Chapter 35 Eva
EVA
I'm reviewing seating charts for the wedding when I hear raised voices drifting up from Roman's study. My hand instinctively moves to my still-flat stomach, a protective gesture I've developed over the past weeks.
The voices grow louder, and I recognize Boris Borisov's booming tone even through the thick walls. I set down my pen and move to the sitting room doorway, my pulse quickening. Roman didn't mention expecting visitors today, and the tension in those raised voices makes my skin prickle with unease.
I should stay out of it. Whatever business Roman is conducting with Boris isn't my concern. But my feet carry me to the top of the stairs, anyway, drawn by some instinct I can't name. Through the ornate railing, I can see Roman's study door is closed, but Boris's voice carries clearly.
"You owe me compensation! My family's reputation is destroyed because of your rejection!"
Roman's response is too low for me to hear, but the cold authority in his tone makes me shiver despite the distance. I've heard that voice before, the one he uses when he's done negotiating, when he's simply stating facts that won't be argued with.
I retreat to the sitting room, trying to focus on the wedding arrangements spread across the coffee table.
Two weeks until I become Mrs. Sokolov. Two weeks until I'm bound to Roman permanently, for better or worse.
The thought sends conflicting emotions through my chest. Fear, yes.
But also something warmer, something I'm not quite ready to examine.
The sound of heels clicking on marble pulls me from my thoughts. I look up to find Daria Borisova standing in the doorway, and my stomach drops to my feet.
She's stunning even in her fury. Her dark hair is perfectly styled, her designer dress probably costs more than my old monthly rent, and her ice-blue eyes are fixed on me with pure hatred. I stand slowly, my professional armor snapping into place despite the fear flooding my system.
"Miss Borisova. I didn't realize you were here."
"Of course you didn't." Her voice is venomous, her accent thick with rage. "You're too busy stealing what's mine to notice anything."
I force myself to meet her gaze without flinching. "I'm not stealing anything. Roman made his choice."
"His choice?" Daria's laugh is shrill, almost hysterical. "You trapped him somehow, like some desperate whore, and now you think you've won?"
The words hit like physical blows, but I keep my spine straight. "You need to leave."
"I'm not going anywhere." Daria moves into the room with predatory grace, and I notice for the first time that her right hand is hidden behind her back. "You've destroyed everything. My reputation, my family's alliance, my future. All because you spread your legs for a man who was promised to me."
My heart pounds against my ribs as she closes the distance between us. I should scream for Roman, for security, for anyone. But my throat is closed with fear, and Daria is moving too fast.
Her hand whips out from behind her back, and I see the flash of metal. A letter opener, ornate and sharp, the kind of decorative weapon that sits on expensive desks. She lunges at me with a shriek of pure rage, and instinct takes over.
I dodge to the side, but not fast enough. The letter opener's blade catches my forearm, a line of fire that makes me gasp. Daria's designer nails rake across my face as she tries to grab me, her voice a continuous stream of Russian curses and threats.
"You bitch! You fucking bitch! I'll kill you!"
I shove her hard, putting all my weight behind it, and Daria stumbles backward. But she recovers quickly, coming at me again with the letter opener raised.
I grab her wrist, my fingers digging into her skin as I try to control the weapon.
We struggle, crashing into the coffee table, scattering wedding arrangements across the floor.
Daria is taller than me, stronger than I expected, and the letter opener keeps getting closer to my face, my throat, my stomach.
"Help!" The scream finally tears from my throat. "Roman!"
Daria uses my distraction to rake her nails down my other arm, drawing blood. The pain makes me lose my grip on her wrist, and the letter opener slashes across my shoulder. I feel the fabric of my blouse tear, feel the sting of the blade cutting skin.
Rage floods through me, hot and consuming. My hands ball into fists, and I punch her square in the face with every ounce of strength I possess.
The satisfying crunch of cartilage breaking fills the air.
Daria's head snaps back, blood exploding from her nose, and she staggers backward with a shriek of pain and shock.
Her designer heels catch on the edge of the rug, and she goes down hard, landing on her ass with her hands clutching her ruined face.
The study door slams open. Roman and Lev burst into the sitting room, and I've never been so relieved to see anyone in my life. Roman's blue eyes sweep the scene, taking in my bleeding arms, my torn blouse, and Daria on the floor with blood pouring between her fingers.
His expression transforms into something terrifying. Pure, cold fury that makes the temperature in the room seem to drop ten degrees. He moves toward me with frightening speed, his hands gentle despite the violence radiating from every line of his body as he examines my injuries.
