Chapter 13: Roman

Her pupils dilated, the color draining from her eyes as she stared at me, her brows slightly knitting together. For a moment there, she seemed nervous, like my question had triggered something.

I watched her gaze flicker, eyelids drooping ever so slightly, and, as if thinking about her response, her lips parted, then closed. She blinked a few times, her hand reaching for her glass. Fingers brushing against the stem, she gripped it, eyes roaming my form.

Julia took a sip, her tongue darting out with a delicate motion to capture the lingering droplets on her enticing lips.

Her poise reasserted itself just before I could register her fleeting hesitation. Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned back in her chair, gracefully cradling the glass. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, a sly grin playing on her lips.

My head tilted to the side, brows arching at the sudden shift in her countenance that left me wondering if I'd imagined the subtle signs of her nervousness.

Julia was a wonder, an enigma—a master of reinvention, constantly shifting like a mirage. She was always one step ahead of my understanding of her. It was as though her mystery deepened each time I saw her.

Whenever I thought I was close to grasping a glimpse of her essence, she would switch so deftly, eluding my grasp and leaving me perpetually intrigued.

Her ability to become an elusive siren, luring me deeper into the labyrinth of her soul with little or no effort at all, was fascinating. She was a puzzle I had yet to solve, a puzzle whose patterns were constantly rearranging themselves, knocking me off course each time I got close.

“Why do you ask?” she questioned, her voice smooth and confident.

I relaxed back, my fingers drumming against the table. “That vintage car is one of a kind, and it belonged to Anthony Gray—CEO and founder of Gray Consolidated.” My gaze on her form lingered. “So, it's either you knew the man or his family…or you're just a sucker for good cars. Which is it?”

She sipped from her glass and set it down beside her plate. “You talk like you knew him–Anthony Gray.” Her eyes jerked to look at me. “Were you two close? Friends, maybe?”

An abrupt, dismissive laugh escaped my lips. “Friends?” My brows rose at the absurdity of her assumption. “I don't think there's a universe in the multiverse where Gray and I could be friends.”

“Really?” she asked, intrigued, yet her expression was flat. “Why's that?”

I drew in a deep breath, hating the idea of having to talk about a deceased rival. “When he was alive, Anthony Gray and I…we never really saw eye to eye. I hated his guts as much as he hated mine.”

The man was dead, and despite our differences, the thought of him never triggered any emotion. None whatsoever. I was simply giving an honest answer to a pretty woman's question.

“But why, though?” she asked, her voice dripping with curiosity, her eyes never leaving my face. “Why did you hate him so much? Did he do something to you?”

“Well, now you're twisting my words.” I groaned lightly, leaning forward. “I didn't say that I hated him—I said that we hated each other. It was mutual.” I let out a soft exhale. “Anthony Gray was a formidable businessman, as was I. As such, we had conflicting ideas and interests, resulting in our enmity,” I further explained, my voice laced with condescension. “He was a self-righteous man who believed he could change the world by doing good.” A scoff came forth. “Look where that got him: six feet under.”

With both her elbows on the table, fists under her chin, she watched me in silence, her expression unreadable.

I poured myself another glass, the Dom Pérignon flowing like liquid gold into the crystal as faint whispers of oak and citrus wafted through the air. “I may have despised the man but he did have an impressive taste in cars.” I set down the bottle and yanked my glass by the stem. “Like the 1967 Aston Martin DBS.”

“Yeah,” she said, emptying her glass with a single shot. “The car is definitely one of a kind.”

“Refill?” I gestured at the towering bottle.

“Yes, please,” she said, extending her glass.

“I was so distracted during the auction that I didn't buy the car.” My eyes jerked at her as I poured more wine into her glass. “Perhaps I'll buy it from the man who did.”

She accepted her glass and took a gulp before settling it on the table. It was like she was trying to mask her emotions, and even though she was looking at me with a straight face, I could sense that something was off.

“You seem uncomfortable by my opinion about Anthony Gray,” I said, pinning my gaze on her. “Why?”

She hesitated for a moment, fingers rubbing over her eyeballs. “It's just….” Julia exhaled sharply. “It's terrible what happened to the Gray family—I mean, they were incredibly influential in Chicago.”

Yeah. They were, I thought.

“Gray Consolidated used to be one of the fastest-growing companies in the county, and then….” She scoffed, shaking her head, her voice rising slightly above normal as she spoke, “Poof! They lost everything. Mother and father, dead. The sister, missing. The brother, hospitalized.” Her tone softened, dripping with empathy. “So, pardon my reaction. I get uncomfortable with stories like this.” She grabbed her glass and took another sip.

