know how you met, how you fell in love, what your past in Chicago looks like, or what business Roman's even in. But because we're complete outsiders, some things—we see them clearer than you do."
A strange premonition hit me. Like something was about to shift.
I licked my lips. "What do you mean?"
Ben leaned forward, elbows on the greasy wooden table, voice low like he was sharing something the wind shouldn't carry away.
"That night on the yacht, I got up for water.
Saw him on the deck smoking. You were asleep on the lounger, rolled over, and your blanket slipped halfway off.
He crushed his cigarette, walked over, tucked you back in, and crouched there watching you for at least ten minutes.
That look..." Ben paused, shaking his head.
"And he was terrified of waking you. Even his breathing went quiet. "
Chloe picked up the thread, her tone unusually steady.
"And that day you choked on water while snorkeling?
He pulled you onto the dock, hand locked on your waist the whole time.
You were laughing like an idiot, didn't even notice him dip his head and breathe in your hair.
I told Ben right then—Roman might as well brand his name on your forehead. "
My heart slammed like someone had taken a hammer to my chest. It pounded wild and violent.
Fireworks. Embraces. And in the dark bedroom, his face buried in my neck, breath scalding. All those moments I'd buried under the word "contract" came flooding back, demolishing every last shred of logic.
Did Roman... actually love me?
The thought terrified and seduced me in equal measure. Screw the contract. Screw Chicago's Bratva. If this man—this tyrant—had handed me his heart, why couldn't I be brave for once?
"Thank you." I shot to my feet, chair scraping loud across the deck. Ignoring their stunned faces, I grabbed my bag and bolted.
"Hey! Where are you going?" Chloe shouted after me.
"Back to Chicago! To my husband!" I yelled back, their laughter—warm and knowing—chasing me down the beach.
Adrenaline scorched through my veins. On my sprint back to the hotel, I fumbled with my phone and booked the next flight to Chicago.
"Ma'am, what are you doing?" Bodyguard Ivan watched me whirlwind into the suite, shoving clothes haphazardly into my suitcase, and immediately reached for his encrypted phone. "I need to report your travel plans to the Pakhan immediately..."
"Put the phone down, Ivan." I yanked the suitcase zipper closed and whipped around, fixing him with a glare that surprised even me.
"Ma'am..." Ivan's massive frame stiffened. He looked torn.
"I'm giving him a surprise." I strode up to him, lowered my voice, threat clear as day. "If you breathe one word of this and ruin my plan, I swear the first thing I do back in Chicago is have Roman ship you to Siberia to guard trees. Try me."
Ivan looked at me. Then at his phone lighting up in his hand. Finally, under my stare, he swallowed and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
The hours-long flight back felt like floating in the clouds.
I kept replaying the moment I'd push open the door.
What would Roman's face look like? Would he raise that devastating eyebrow in surprise?
Or would he pin me to the door and kiss me senseless?
Nerves, anticipation, excitement threatening to burst out of my chest—I couldn't close my eyes for even a second in that first-class seat.
Chicago's cold wind sliced across my face like a blade, but my blood ran hot.
The Maybach stopped at the Sokolov Manor gates. I practically leaped out, windblown and travel-worn, coat buttons undone, and charged through the carved manor doors.
"Ma'am? Why are you back so suddenly?"
Housekeeper Sofia stood in the main hall. When she saw me barrel in like a cannonball, her silver tray nearly slipped from her hands. Her usually rigid, stern face now wore something bizarrely frantic. She even stepped forward instinctively, like she wanted to block my path to the stairs.
"Is Roman here?" My head was too full of seeing him to notice her hesitant, almost horrified expression.
"The Pakhan, he..."
I didn't wait for her stammering answer. I brushed past her, across the expensive Persian rugs, taking the spiral staircase to the master bedroom two steps at a time.
My heart hammered so hard it felt like it'd jump out of my throat. I grabbed the brass handle of that heavy mahogany door and shoved it open without hesitation.
"Roman, I'm ho—"
My voice died.
The smile on my face shattered like frozen glass.
Roman wasn't in the room.
Not only was Roman absent—the room itself had been gutted.
Everything that belonged to him, those cold, hard blacks and grays, all gone. Replaced by blinding soft white drapes, pink velvet cushions, and the cedar-and-tobacco scent I knew so well now drowned under a sickly sweet lily perfume.
This wasn't Roman's room anymore. This was another woman's territory.
And in this room—the one he'd once forbidden me from entering—a woman reclined on the bed.
She wore one of Roman's oversized white dress shirts, collar hanging loose and open. Her complexion looked sickly pale, like a porcelain doll that'd crack at a touch.
Hearing the door, she turned. Those light brown eyes flashed with something subtle—triumph, provocation—when she saw me frozen in the doorway.
Then she smiled. Pale. Fragile. But dripping with the magnanimity of a woman who owned the place.
"You must be Nadia." Her voice floated soft as wind, but it struck like a poisoned blade straight through my heart. "Roman's mentioned you so many times. Thank you for taking care of him. In my place."
She straightened slightly, tone laced with ownership and superiority, delivering the final blow that shattered me completely.
"It's so good to finally meet you. Welcome home."