"Eva. Solnyshko. Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay. The cuts are shallow." My voice shakes despite my best efforts to sound calm.
Lev has already hauled Daria to her feet, his grip on her arm brutal enough to make her whimper. She's still screaming through her broken nose, her words garbled but clearly threatening, clearly unhinged.
"I'll kill her! I'll kill that whore! She deserves to die!"
Roman's jaw tightens, and I see his hands curl into fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he might actually kill Daria right here, right now. But then Boris Borisov appears in the doorway, his face going ashen as he takes in the scene.
"Daria! Bozhe moy, what have you done?"
"She attacked me!" Daria shrieks, still struggling against Lev's iron grip. "That bitch attacked me!"
"Liar." My voice is steady now, cold with anger. "You came at me with a letter opener. You tried to kill me."
Boris's expression crumbles. He knows. He knows his daughter has just destroyed any leverage he had, any hope of salvaging this situation. Attacking the Pakhan’s fiancée is unforgivable, a violation of every code the Bratva lives by.
"Roman, please." Boris's voice cracks with desperation. "I didn't know. I swear on my life, I didn't know she would do this. Please, have mercy."
Roman doesn't look at Boris. His attention is fixed on me, his hands moving over my arms with surprising gentleness, checking the depth of the cuts, making sure I'm truly okay. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and controlled, but I hear the rage simmering beneath.
"Get her out of my house. Out of this country. I want her on a plane to Russia within the hour."
"Yes, yes, of course." Boris is practically groveling now, his earlier bluster completely gone. "I'll send her to my brother in Siberia. She'll never come near you again. Please, Roman, I'm begging you. Don't retaliate against my family. This was Daria's madness, not mine."
Roman finally looks at Boris, and the older man actually flinches. "You have one hour. If she's still in this country after that, I'll consider it a declaration of war."
Boris nods frantically, then gestures to Lev. "Please, let me take her."
Lev looks to Roman, who gives a curt nod. The moment Lev releases her, Daria lunges at me again, but Boris catches her, wrapping his arms around his daughter as she screams and thrashes.
"I'll destroy you! Both of you! You'll pay for this humiliation!"
Boris drags her toward the door, still apologizing, still promising she'll be gone within the hour. Their voices fade as they descend the stairs, Daria's threats echoing through the estate until the front door finally closes.
Silence settles over the sitting room, broken only by my ragged breathing. Roman's hands are still on my arms, his touch gentle despite the violence I know he's capable of. When I finally look up at him, I see something in his blue eyes I've never seen before. Fear.
"I should have been here." His voice is rough, his accent thicker than usual. "In our own home, you were attacked, and I wasn't here to protect you."
"You came." I reach up, cupping his face with my uninjured hand. "You came when I called."
"Not fast enough." His jaw tightens beneath my palm. "If she'd hurt you worse, if she'd hurt the baby…"
He doesn't finish the sentence, but I see the promise of violence in his expression. Daria Borisova is lucky she's being sent to Siberia. If she'd actually harmed me or our child, I don't think distance would have saved her from Roman's wrath.
"I'm okay," I repeat, and this time, I mean it. The adrenaline is fading, leaving me shaky but whole. "We're okay."
Roman pulls me against his chest, careful of my injuries, and I feel his heart pounding against my cheek. For a long moment, we just stand there, holding each other, both of us processing how close we came to disaster.
Later that evening, after Roman has personally cleaned and bandaged my cuts, after he's called his doctor to examine me and confirm the baby is fine, I find myself unable to sleep.
I wander downstairs for water and hear voices drifting from Roman's study.
The door is slightly ajar, and I recognize Lev's low tone.
I know I shouldn't eavesdrop. But something in Lev's voice makes me pause, makes me press closer to the doorway.
"Three more Chinese gambling operations hit tonight," Lev is saying. "Witnesses say the attackers were speaking Russian. Using tactics that match our known methods."
"Blyat." Roman's curse is vicious. "And the Irish?"
"Two weapons shipments hijacked. Same story. Professional execution, Russian speakers, our signature moves." Lev's voice drops lower. "Roman, we're losing control. The other families are starting to believe you're breaking the alliances. That you're expanding aggressively."
"It's Yakovlev. It has to be."
"Of course it's Yakovlev. But we still can't prove it." Frustration bleeds through Lev's controlled tone. "And without proof, if we move against him, we look like the aggressors. We unite the other families against us."
Silence stretches, heavy and ominous. Then Roman speaks, his voice cold with determination.
"Then we find proof. Whatever it takes."