Page 57 of Owned By The Bratva King

I’m most surprised by myself. There’ve been some significant firsts for me, too, and not only in the sexual sense.

It’s true; I saved myself tonight in more ways than one, and I feel proud for the first time.

Carrie sees Roman’s love for me and has faith in its strength. He said the words, and I said them too, but it might not be enough. Fairytales aren’t reality; he may be a beast, and even if he thinks I’m his beauty, I don’t know what I’m prepared to overlook.

I can’t call it until he opens his mouth and says what I fear he’ll say.

“I won’t wait for you to ask me again.” Roman retreats behind the kitchen counter and takes a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “You deserve the truth but know this. I’m in love with you, which won’t change even if you understandably react badly to my life’s secrets. It won’t make the slightest difference to my feelings or what happens next. You’ll be stuck with me, at least for now, and I’ll continue to protect you even if you despise me to my bones.”

He reaches out and hands me a glass. Although the space between us is only a few feet wide, it feels like light years.

“Quinn.” His steady gaze wavers a little. “My business is less than orthodox, as I said. A lot of it is not even legal. Most of the RoKaz companies are legitimate but I use them to launder vast sums of money.”

“You’re associated with the mafia. Deep down, I knew, but I didn’t want to face up to it.”

“I’m not associated as such.”

“Oh, come on, Roman.” I glare at him. “Don’t minimize it, and don’t tell me it’s something it isn’t.”

“Alright.” He sips his wine before he speaks again. “I’m bratva. The Russian mafia. And I’m not involved, rusalka. I’m in charge.”

I feel suddenly nauseous and grip the side of the counter to steady myself. “The boss? Of the Russian mafia?”

“In New York City, yes.” He can’t keep the hint of pride out of his voice. “I worked hard for it, believe me. Much sacrifice went into getting where I am today.”

The Mafia. My parents died at the hands of the mob. I can’t say life was perfect before then, but after? It was hell on Earth, and I was so alone until Roman. How can all the misery of my life spring from the same world as the man I adore?

“Who are you?” My eyes spill over. “How can you be what you are to me and the ruler of a depraved kingdom of violence and pain, and—and,” I stammer, anger cutting through my grief, “murder. You’ve killed people, right? Yourself, with your own hands.”

“Yes.” Roman’s voice is clear and robust. “I have. And it will happen again. Why do you think I wanted to find your uncle? He deserves to forfeit his life. Some people deserve to live, like Carrie, and some don’t. I can be fate’s instrument and deliver some true justice.”

He sets down his glass and steps out from behind the counter.

“This is the way I live, moya zhena. If you want to leave me, I won’t stop you, but let me deal with the danger first. I’ll put thirty million dollars in your account, and you can do whatever you want. Start afresh, a thousand miles from everything and everyone that ever hurt you, me included. But I can’t let you go until I’m positive you’ll be safe.”

Despite the horror of knowing Roman’s true identity, the thought of leaving him cleaves my heart like a razor blade.

He’s so broken, so defeated, as though he’s sure he’s undone all the good in his life with just a few words.

“I want you to promise me something,” I say.

“Anything.”

“Find out who killed my parents and make them pay,” I say. “Bring the law down on them.”

“I can do that.” He tilts his head at me. “And Julian?”

“Forget him, Roman,” I say. “It was long ago, and nothing was proven, so the police couldn’t do jack. If he stays away, that’s good enough for me.”

“So I can kill him if he’s dumb enough to show his face?”

“Try to understand.” I hold his gaze. “I don’t come from your world and won’t be dragged down by it. Do not murder him for me. Like I said, it’s not your fight. I’ve put it behind me.”

He nods, and we fall silent. I realize I have another question.

“Who is the girl I saw in the photo online?” I ask. “It was years ago, at a gala dinner.”

His shoulders sag. “My sister, Bianca.”

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