Chapter 16 – Roman
I’m hunched over the desk, scanning layouts and security feeds, calculating exits, patrol rotations, redundancies. My mind never stops, not when it comes to her. The office door opens without knocking, and Luka slips in, a frown etched deep across his face.
“What is it?” I ask.
He folds his arms. “Intel came in. David Chang has mobilized his private network—mercenaries, enforcers, the works. He’s searching for Elara.”
I freeze for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Luka to notice. Dimitri already told me David is sniffing close, but it doesn’t take out the sting in the words whenever I hear it.
“He knows she’s with the Rusnaks,” Luka says. “Not public yet, but he’s aware. And even though no announcement’s been made, he clearly wants her back.”
I lean back in my chair, eyes narrowing. Not a surprise. Yesterday, I took her out in public—our little display—but the network of whispers moves faster than anyone expects. David Chang probably knew Elara was under my protection before the world even saw her beside me.
I rub my temples. “Good. Let him know she’s untouchable.” My fingers drum the desk, restless. “I don’t care if he hires every mercenary in Asia. No one will reach her. Not him, not his enforcers, no one.”
Luka nods, but there’s caution in his eyes. “We need to tighten the perimeter anyway. If he’s serious, this could escalate quickly.”
“Do it,” I say, my voice colder than steel. “I want double the men on rotation, scanners, drones, and shadows on every street around the estate. He thinks this is a chess game, but he has no idea the piece he’s dealing with.”
I pause, thinking of her—Elara, defiant, fiery, untouchable in ways even I can’t always control.
My chest tightens. Every calculation, every reinforced wall, every surveillance sweep is for her.
She’s mine. Only mine. And if David dares step anywhere near her…
I’ll make sure he regrets it for the rest of his miserable life.
“Understood, Boss,” Luka says. “I’ll start the upgrades immediately.”
I nod, my jaw tight. “Good.”
Hours later, the office is still quiet except for the low hum of the surveillance monitors.
I haven’t gone upstairs. I can’t. Not yet.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her—Elara, trembling against me, lips parted from the kiss she didn’t refuse.
And then I see the way she looked at me afterward, like I was the monster she’d always feared.
So I bury myself in work instead, drawing plans, reviewing camera feeds, pretending I’m not waiting to hear her footsteps outside my door. Not like she ever came here. Just that one time.
When the door eventually opens, I know it’s Luka before the voice filters through the tension. “Boss. We got something.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“One of Chang’s men. He was caught near the east perimeter trying to breach the fence. The guards subdued him. He’s alive, but barely.”
I stand immediately, the chair scraping against the floor. “Where is he?”
“In the basement,” Luka says, already waiting at the door when I step out.
We move down the dim hallway, the air growing colder as we descend. The basement smells of concrete and metal—familiar, efficient, controlled. My men part when I enter, and in the center of the room sits a bruised man, wrists bound to the chair, blood trickling down the side of his face.
Roman Rusnak does not lose his temper easily. But right now, the thought of someone coming that close to her makes every muscle in my body burn.
Luka speaks quietly. “He had Chang’s insignia. We found communication gear on him, encrypted.”
I stare at the mercenary, my voice low, steady. “You came for her, didn’t you?”
The man spits blood on the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shake my head. “Don’t test me.”
He says it again, louder, desperate: “I swear to God, I don’t—”
“Bullshit.” I take a step forward. The room contracts around us; the guards fall into the silence I own. “You work for Chang. You came in here for her.”
He blinks, gags a laugh that tastes of broken teeth. “I told you. I don’t know—maybe I was paid for a job. I don’t—”
“Okay.” I motion to Luka. Luka gives a low, cynical grin that promises surgical pain and steps forward, pulling a compact field knife from his vest. The slick black steel catches the dim overhead light.
I watch, clinical and indifferent. This isn’t anger; it’s necessary analysis. I need the truth, and I need to measure Chang’s desperation.
Luka is a master of efficiency. He doesn’t strike the man’s face; he goes straight for the places that hurt the most but leave the least public damage. A sharp, precise strike to the peroneal nerve in the thigh.
