Chapter 32 Roman
ROMAN
The basement of my estate exists in the blueprints as a wine cellar.
That's what the contractors built, what the permits say, what anyone who might ask would be told.
But the temperature-controlled room with its elegant racks and carefully curated bottles is just the entrance.
Behind a false wall that opens with the right pressure point lies the real purpose of this space—a soundproofed room designed for extracting truth through pain.
Tyler Chen sits zip-tied to a metal chair in the center of that room, his wire-rimmed glasses askew, one lens cracked from where Lev's fist connected with his face during the initial "conversation".
The boy's left eye is swelling shut, his lip split and bleeding, and there's a nasty bruise forming along his jaw.
His laptop and two phones are spread across the steel table against the wall, evidence of his amateur investigation into my operations.
The printouts we found in his apartment are there too—financial records, surveillance photos, news articles about Russian organized crime.
The foolish boy has been building a case, trying to prove what I am so he could save Eva from a monster.
I circle him slowly, my footsteps echoing against concrete walls, letting the silence stretch and amplify his fear.
Tyler's breathing is rapid and shallow, his body trembling despite his attempts to appear brave.
He's terrified, as he should be. People who dig into my business don't usually live long enough to regret it.
"Who do you work for?" My voice is low, controlled, the tone I use when I'm deciding whether someone lives or dies.
"N–No one." Tyler's voice cracks, tears streaming down his bruised face. "I swear, I'm working alone. I just… I just wanted to protect Eva. She doesn't know what you are, what you're capable of—"
"What have you told the authorities?" I interrupt, leaning down until we're eye level. This close, I can see the terror in his brown eyes, the way his pupils are dilated with fear. "FBI? Local police? Who knows about your investigation?"
"No one! I haven't told anyone!" His words tumble out desperately. "I was still gathering evidence, trying to understand the full scope before I… before I…"
"Before you what?" Lev's voice cuts through the room like a blade. He's standing near the table, arms crossed, his dark eyes flat and professional. "Before you went to the cops?"
Tyler's composure shatters completely. He sobs, his shoulders shaking, snot and tears mixing with the blood on his face. "I just love her. I just wanted to save her from you. From this world. She deserves better than a criminal, better than someone who…"
I straighten, my jaw tight with barely controlled rage. The boy's devotion to Eva is almost admirable in its stupidity. Foolish. Brave. Completely fucking idiotic.
"We could make him more cooperative," Lev suggests, his tone suggesting he's discussing the weather rather than torture.
He moves to the table, his fingers trailing over the tools laid out there—pliers, a blowtorch, knives of various sizes.
"A few broken fingers usually loosens tongues.
Or we could try the blowtorch. Very effective for extracting truth. "
Tyler's eyes go wide with horror, his breathing accelerating to hyperventilation. "Please, please, I'm telling the truth! I haven't told anyone! Check my phone, my laptop, my emails. There's nothing! I was working alone!"
I study him carefully, reading every micro-expression, every tell.
I've interrogated hundreds of men over the years and can spot a lie from across a room.
Tyler Chen is many things, but he's not lying.
He really did this alone, driven by nothing but his pathetic need to protect a woman who doesn't want his protection.
The question is what to do with him now.
Lev catches my eye, his expression asking the question we both know needs answering.
Tyler has seen too much, knows too much.
He's uncovered connections to my shipping operations, traced money through several of my laundering channels, identified associates who should be invisible.
Releasing him would be suicide. One phone call to the authorities could destroy everything I've built. But killing him…
I think about Eva upstairs, about the fragile trust we've been building since she agreed to marry me.
She cares about this boy, even if she doesn't love him.
His death would be another wedge between us, another reason for her to hate me, another piece of evidence that I'm the monster everyone says I am.
Before I can make a decision, footsteps echo from the wine cellar above. One of my soldiers appears in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. "Boss, Miss Markova is upstairs. She's demanding to see you immediately."
Eva is upstairs and demanding my presence. The audacity of it would be amusing if I weren't standing in my torture room with a bleeding college student zip-tied to a chair.
"Tell her I'll be up shortly," I say, my voice flat.
"She said now." The soldier shifts uncomfortably. "She's… insistent."
Lev's eyebrow raises slightly, the closest he comes to showing amusement. "Eva has balls, Roman. I'll give her that."
I glance at Tyler one more time then nod at Lev. "Watch him. I'll be back."
The walk from the basement to the main living area feels longer than it should.
I'm acutely aware of the blood on my knuckles from earlier, the way my shirt is slightly disheveled from the interrogation.
I pause in the hallway bathroom to wash my hands, checking my reflection to ensure I look presentable rather than like a man who's been considering torture.
Eva stands in the living room, her back to me as she stares out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the estate grounds.
She's wearing one of the new dresses I had delivered, a soft cream color that hugs her body in ways that make my hands itch to touch.
Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders for once, not pulled back in that severe bun she favors for work.
