Chapter Twenty-Three – Roman
Maria hadn’t said a word since I’d punched out two of Finn’s teeth. Not when Lev dragged his bloodied bloody to one of the cars. Not when I’d given her more comfortable clothes to change into. And not since we’d been on the road for almost two hours.
Her head rested on the window, and she sat silently, watching the buildings and trees go by in a blurry rush. Occasionally, she’d heave a heavy sigh, play with her fingers, and resume gazing into an unseen distance.
Up front, Lev led the convoy to Benjamin Quinn’s house, with Finn’s battered face visible from the rearview mirror. I tailed his car closely. Vasili drove behind mine, and the rest of my men fell in line. My mind was a jumble of conflicting emotions. Confusion swirled in my head, and hatred simmered just below the surface, fueled by the memories of my father's stories.
The old man was kicked out without remorse, leaving him to deal with the shame and responsibility of picking himself back up.
Benjamin had been ruthless, crushing anyone who stood in his way. He had no qualms about using dirty tactics, and once upon a time, my family had been his biggest victims. There was a high chance that he still held grudges with my father for overthrowing him.
I remembered his shower of praises at the event that evening.
In just a year, you’ve managed to make a name for yourself in the Big Apple. I’ve heard you’re the fiercest competition yet. There ain’t nothing Roman Varkov isn’t the best at: the corporate sector, building the empire, eliminating rivals, forging the most wicked alliances, and successfully pulling off high-stakes heists. To top it all off, building your reputation as the most ruthless and vicious amongst them all.
He'd come to congratulate me, he said.
Sounded more like he’d come to say his final words because the moment I saw him, I was going to carve a big ‘congratulations’ on his tombstone.
Finn was probably one of his weapons, sharpened to hurt us.
I gripped the steering wheel and spared her a glimpse. Her gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, her jaw set as her lips went in and out of her mouth in gentle sucks and nibbles.
I was struck by her fierce loyalty and commitment to our mission. It was more than just duty or obligation—it was a deep devotion to Polina.
My heart swelled with admiration or gratitude, or maybe both. No one had ever stood by me as she had through all the darkness and chaos. No one had ever believed in my daughter like she did.
And in that moment, seated between us in that enclosed space, I felt a vulnerability I couldn't ignore.
Our conversation in the hall rushed back, and a pang went through my chest. The same way it had on that day.
“And all of a sudden, you don’t know me?” I’d asked her, offended that she would readily gobble up the words of a complete stranger rather than trust her perception of me.
She’d stared, tried to read me. And her gaze went dark when she declared, with her full chest, “ No, I don’t.”
My fingers tightened on the wheel.
I wanted to know if she wanted to see me, really see me—not just the facade I put up, but the scarred person beneath. I wanted to know if she felt the same way I did, if her heart raced with the same longing. Wanted to reach out, to take her hand, to tell her all the things I'd been too concerned to say. But I hesitated, unsure if I was ready to bare my true self, unsure if she'd accept me for who I truly was.
Resigned, I questioned her instead. “You’re not speaking.”
The smallest curve of her lips hinted at a smile before it dropped. “Do you miss the sound of my voice already?”
As a matter of fact, I did. I missed not only the sound of her voice but the soft moans she made in my ears whenever I kissed her.
I couldn’t bear the silence. It left me thinking about all the reasons why she looked immensely sad.
She fidgeted with her fingers. “I’m just thinking about how great of an actor I am.”
I suppressed a chuckle. Leave it to her to make a jest out of a serious situation like the one we’d found ourselves in. “How so?”
She parted her lips, ready to say something, but instantly changed her mind. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“I was,” I said.
I clenched my jaw.
I was, but not anymore. Especially not after I’d hurt her. Throughout the drive, I’d refused to look down at her wrist, where red prints of my digits on her glared ever so brightly.
I’d fucking hurt her.
Realization hit me like a ton of bricks.
I cared for her deeply, more than I had ever cared for anyone. The thought sent my heart racing and my mind reeling. I had to tell her, to let her know how I felt.
Shit.
I took a deep breath, secretly dreading an outright rejection. “I need to tell you something, Solnishko .”
That got her attention. Her ears perked up, and she waited like she always did, expectantly.
In my head, I spoke a thousand words, murmured how deeply I felt in a dozen languages. But outside, in the real world, where we sat beside each other in the car, silence reigned.
She looked at me with quizzical brows drawn. “What is it? Is there a problem?”
Oh, there was, alright. A huge problem. Maybe I was going fucking crazy, but my thoughts turned to mush, and my words were reduced to a jumbled mess on my tongue, rendering me incoherent. For the record, I was never fucking incoherent.