“It was horrible what happened to the Grays. But shit happens,” I replied, my tone flat and devoid of emotion.

The fall of the house of Gray was beneficial to the Tarasov Bratva, so in the end, something good came out of Anthony's demise.

With Gray Consolidated being out of business, no rival was strong enough to oppose the Bratva. He had been our major competitor, and when he was finally out of the way, we had a million and one reasons to celebrate.

No hard feelings. It was just business.

I watched her lean back, heaving a heavy sigh as she tried to regain composure. The story about the incident with the Gray family had messed with her more than she cared to admit.

Obviously, she was the emotional type, and at least I was sure of one thing about her: She was easily triggered by painful stories—tragedies.

I wondered how she would react, knowing that my family and I specialized in ruining lives—especially the lives of those whom we saw as a threat to the family business. If she got triggered by stories about the oppressed, then she'd definitely freak out knowing that I was an oppressor to anyone in my way.

I wasn't sure whether or not she knew about my family business—the real deal, not the legal section I managed.

Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't.

“You seem to know a lot about the Grays,” I said, interested in her response.

“Yeah, there's a lot you can find out on the internet these days,” she replied, her tone smooth and confident. “Plus, in my leisure time, I like to read about powerful and influential families.”

“Is that so?” My brows arched at her revelation.

She nodded, a faint grin lining a corner of her lips.

Fascinated, I leaned forward, arms on the table with my eyes fixed on her. “Tell me, what other families have you read about?”

She edged closer, her gaze intent and flickering with mischief. “Is this a roundabout way of asking if I've read about your family?” Her tone was laced with flirtation, her eyelashes battering at me with a sexy look.

“Maybe.” My reply was casual as I stared right at her. “I'm curious to know what you read about us on your precious internet,” I added.

She chuckled softly. “Are you now?”

My smirk widened as I discreetly checked her out, drinking in her gorgeous body and pretty face.

“Well, from what I've gathered, the Tarasov family is a highly influential and respected business dynasty in Chicago—not to mention feared. I'm not sure why, but a lot of people seem to be afraid of your last name.”

That remark gladdened my heart.

She continued, “Your family's influence extends far and wide with interest in virtually every major industry in the city and has also established itself as a dominant force in American business.” Julia's lips curled into a smile. “If you ask me…that's fascinating.”

I didn't think I'd met anyone who praised my family the way that she did, and her words warmed my heart. She left out the mafia part of the family—the most important part.

Two things: Either she purposely avoided the subject, or she simply had no clue who we truly were.

“Anyway,” she said, adjusting in her chair as she cleared her throat, “I, uh…I asked to meet up with you because…I'd like to apologize for my behavior lately—especially the way I acted the other night at the club.” Her eyes dropped to the floor, then returned to my face.

My brows rose in surprise. “I'll be honest with you; I wasn't expecting that.”

When would I ever get to understand her? The woman was a piece of work.

“Well, the way I spoke to you was unethical and….” She paused, taking her eyes off me for a moment, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “I was outta line, and my behavior was inexcusable. I let my emotions get the better of me, and for that, I'm sorry.” She exhaled softly. “Please, don't fire me. I need the job.”

The corners of my mouth twitched, and I was sure a hint of amusement was dancing in my eyes as I held her gaze. “Apologizing, Julia?” I scoffed, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I leaned in my chair. “I didn't think you had it in you.”

“I’ve got bills to pay, and my pride won't cover them,” she said, her lips quivering as she tried to suppress a smile.

“I never had any intention of firing you, Julia,” I replied, my gaze unwavering. “You're a valuable asset to the club, and I'm not about to let you go.” My expression softened, eyes boring into hers.

A bright smile spread across her face as she relaxed in her chair. “Do you mean as my boss or…” she trailed off, leaving the question hanging.

I felt her foot slowly teasing my leg underneath the table. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and her lips curled into a sultry, inviting curve.

The warmth of her gaze enveloped me, prompting a faint grin on my face as I looked at her with furrowed brows. “You're looking for trouble, girl,” I said, feeling the jolts of electricity surging through my blood.

She looked me dead in the eyes and smirked, her eyelids drooping slightly as she stared with a newly found sensation. “What if that's exactly what I'm looking for?”

My gaze locked on her, captivated by this sudden switch in her countenance.

She took her foot off my leg and laughed, picking up her cutlery. “Let's eat, shall we?”

Did she just tease me?

I scoffed, shaking my head as I grabbed my fork, ready to feast.

