Page 46 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“Do you really think I’m that predictable, Arya?” He stands up and peels his shirt off, tossing it on the floor.

I’m momentarily distracted by his tanned skin and rippling muscles to remember what we’re talking about.

“What is it then?”

“Just black and straight lines. No white.”

I laugh and chuck a pillow at this head. He blocks it away and laughs along with me. “You’ll see it one day,” he mumbles.

The thought is a strange one. “Maybe I’ll help you brighten the place up. Put some art on the walls.”

“I’ve got art,” he replies defensively. “Plenty of it. Expensive shit.”

“Dima Romanoff is an appreciator of the arts?” I feign a gasp, still fighting to draw my eyes away from the artwork of his body. “Why, I’m shocked. I never would have suspected it. I assume it’s all bloody battle scenes and oils of naked women.”

“Not too far off,” he chuckles. He lays back on the bed, his hands tucked behind his head. “My mother loved art. She was constantly bringing home new paintings and commissioning new pieces. It drove my father mad.”

“He didn’t like art?”

“He didn’t like her making decisions without him,” he explains bitterly. “My father liked to be in control of everyone and everything. Including his family. But my mother was never one to be tamed. She fought back.”

“How?”

“By spending his money and sleeping with other men.”

It shocks me to hear a son speak so freely about his mother’s sex life, but Dima seems unfazed. I suppose he’s had a long time to process the information.

“She would leave in the middle of the day without telling him or anyone else where she was going. It would always cause a massive fight, but she never stopped doing it.”

“What did your father do?”

“Had her followed. Locked her inside. Tracked her movements.” Dima shrugs. “The usual.”

“That doesn’t sound like ‘the usual’ to me. It sounds horrible. They were supposed to love and trust each other.”

Dima rolls onto his side, his head propped on his hand. “For a long time, I didn’t know the difference. My parents’ marriage was all I knew. The only measure I had for love.”

“That was control. Not love.”

He nods. “I know that now. I also know love can be a weapon. You can use it to protect your partner or tear them down. My parents used it to make each other weaker.”

I consider his words for a moment. “That’s actually kinda beautiful.”

Dima smirks. “Thanks. Saw it on a bumper sticker.”

I roll my eyes. “Can you be serious for two seconds?”

He gestures to me. “The floor is yours.”

“Thanks,” I sniffle dramatically. Then my voice drops a bit. “People so often think of love as a force for good, but it can be used for bad. It can be wielded like a weapon against the people who feel it.”

“Is that what it was like for you and your asshole ex?”

“Jorik?” I ask, surprised Dima is mentioning him at all. “God, no. I didn’t love him. Well, maybe I thought I did once. But that all changed when I found out what kind of person he really was. He let power corrupt him. He didn’t care how many people died so long as he made a profit. It was disgusting.”

Dima nods, unsurprised. “A man’s vices will eat him alive in this world. If you serve something before you’re rich and powerful, you’ll serve it all the more later. Sometimes until it kills you.”

I twist the comforter between my fingers, playing with the material nervously. “And what do you serve, Dima?”

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