Chapter 12 - Whispers in the Dark
The ride back to the penthouse in Roman’s armored Maybach was completely silent. Roman sat with his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles bulged against his skin, his phone glued to his ear as he barked orders that would tear the city’s underground apart.
The poisoned waiter hadn't survived to be interrogated—he had swallowed a cyanide capsule the moment Viktor cornered him in the service alley. But the access keycard he carried belonged to one of Roman’s inner circle captains: Marco, a man who had sworn allegiance to Roman five years ago.
When we returned to the penthouse, Roman dismissed the guards, leaving only the two of us inside the candlelit library.
Roman poured three fingers of bourbon into a glass, downing it in one swift motion. He leaned against the mahogany desk, running a hand through his dark hair, looking visibly shaken—not by the threat of death, but by how close that glass had come to my lips.
"You could have died because of me tonight," Roman said, his back turned to me. His voice was raw, stripped of all arrogance.
I walked quietly toward him, stopping just behind his broad back. "Roman..."
"I thought I could protect you from everything," he continued, slamming his empty glass onto the desk with enough force to crack the wood. "I thought if I kept you beside me, burned Petrov’s empire, and made them fear my name, you would be safe! But the rot is inside my own house. Marco took a bribe to let an assassin poison your glass."
He turned around, his eyes wild with agonizing turmoil.
"I am a monster, Elena. Everything I touch turns to blood and ash. If you leave tonight, I will give you ten million dollars, a new identity, and a flight to anywhere in the world. You can live a peaceful, normal life far away from this nightmare."
I looked at the man before me. The city called him ruthless, a demon in silk, a cold-blooded killer. But standing in this room, he looked like a man terrified of losing the only light he had ever found in the dark.
I stepped closer, closing the distance between us, and reached up to cup both sides of his face.
"Look at me, Roman," I said softly.
His breath hitched as his gray eyes locked onto mine.
"You tore through a hit squad in the middle of a storm to save me," I whispered. "You bled for me. You called a war just to keep me safe. I don't want a fake identity, and I don't want to run away."
"Elena..."
"I'm staying," I said, my heart pounding with undeniable clarity. "With you."
May you like
Roman’s breath caught. Then, with a low groan that sounded like a man drowning in salvation, he wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me off the floor, and crushed his lips against mine in a desperate, breathtaking kiss.
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