Page 47 of Roman Petrov

He normally has his dark hair slicked back, but it’s loose and curls down over his forehead.

I didn’t expect him to look so damn sexy in here. But, he’s behind a wall that I can’t touch him through. And, there’s no telling when I’ll be able to hold him again.

I almost start crying all over again.

“Hey, baby.” He smiles at me from the other side of the clear wall as he talks to me through the earpiece. “I’m glad you came to see me.”

“What happened? Why are you here?” I can’t stop my voice from cracking.

He glances at the men standing near him. “The alarms went off at the Empire. I went in to check it out. Then a fire broke out.”

Looking closer, I can see the singed hairs on the top of his head, and bruises around his eyes.

“What are they charging you with?” I say quietly.

He sighs, sitting back as far as the short cord will let him. “Arson and murder.”

My fingers fly to my lips. “Oh, Roman. Is it?—”

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “There was a guy there, he broke in.”

“That’s so scary. I’m glad you’re okay.” My palm presses against the window dividing us.

My father’s club, gone. Strangely, it doesn’t bother me.

“Hey. I see the worry knotting up that pretty brow.” His hand covers mine on the other side. “I’ll be out of here soon.”

“What can I do?” I just got him, I’m not ready to let go.

“You keep that tight little pussy wet for me in my bed, baby. I’m gonna victory fuck you when I get home,” he says confidently.

I chew on my lip. “But, what if you don’t win?”

A smirk lifts his lip. “I don’t lose.”

20

ROMAN

“Mr. Petrov, you told me you lit him on fire, then shoved him into a room filled with accelerants. I really think you should think about changing your plea to ‘guilty’. If you go in front of a jury, they’ll string you up to the fullest extent.” My lawyer wipes the sweat from his wide forehead with a crisp white handkerchief.

“What ended up happening to the Empire?” I’m not even mad it is delayed in opening.

He wrings his hands before answering. “It’s a total loss.”

“Tommy, how long have you worked for me?” I narrow my eyes and watch him dart his gaze from me to the door.

“Four years,” he stammers.

I lean forward, my handcuffs clink against the metal table. “And, in that time, how many thousands of hours of footage have we accumulated?

“P-Probably millions.”

“And, how many yachts have I bought you so you can take my girls out onto the lake with you?” My fingers weave together.

I might find someone new after this one.

“This is my second, after my first one sunk.” His cheeks pale.

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