The man screams, a high, thin sound that cuts through the thick concrete air. He writhes against the bonds, the chair legs scraping desperately on the floor.
“I was just a courier! I don’t know the woman!” he chokes out.
Luka ignores him. He moves to the left hand, resting the tip of the knife just under the fingernail of the pinky finger. “The boss hates a liar,” Luka says, his voice devoid of emotion. “It wastes time.”
The next sound is a choking, gagging roar of pain as Luka applies pressure. The room smells of stale concrete and fresh, metallic blood. I watch the man’s eyes, waiting for the exact moment the resistance breaks, waiting for the truth to override survival.
He holds out for a minute that stretches into an hour. Luka works methodically—a quick, debilitating strike to the elbow, a twist of the shoulder that threatens dislocation. The man is a bruised, broken, whimpering mess in the chair, his denial reduced to pathetic gasps.
Finally, he collapses forward, spent. His breath is a desperate, bloody croak.
“Stop! Please, please,” he begs. “I’ll tell you.”
I nod to Luka, who immediately steps back, wiping the blade clean with a practiced movement.
“Start talking,” I command, my voice a low, hard rumble that demands obedience. “And if I catch a single lie, I’ll let Luka finish the job.”
The mercenary gasps for air, swallowing hard. “Chang…he pieced it together. He knows she’s not missing. He knows she’s with the Rusnaks. He realized the wedding was protection, not a ransom.” His voice drops to a terrified whisper. “He wants her back to ruin her.”
My jaw tightens. “Ruin her how?”
“He says he’ll auction her publicly to pay off all his remaining debts. He wants to turn the Bratva against you. He wants her to feel the consequences of defying her father. He wants her back to punish her for thinking she could throw him out in the cold.”
The words—auction her publicly, punish her—strike me harder than any bullet. My protective instinct flares into a blinding, savage rage that shatters my strategic composure. David Chang has made this personal, aiming for Elara’s soul.
I lean down until my eyes are level with the mercenary’s. “You’ve delivered your message,” I state, my voice dangerously low. I pause, letting the finality of my decision settle. “Now, I’ll deliver mine.”
I stand up straight. “Luka. Send Chang a message he’ll understand. Cleanly. No body, no evidence. Just noise and a missing man.”
“Understood, Boss.” Luka’s smile is slow and chilling.
I turn and walk toward the exit. The basement air, thick with pain and blood, suddenly feels too thin. All my cold, strategic plans are now useless. David Chang won’t just lose his network; he will lose his life. I won’t stop at choking off his channels; I will eradicate him.
Elara is mine. And no one, especially not her father, touches what belongs to me.
David Chang thinks he can muscle the Rusnaks with mercenaries and shadow brokers. He thinks he can touch my woman and get away with it. He’s misread the map.
I call my brothers. My voice is flat when I tell them: emergency meeting, one hour. I give them the gist. Chang mobilizing, mercs in the city, brokers ready to spend billions on illegal goods.
They agree to meet me in one hour.
One hour later, we’re all gathered at Lev’s home.
Luka’s still in Greece, but the rest of us are here—Adrian, Niko, Kaz, Lev, and me.
Dimitri too, lounging on one of Lev’s leather chairs like he owns the place.
I’m surprised to see him. Looks like he’s taking his promise of always showing up for family—as long as he’s around—very seriously.
“Didn’t expect you to come,” I mutter as I take my seat at the head of the long mahogany table.
He grins lazily. “Family meeting, brother. You know I never miss a chance to drink and watch you all pretend to be civilized.”
Kaz snorts. Lev glares. Adrian just folds his arms and says nothing. I lean forward, both palms flat on the table. “David Chang has mobilized his private network of mercenaries and enforcers. He’s hiring muscle through offshore channels and laundering the funds through fake art transactions.”
Niko’s brow furrows. “So the buyers from last month—”
“Connected,” I cut in. “Chang’s using them to move product, weapons, and stolen goods under the guise of auction shipments. He’s also looking for Elara. He sent a man to my estate to snoop around.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
Adrian’s jaw tightens. “He knows she’s with you?”