Chapter 14 – Julia

So far, I wasn't entirely sure who was in control anymore—Julia Sawyer, who was starting to feel a certain way for the enemy, or Julia Gray, the one who resented the enemy for what he'd put her through.

Each day, it was a tug of war between the two personalities, as one would always remind the other of the mission.

However, despite the conflict within me, one thing was certain: the plan was working. The third way to get into a man's heart was through romance, and up until now, everything had been smooth.

Roman was fascinated by me, and he wasn't hiding it anymore. Every now and then, he'd reach out to see how I was doing. No matter how hard I tried to ignore this newborn habit of his, I simply couldn't.

I hated how I'd grown to anticipate his call, how I'd constantly check my phone for at least a glimpse of his name or a text from him. I loathed the feeling of joy and bliss that his voice offered.

Yet it couldn't be helped.

However, the good part was that he was starting to get attached, and I knew that with each passing day, I was drawing closer to the day of reckoning—the day I would have my revenge.

If I could get rid of these pesky distractions—my attraction to him, the thing with the baby—I would successfully complete this mission. I just needed to stick to the plan no matter what.

“Here you go,” Mike said, his voice drawing me out of my thoughts.

He squinted, handing me a tray laden with crystal glasses and top-shelf liquor.

My mind had wandered, but his words shattered my reverie, anchoring me to the present, where the club was pulsating, bustling with patrons who were dancing and laughing.

My lips curled into a small smile as I accepted the tray. “Thanks, Mike.”

“You okay?” he asked, brows furrowing subtly.

“Yeah. Why?” I looked at him, retaining my smile as my eyes flickered momentarily to the side.

“I'm not sure,” he said, frowning. “There's just something different about you lately.”

I tilted my head, eyes narrowing as I tried to figure out where he was going with this.

“Don’t get me wrong. It's a good difference,” he added swiftly, hands pulled out in front of him in a defensive motion.

“Uh…thanks?” I said, the last word raising into a question as I arched an eyebrow.

“You're welcome.” A playful grin spread across his face as he returned to work.

I chuckled, weaving through the crowd, my cheeks flushing as I wondered what it was about me tonight that others could see that I couldn't. Mike wasn't the first to insinuate that something was different about me recently. Even Harriet, who was never one to offer praises, had made a similar remark—a concession that must have cost her.

With a smile playing on my lips, I headed upstairs to serve the guests in the VIP lounge.

A gentle push swung the door open, and I walked in, my heels clicking against the floor. The three men were engrossed in their conversation, the air thick with their banter and laughter. They all seemed to be in their late twenties.

One was clad in a navy suit, legs crossed as he sat on a sofa, his siren eyes locked on me. Across from him was the second guy—a man in a pair of faded jeans and a crisp white shirt that clung to his form like a second skin. The third guy was sitting on a single sofa, his charcoal turtleneck shirt highlighting his muscular build.

“Here you go,” I said, bending over to set the tray on the table.

“Damn, girl, you fine!” the one with the turtleneck said, his tone dripping with more lust than admiration.

I could feel the intensity of their gazes on me as their voices and laughs gradually faded away. The way they all had their eyes roaming my body was unsettling.

“Thank you,” I said softly, forcing out a smile as I swiftly served their drinks, eager to leave this foreboding atmosphere.

“Man, check out that ass,” the one in faded jeans said, his voice low and thick as he licked his lips, his head tilting for a better view.

I felt a pang of irritation swelling up inside me, and it caused my skin to crawl. My brows furrowed at his remark, which further prompted me to be done with their service and leave.

I emptied the tray and straightened, ready to step outside.

“What's the rush, sweetheart?” the one in the navy suit asked, his tone tinged with flirtation. “Do we repulse you?” His eyes were fixed on my breasts.

As a matter of fact, you do, I thought, though I stayed professional. “Not at all, sir.” I flashed him a courteous grin. “I'm just in a hurry.”

“How much for you to strip naked?” the turtleneck guy chipped in. He stroked his chin, his gaze locked on my body.

His statement reverberated through me, leaving a bitter taste as I shot a glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“Name your price, and it'll be yours,” he said, leaning back on his couch. “I just wanna see what's under that dress.”

I'd never seen a more disgusting look in a man's eyes before.

I gritted my teeth and arched my brows at him. “I'm sorry, sir. I can't do that,” I said, my voice polite and a plastic smile on my face. “But I can get you a stripper if you want. I'm sure she'd be delighted to serve you.”

He rose to his feet, eyes darting across my figure, his imposing height towering over me as he approached.

My chest was heaving subtly as I jerked my head to look at him, hoping he wouldn't attempt anything silly. I balled a fist, ready to swing a punch if it came down to it. It wouldn't be professional, but neither was molesting a staff member.