The afternoon light catches the strands, making them shine like gold.
My cock hardens despite the circumstances and I imagine walking up behind her, sliding my hands around her waist, pulling her back against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.
I imagine pushing that dress up her thighs, discovering what she's wearing underneath, making her gasp my name against the window.
Focus, you fool.
"Eva." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "You wanted to see me?"
She turns, and I'm struck again by how beautiful she is—brown eyes that see too much, lips that I've memorized the taste of, the slight swell of her belly where our child grows.
She doesn't look afraid, doesn't ask where I've been or what I've been doing.
Instead, her expression is determined, almost defiant.
"We're throwing a Halloween party," she announces. "Day after tomorrow. Here at the estate."
The request is so unexpected that I simply stare at her. A party? Now? With everything happening—Abram circling like a shark, Tyler Chen bleeding in my basement—she wants to throw a fucking Halloween party?
"A party," I repeat slowly, trying to understand.
"Yes." Eva's chin lifts with that stubborn pride I both love and want to crush. "For Alexei. He's new to America, doesn't know anyone. He needs normalcy and connection. And you need to dress up too."
The absurdity of it hits me. Eva demanding that I, the Pakhan, wear a costume like some child playing dress-up.
I should refuse, should tell her it's impossible, that I have more important things to worry about than Halloween parties.
But something about her determination, the fierce protectiveness in her eyes when she mentions her brother, makes me pause.
"I don't do costumes," I say, my voice flat.
"You do now." She moves closer, and I catch the scent of her perfume, that light floral scent that's become as familiar as breathing.
"Alexei is sixteen, Roman. He's in a foreign country, living in a house with armed guards, and watching his sister marry a man he doesn't fully understand.
He needs this. He needs to feel like a normal teenager for one night. "
She's close enough now that I could reach out and touch her, could pull her against me and kiss away her demands.
My gaze drops to her breasts, noticing how they're fuller now with the pregnancy, straining slightly against the fabric of her dress.
I imagine cupping them, feeling their weight, making her arch into my touch.
"And if I refuse?" I ask, though we both know I'm not going to.
Eva's lips curve into a small smile, the first genuine one I've seen from her in days. "Then I'll be very disappointed."
I study her face, seeing the hope beneath her determination, the way she's trying so hard to create normalcy in the chaos I've brought into her life.
"Fine," I hear myself say. "A Halloween party. With costumes."
Her shock is almost comical—brown eyes widening, lips parting in surprise. She clearly expected more resistance, more negotiation. "Really? Just like that?"
"Just like that." I step closer, crowding into her space, watching her breath catch.
Then I step back before I do something stupid like bend her over the couch and remind her exactly whom she belongs to. Eva's cheeks are flushed, her breathing rapid, and I see her press her thighs together slightly—a tell that she's aroused, that she wants me as much as I want her.
"Thank you," she says softly, her brown eyes meeting mine with something that looks almost like affection. "This means a lot to Alexei. To me."
The smile she gives me then is genuine and warm and nearly stops my heart. For that smile, I'd agree to far more than a ridiculous costume. I'd give her anything, do anything, be anything she needs me to be.
Fuck, I'm in deep.
"Go plan your party," I tell her, my voice rougher than I intend. "I have business to finish."
Eva nods and leaves, her hips swaying in that unconscious way that makes my cock throb. I watch until she disappears up the stairs, then turn back toward the basement, my mind already shifting gears from fiancé to Pakhan.
Tyler is exactly where I left him, trembling in the chair, his face a mess of tears and blood. Lev stands near the table, his expression questioning as I enter. He's waiting for orders, waiting to know if we're going to continue the interrogation or end it permanently.
I study the boy. He knows too much to simply release. But killing him would destroy whatever fragile trust Eva is beginning to show.
There's a third option. One that keeps him contained but alive, that protects my organization while preserving my marriage.
"Keep him here," I say, my voice cold and final. "Comfortable but confined. Move him to one of the basement guest rooms—bed, bathroom, television. But no computers, no phones, no contact with the outside world. Guards posted outside his door at all times."
Lev's eyebrow raises. "For how long?"
"Until I figure out what to do with him." I turn toward the door, then pause. "And Lev? Make sure he's treated well. No more bruises. No more threats. He's a guest now, not a prisoner."
"A guest who can't leave," Lev observes dryly.
"Exactly."
I leave Tyler Chen in my basement, neither dead nor free, suspended in the same limbo that seems to define everything in my life lately.
As I climb the stairs back to the main floor, I hear Eva's voice drifting from upstairs.
She's on the phone with Megan, already planning the party, her tone bright with excitement.
For her, I'll wear a ridiculous costume. For her, I'll keep Tyler Chen alive despite the risk he represents. For her, I'll try to be something more than the monster everyone knows I am.
But as I pour myself vodka in my study, staring out at the grounds where armed guards patrol the perimeter, I wonder how long I can maintain this balance.