But before I could respond, my phone rang, shrill in the silence. I hesitated, then answered it. Lev’s voice was on the other end, his words curt.
“We’re here. We’ve arrived at the house.”
And just like that, the moment was gone.
As if on automatic, my mind snapped back to reality. Benjamin, the vendetta, the danger—it all came flooding back.
I remained silent, my eyes still locked on hers but my thoughts elsewhere.
The sound of my seatbelt unclicking pricked the tension, and I opened the door. “Don’t stay put. Don’t stay inside the car.”
Her brows knitted together in confusion. “What? Isn’t that supposed to be, I don’t know, the other way around?”
I sighed and rubbed between my eyes. “It is. But if I say it straight, you’re just going to go ahead and do the opposite. So, do the opposite with the instruction I gave now. And that is not a fucking joke,” I added, slamming the door shut.
Shoving all of my feelings back inside the big black box they’d escaped from, I looked around.
Open skies. Green grass. Animal stench. Farmhouses erected around the vast grassy slope. I inhaled and exhaled—clean, fresh air in the countryside. But I knew a moment later, the air would be tainted with the smell of fresh blood. Human blood.
My men lined up behind me. Lev fell into step beside me, and Finn walked alongside us, his hands bound behind his back.
I muttered to Lev, “I want it to be quick. In and out. I’m not up for hearing any of his bullshit stories about the torture my father made him go through.”
Lev nodded. “Copy that.”
We approached the house, our weapons at the ready. I nodded to Lev, and he took point, moving stealthily toward the entrance.
On my count, they busted into the house, their guns drawn. The security team was caught off guard but quickly regained their composure. A hail of bullets flew our way, and we returned fire. The sound of gunfire echoed through the halls, the smell of smoke filling my nostrils.
I ducked behind a pillar and yelled out, “No time! We have to move!”
Lev nodded, and we pushed forward, our guns blazing. Finally, we made it inside.
I was surprised when I caught Benjamin seated on one of the sofas in his living room. He was completely unarmed, wearing a sulk and quivering lips.
I signaled Lev, and they had a gun trained on him.
Lev and our other man, Vasili, flanked me, their eyes fixed on Benjamin’s security team. Benjamin sobbed, and I could see the fear in his eyes.
“Not falling for that old man bullshit. You can’t get away that easily after hurting my family like that.” I cocked my gun, aimed at his forehead, and barked in Russian, ordering Finn to kneel down beside the sofa. Lev shoved him, and he fell on his knees. “Your stories end now.”
***
“Wait!” he screeched, his fingers trembling as he slowly edged forward on his seat.
Fucking pathetic.
I had my gun still trained on him, but my finger hesitated on the trigger. His eyes were downcast, his face etched with defeat. He shook his head, his voice cracking when he spoke.
“You can kill me if you want to, Roman. I know I deserve it. But I never intended to hurt Polina. I was doing what I thought was best for her.”
I frowned, ambushed with waves of confusion.
“Best for her? What the fuck does that even mean?”
But his eyes flashed with conviction. Undeterred, his voice gained strength.
His eyes seemed to bore into mine, searching for something, pleading for something. It was a look that spoke of deep sorrow, regret, and longing. “Polina doesn’t deserve to live in this cruel world, Roman. She deserves better, and you know it. She deserves a life free from violence and fear.”
I glanced at Lev, exchanging our doubts with just a look. Benjamin’s words didn’t add up. He was our enemy, my father’s nemesis. But at that moment, he sounded like anything but the monster I had known him to be for all those years.
Hastily, he reached for his pockets and pulled out a photograph. Cautiously, he handed it to me. Lev took it from him, and for the first time in years, his expression conveyed shock.
“No fucking way,” he muttered.
The photograph moved toward me, and…the world around me came to a halt.
My arms dropped limply to my sides, and I gaped at the beaming face like it was a horror from the past.
The same photograph I’d kept locked up for six years.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Her favorite “He Is Risen” white t-shirt and blue jeans. And the cross necklace sitting pretty around her neck. The necklace I’d gifted her because she never stopped babbling about the cross and Heaven and how much she loved me.
Lorelai Fanning.
When I looked back at Benjamin, it was with a fiercer determination to have his head. “You better have a fucking good explain for having this in your possession because I’m starting to think you mysteriously had something to do with her death.”
Now, his gaze was a mix of pain and hurt, like a wound that had been ripped open and left to bleed. His face twisted into a grimace, like he was struggling to contain a cry of anguish. His lips trembled, and his jaw clenched, as if he was fighting to keep his emotions in check. The muscles in his face were taut, like cords stretched to the breaking point.
Then, he spoke. And nothing prepared me for such an impact.
“Why the fuck will I kill my own daughter?”