Page 53 of Owned By The Bratva King

“I’ve seen it before. He looks at you like you are an angel walking on Earth. I have no doubt he would do anything for you, Quinn. A billionaire, known to be reclusive and almost aggressively single, and yet Roman Kazanov has fallen hard for you, a sweet girl who likes to bake and comes from nothing.” She shakes her head in wonderment. “How did you enrapture him?”

I tell her everything; his aggressive invasion of my life, his all-consuming desire, the works.

Of course, I leave out the details of our intimate times, but Carrie’s arched eyebrow tells me she infers what has happened just fine.

“So he said ‘I love you’ for the first time tonight as he walked away.” She sips her tea slowly as though giving herself time to think. “Did he wait for you to say it back?”

“No.” I frown at the realization. “I don’t think he expected to say it, let alone me.”

“That’s how I know, my Quinn. You are the beginning, middle, and end of everything that matters to Roman.”

She beckons me to her, and I sit on her bed. Her eyes twinkle in the lamplight as she shows me the oval-shaped gold pendant on a chain around her neck.

“This locket was a wedding gift from my handsome groom,” she says, opening it. “I keep him here, beside my heart, where he belongs. Do you want me to tell you why I believe your husband has surrendered his heart to you?”

I nod, my breath caught in my throat. This calm, dignified lady, with nothing but my best interests in her mind, can see the truth in Roman.

“Because I feel his love for you in a way that reminds me so much of Winston.” She smiles at the memory. “He asked nothing of me. He didn’t demand my devotion; it was enough that he loved me, and I allowed him to do so.

He proved himself time and time again, and of course, he did earn my love after all. Even when he was dying, he was tormented by the knowledge that he wouldn’t be here when my time came. He’d be so thankful to you for staying by my side.”

Holding back tears, I sniff and look at the tiny portrait of Carrie’s long-dead husband. His smile reaches all the way to his eyes, the creases at their corners etched by many happy times.

“Your man has known a deep pain,” she continues. “The kind that never fades but changes you instead. He is afraid to feel it again, but his heart will not be denied; it wants what it wants. Reach into him and soothe the sting. He needs you more than he knows.”

An hour later, Carrie is asleep. Now that she’s resting and not holding the tension of her reality in her face, she looks younger. I imagine she’s with Winston in her dreams, sitting on the sand, her toes in the foam as the breaking waves lap the shore.

I drift on the distant edge of sleep. It’s so tranquil, as still and quiet as outer space. It’s as though I’m suspended between my life and some other plane, waiting to see where I fall.

Carrie said things that shook me to the core of my being, and deep in my heart, seismic shifts are taking place, reforming my inner landscape and showing me a brand new vista.

Dare I trust in love? Objectively, Roman is the embodiment of what a woman like me should fear—demanding, dominant, possessive, and attentive to a pathological degree.

But he is focused on me in a way that makes me feel seen and respected for who I am. He has never made the slightest attempt to change me, and despite his all-consuming fixation, he doesn’t make me feel trapped. In fact, I’ve never felt more free.

Carrie coughs, and I jar awake, my throat spasming as it tries to close. The air is hazy and acrid, stinging my eyes, and I blink, trying to clear my head.

Fire.

I run to her side, helping her onto her feet. “We have to get out of here. You need to walk.” Her legs are unsteady, wobbling like she’s on shifting sand. “Come on, please try.”

“You can get out, Quinn,” she says wearily. “Don’t waste time; yours is precious, and mine is merely borrowed. I don’t mind punching my ticket a little early.”

Her acquiescent smile breaks my heart, and I also feel a sudden surge of sympathy for myself. I’ve always given in, backed down, and turned the other cheek. Well, not this time.

“Goddamn it!” I pull Carrie’s arm over my shoulder. “This is not how you go out. Get up!”

I take her weight and force her onto her feet. The smoke is getting thicker, and I can barely see, but we manage to hobble to the window. I fumble for the latch, but it’s locked.

I would have accepted my fate just days ago, but not today. I’m taking control. I’ll get Carrie out of here if it kills me. It’s not her time to go, and I want to live.

42

Roman

Isit up, wracked with fear and soaked in sweat. I realize I’m still in the study and fell asleep in the armchair.

Leon is watching the street below. “Jesus, Roman.” He wrinkles his nose. “You’re jumpy as hell.”

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