“Yes. He’s keeping it quiet for now, but his men are already testing our perimeter. I caught one near the estate earlier.”
The room grows still. Dimitri leans forward, his voice low but calm. “Then this isn’t just personal anymore. He’s not just challenging you, Roman. He’s challenging the entire Bratva.”
I nod slowly. “Exactly.”
Kaz cracks his knuckles. “So what’s the plan?”
I meet each of their eyes. “We end this before he can turn it into a public scandal. Before he can touch her. And before he makes the mistake of thinking the Rusnaks can be cornered.”
Lev exhales, steepling his fingers. “You want to hit him first.”
“I want to bury him first,” I say, voice low, controlled. “But we’ll start with his money. Cut the brokers. Burn his networks. And when he comes crawling out of whatever hole he hides in—then we finish it.”
Silence. Then Dimitri raises his glass with a crooked smile. “To family, then. And to the poor bastard who thought he could steal from one.”
Glasses clink. The room hums with purpose.
The war with David Chang has just begun.
“Meanwhile,” Niko leans forward, “double down on your estate perimeter. Cameras, patrols, the whole nine yards.”
“I’m on it,” I say, because I already am—cameras streaming, motion sensors in every blind spot, men posted where the light leaks thin.
Lev leans forward, watching me like he’s trying to read a map. “Maybe move her somewhere less…obvious for now. Make it harder for Chang to find her.” His tone’s careful; he’s trying not to insult me, but there’s a smear of amusement there too.
I feel the room tilt, like a current under the surface. “She’s safest by my side,” I say flatly.
They laugh—Niko louder, Lev with a softer, brotherly mockery—and it’s all on the edge of teasing.
“You don’t even want to let her out of your sight, do you?” Kaz says. “Not even for a pizza,” Adrian adds, grinning.
I shrug, because there’s nothing to defend. “Maybe I don’t,” I admit, and their laughter intensifies.
I shut them down with a look, but the truth sits heavy and honest under my ribs: Every plan, every patrol, every careful step is mapped by the shape of her.
I tell myself it’s strategy. I tell myself it’s duty.
Inside, quieter than the rest, something else answers—possession, yes, but more than that: a stupid, feral need to keep her where I can see she’s breathing.
Later that night, I’m in my suite, cleaning my weapons. It’s the only thing that quiets the noise in my head when it gets too loud—steel, oil, precision. The rhythm helps. Strip, clean, reload. The smell of gunmetal and oil fills the room, sharp and familiar.
Elara hasn’t come back here tonight. Her room light was off when I passed earlier, but I know she’s inside, probably curled up in that bed of hers, trying to convince herself she still hates me.
I could order her to come here. She’d obey, reluctantly, eyes full of defiance and that dangerous spark I can’t stay away from.
But what’s the point? When will she choose me without command?
When will she stop fighting what’s already hers?
I snap a magazine into place, the click echoing in the quiet. The sound settles something in me—until the door creaks open.
I glance up. She stands in the doorway, barefoot, wearing one of those silk slips that whisper around her legs when she moves. Her eyes flick from the table to the disassembled rifle laid out in perfect order, then back to me.
Her voice is small but sharp. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning,” I say simply.
She steps closer, hesitant but bold enough to challenge me. “You look like you’re preparing for war.”
I set the rifle down and meet her gaze. “Maybe I am.”
Her brows draw together. “Why? What’s going on?”
There’s no point lying to her—not anymore. “Your father is coming for you. He knows you’re with me.”
She stiffens, lips parting.
“And I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.”
Her voice trembles now, though she tries to hide it. “Anyone?”
I nod once. “Anyone.”
She hesitates, then whispers the question that’s obviously been clawing at her since the words left my mouth: “Even my father?”
I hold her gaze, unflinching. “If he comes to hurt you, yes. Especially him. I won’t think twice about it, Elara. Your father is a sorry excuse of a man.”