Chapter 25: Roman

Chapter 23 – Roman

I hadn't fully digested the idea that I was going to be a father sooner than I expected. I'd think about that later, but for now, something else occupied my thoughts.

Her words still lingered on the fringes of my mind, infusing me with doubt. I'd tried to the best of my ability to push back the possibility of her claims, but I couldn't.

Clearly, she was wrong. There was no way that Uncle Ivan was behind the murder of her parents.

But why would she lie?

Why would she jeopardize her life if she wasn't so sure?

Julia knew how much I idolized and respected my uncle; she knew I wouldn't take it lightly if she spoke ill against him. Yet, she risked everything to say what she did.

Was she trying to turn me against Uncle Ivan?

Was this still a part of her evil plan to take me down?

A family divided against itself would not stand—maybe that was her agenda: to divide us. It didn't make much sense to me. Nothing did.

I cupped my face in my palms, leaning back in my chair as I waited for Boris's arrival. With each passing second, my patience wore thin as I anticipated what he was able to find.

Just to prove to her and myself that Uncle Ivan wasn't guilty of this crime, I'd had Boris do a little digging. It was his thing, and he always returned with answers when sent on strands like this.

I was certain that Julia was playing me, and when I had proof of her lies, it'd be her brother who'd suffer the consequences. I'd make her watch as I tortured him bit by bit—not too much, but enough to keep him alive.

That would teach her not to mess with the Tarasov family. I owned her now. Her life, her body, and her mind were all mine, and the sooner she understood that, the better for her.

There was a faint voice in my head, urging me to recall the look in her eyes when she told her truth. I tried to drown it, but it wouldn't quit until I did, her face flashing in my head.

Beyond the tears in her eyes that day, there was a beam of conviction within their depths. She was certain of what she said; she believed it in her bones.

Despite this, though, Julia had proven to be such a good actress and a brilliant liar. For all I knew, she could have been lying, just as she'd been from the very beginning.

I couldn't trust any word that came out of her poisonous mouth. How could I trust a woman who tricked me for months? A woman who outsmarted me once and toiled with my emotions? I wouldn't let her fool me again.

Julia would do anything to bring down my family, and this was one of her schemes.

It had to be.

Right?

My fingers dug into my temple in a massaging motion as the inner struggle continued—my heart against my brain.

As cold and stoney as my heart was, it was of the notion that there was a possibility of truth in Julia's claims.

My brain, on the other hand, had a lot of calculations to make, lots of analyses on how this could be one of Julia's plots.

The two sides had constantly been at war since the day I found her in Bigfork, Montana.

A knock on the door cut through my thoughts, capturing my eyes in time to see Boris walking in, his boots clicking on the floor.

I sat upright, adjusting my coat as I watched him halt before my desk.

“Evening, Boss,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Did you find anything?” I asked.

Boris tucked his hand in his pocket and withdrew a USB drive. “Went through a lot of trouble to get this.” He passed it across the table. “It contains a comprehensive list of all of Uncle Ivan's successful kills.”

I edged closer, reaching out to accept it. “Did you go through it?”

He shook his head, placing the drive in my palm. “You don't really believe her, do you?” he questioned, locking his gaze on me.

I inserted the drive into my laptop and raised my head. “No, I don't.”

“Even if he did—which I know he didn't—his actions benefited the Bratva,” Boris said, arms across his chest.

“It’s not a question of whether he did it or not; I just wanna be sure that he didn't break the rules and lie about it,” I replied, navigating through the contents of the drive, my eyes narrowing on the flickering screen before me.

“So, you do believe her, then,” he said, his tone sounding more like a statement than a question.

Deep down, there was a part of me that wanted to believe her, but I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk her disappointing me a second time.

He didn't do it. Uncle Ivan was innocent of this particular crime.

I just needed to prove it to myself and uproot this seed of doubt she'd planted in my head.

There were so many names on that file, so many folders to check, to go through. It took me some time, and just when I was about to give up, my eyes settled on a folder labeled “The Grays.”

My brows furrowed, my chest slowly heaving as I dared to open the folder just to confirm, even though every name on this drive was his victim.