He halted in front of me, lust flickering in his eyes. “I don't want any strippers. I don't want anyone that isn't you.”

“Sorry. But I'm off the menu.” I cast a stern glare at him before walking out.

My blood was boiling at his disrespect as I stormed down the corridor, heels clicking in rapid succession. “Who the hell does he think he is, asking me to strip?” I seethed, my voice barely above a whisper. I could feel the rage surging through me.

“Jules, hey…!” Eric's voice came from behind me, prompting me to slow down my pace.

He was my manager—a bald, portly man who always found pleasure in criticizing literally every staff member under him. The man had a talent for belittling people, and his gruff demeanor, together with that signature scowl on his face, made him universally disliked.

I really wasn't in the mood to entertain his snide comments on whatever it was that I might have done or failed to do.

But hold on…did he just politely call me Jules ? What happened to his usual condescending, “Hey, Sawyer?”

Intrigued by the calmness of his tone, I swiveled to face him, and my brows rose at the sight of his smile.

Okay, what's going on here?

“You okay?” He halted in front of me. “You seem upset.” His brows knitted, voice laced with concern. “What happened? Did anyone offend you? Talk to me.”

I blinked, taken aback by his unexpected empathy. Usually, he wouldn't care even if I was bleeding from my ears and nostrils.

I cleared my throat, rubbing my eyes as I tried to process the smile on his face. I'd never seen him smile before. Never. In fact, no one had. Yet there he was, a broad grin on his lips.

“Uh…it's nothing, Boss. Just some assholes being rude in the VIP lounge,” I said, watching a glint of irritation rise in his eyes.

“Those sick fucks.” He looked away, cursing under his breath, before returning his gaze to me. “Did they hurt you?”

I shook my head, squinting at the worry etched on his face. This was the strangest thing that had ever happened to me since I started working at Jupiter. I couldn't wait to tell Wren and Mike all about this.

He glanced at his watch. “You know what?” Eric began. “Why don't you just take the rest of the night off—go home, relax?”

My eyes widened, brows furrowing at his suggestion. Okay, something was definitely going on that I didn't know about because Eric would never be this nice to anyone.

“Pay no attention to those dogs.” He patted my shoulder and walked past me, but not without a smile.

A scoff escaped my lips. I had a feeling that Roman was behind this. It was the only logical explanation.

I took his advice and headed home.

The streets were deserted, eerily silent by this time of night. As I strolled down them, my bag slung over my shoulder, street lamps cast long shadows on the sidewalks, their lights flickering intermittently. A gentle wind whispered through, rustling pieces of paper scattered around. The air was pierced with the lone bark of a dog who just wouldn't shut up.

I'd walked down this street at this hour more times than I could count. But tonight, something seemed off. I had this gnawing feeling in my mind that I wasn't alone—like I was being followed.

Every now and then, I glanced over my shoulder, but each time, no one was behind me. As I continued my journey, my eyes roamed the dark alleys and shadows that lurked within.

As I rounded a corner, my apartment building came into view, and just as I was about to take another step, I heard the sound of a snapping twig.

I spun around with a swift motion, my heart skipping a beat. “Hello?” I dared to call out.

The darkness remained silent.

“Anyone there?” I flipped on my phone's flashlight, the beam of light cutting through the night, illuminating a small radius around me.

All I heard was the wind and the incessant barks of that dog.

I'd seen way too many horror movies to know standing here was a bad idea. Without wasting much time, I took off, hastening my pace until I got to the entrance of my apartment building.

I opened the door and rushed inside, heading straight to my place.

Once in my room, I tossed my keys on the table by the entrance and flung my bag onto the nearest couch, grunting as I made my way to the fridge.

Without stopping in my tracks, I slipped out of my heels with practiced precision, my bare feet chilling against the floor as I rolled my neck in a massaging motion.

I opened the fridge and helped myself to a bottle of water before taking off my jacket and gliding to the bathroom.

Shedding my dress, I stepped inside, and after having a warm bath, I stepped out, sliding into a white robe. With my hands ruffling through my wet hair, I strolled out of the bathroom, and as I jerked my head, I froze in shock at the uninvited visitor in my living room.

My eyes widened in fear as I saw one of the men from the club sitting on my couch: the turtleneck guy.

“Hello, love.” He smirked at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ready to strip yet?” His expression tightened.

This was not the time to wonder how he got inside; his presence meant trouble, and now my heart was racing like a galloping horse.

“Get out of my apartment,” I mustered the courage to say, my hand flying toward the door.

“I'm sorry, love, but you don't call the shots around here,” he said, rising to his feet. “ I do.” A solemn look settled on his face. “Boys…?”

Before I could think about what was happening, I felt weightless as someone whisked me into the air.

“Let me go!” I struggled, positioned on his shoulder, my hands slapping against his chest.

He threw me to the ground, taking a stance behind me with the other man as the turtleneck guy advanced toward me, his steps slow and menacing.

My chest was heaving rapidly, eyes wide. “Stay away from me!”

“Hold her down,” he instructed his boys.

I felt their strong arms grabbing my shoulders from behind, and in the next second, I was forced to lay on my back. I tried to scream, but one of them covered my mouth with a handkerchief while the other held both my arms, his grip tightening against my flesh.

“You should've just taken the money and stripped,” the turtleneck guy said, fingers unfastening his belt.

No, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening . I was so terrified that my eyes felt like they were about to pop from their sockets, and I was hyperventilating behind the handkerchief, my chest heaving.

He unzipped his pants and stepped forward, holding out his cock. It was so disgusting, and I knew I couldn't let him stick it inside me. I continued to struggle against their restraints, but the more I tried to free myself, the more powerless I felt.

He laughed, and as he bent over, I flung my foot into his face with all the strength that I could muster. He staggered back, hands flying to his bleeding nostrils as he groaned like a wounded lion. “The bitch broke my nose!”

By now, the others’ hold on me had loosened slightly. It was my opportunity, and I immediately seized it. I managed to bite the hand of the one covering my mouth, my teeth sinking into his fingers.

He wailed in agony, withdrawing his hand with a reflex move. I sighted my heels lying at a reachable distance, and without a second thought, I forced my hand out of my oppressor’s hold and grabbed one.

I swung the heel with treacherous precision, and in a swift arc, I delivered a strike—its pointed tip sinking into the man's thigh with ruthless efficiency.

As he groaned in pain, I sprang to my feet, bolting toward the door.

“One more step, and I swear to God, I'll pull the fucking trigger!” one of them threatened, cocking his gun.

I stopped in my tracks, hands raised in surrender as I shut my eyes, afraid of how this was going to end. I was helpless and alone against three sex-hungry maniacs, each of whom I'd inflicted physical pain upon.

They were furious, and only God knew what they'd do to me.

“Now, we can either do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way,” the turtleneck guy said, the roughness in his voice hinting at his agony. “Either way, we get what we want.”

My body was shuddering, my mind flooded with a myriad of the possible horrors they would inflict on me.

Slowly, I turned around, lips quivering as I met his gaze.

“Not so feisty now, are you?” He snorted and glanced at his boys, each of them laughing. He returned his gaze to me, his gun still pointing at my face.

This was my first time being at gunpoint, and I was fidgeting, trembling, as I wondered if this was how my parents felt the night they were killed—so overcome with fear that they could barely process anything else.

“You're gonna strip, and I'm fuck you until you pass out,” he bit out, his voice dripping with venom.

The other two laughed, adding a chortled, “Yeah!”

Psychos. They were psychos, and I'd never been as in dire need of saving as I was right now.

Instantly, the door behind me burst open, and I flinched, dropping to the ground at the sound of the gunshot that claimed the life of one attacker

Heavy footsteps pounded into the room, accompanied by thick grunts and more gunshots, followed by an eerie silence.

“Are you okay?” a familiar voice came through, so gentle and comforting.

How did he know that I was in trouble? I wondered, raising my head to see the man who'd saved my life.

“Are you okay?” Roman squatted to my level, his palm rubbing through my hair. “Did they hurt you?” As he looked into my teary eyes, his lips tightened.

I shook my head, shifting my gaze to the dead men lying in pools of their own blood.

My heart skipped a beat, and my breath ceased for a moment as the gruesome sight flooded my mind with the memory of my parents’ lifeless bodies. It was like déjà vu.

My gaze locked on the sight as those disturbing images of my parents’ corpses flashed through my head. My chest was heaving rapidly, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My entire world seemed to be collapsing.

I felt weightless as Roman lifted me bridal style in his strong arms, his eyes boring into mine. “It's okay. You're safe now.” His lip curled up into a smile. He took his eyes off me and gave an order to the men who had come in with him. “Clean up this mess.”

One nodded. “Yes, Boss.”

“Let's get you outta here,” he said to me, his tone soft.

His words were soothing to my soul, and I couldn't help but wonder why I felt so safe around the man who had killed my parents.

With tears in my eyes, I melted into him, resting my weary head against his chest as the familiar scent of his cologne enveloped me.