On the first click, photos of Anthony and Margret Gray's lifeless bodies, lying in the pools of their own blood, were plastered all over my screen.

With bated breath, I stared at the evidence right in front of me, eyes widened at this shocking revelation.

A wave of disappointment washed over me as I sank into my chair, a palm swiping over my face. I was struggling with this ugly truth despite seeing it for myself.

The photos were sent from Jorah as proof of a job well done.

“Shit,” Boris whispered.

With my reaction, he didn't need anyone telling him what I'd just found out.

Uncle Ivan had lied to me—he was the reason Julia embarked on her revenge mission in the first place.

He’d broken the rules; the Bratva had a strict policy about killing women—especially innocent women like Margret, who I had no beef with.

Fuck!

Julia was right.

Uncle Ivan knew that she was only out for revenge, yet he wanted me to kill her even though I'd decided to torture her first.

Killing her would've covered his tracks, and I never would've found this out.

I was still trying to process how messed up this was when my eyes caught a file labeled “Emily Clarkson.”

“No,” I muttered, feeling my stomach turn as I leaned closer, my gaze fixed on the name.

The scowl on my face deepened, my jaw tightening as I opened the file. It had no photos of her, but the write-up was about Jorah neutralizing the threat.

Threat? I raged, my fingers balling into fists. Emily was no threat; she was my lover, and for eighteen years, I'd lived with the false fact that she was killed by an enemy.

Why, Uncle?

My chest expanded as my initial disappointment transformed into a blazing fury.

Losing Emily was the worst thing that had happened to me; her death had been the pivot point that anchored me to this path of ruthlessness. I lost my emotions and ability to feel compassion the day I lost her.

The fact that the man I idolized the most in this world was the one behind all of these atrocities made my skin crawl.

All that hurt, pain, and anger from eighteen years ago came rushing back to the surface, threatening to rip my mind apart.

My jaw tightened, as did my fists, and a wave of rage washed over me, prompting me to drill a punch into the laptop screen.

I jerked my head up, trying to steady my breathing. “Get the car ready, Boris. We're going to pay Uncle Ivan a visit.”

Chapter 24 – Julia

“Is there anything else you would like me to do for you?” Aida's face lit up with her signature smile as she stood by my bedside, eyes lingering over me.

Aida was by far the nicest person to me—in fact, she was the only person who was good to me in this house. Not that there was anyone else other than Roman and his men, anyway.

Bianca, the other maid, wasn't the kind to talk much; she was always so serious and all about her business. If it wasn't about work, she wasn't interested.

I'd never seen her smile, and I'd been living in this prison for about two weeks now. For a woman, Bianca really needed to loosen up.

But that was none of my concern. I had my own problems to deal with.

Lying in bed, I jerked my gaze at the woman towering over me, my lips curling into a genuine grin. “Thanks, Aida. But I'm okay.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners, her head slightly bowing. “If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me. I'm just down the hallway.” She took a step, ready to dematerialize.

“Aida,” I called, my voice barely above a whisper.

She paused and returned her focus to me, retaining her smile. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, holding her gaze.

Her head tilted a little, brows knitting together—a subtle gesture that accentuated her puzzled look. “Doing what?”

“Why are you so nice to me? Not that I'm complaining, but…why?” I insisted, my gaze unwavering as my curious eyes never left her face.

Aida let out a soft scoff. “Because you deserve it and more.” She added almost immediately, “And I'm not saying this to sympathize with you. No. You deserve to be happy.” Her shoulders shrugged. “I'm just playing my part.”

“But you barely know me,” I said, my curiosity longing to hear more.

“Maybe,” she replied. “But I've been around long enough to know a good girl when I see one.” She stepped forward, my voice dropping a little lower. “Can I tell you something?”

She poked my interest with her question, and my brows furrowed as I watched her sit on the side of my bed.

“It doesn’t seem like it, but he's not as horrible as you think he is,” she said, looking into my eyes as she held my hand. “And your life doesn't suck as much as you think, either—”

“Aida—” I tried to cut her off, but she wouldn't let me.

“I know how this looks—trust me, I do,” she interrupted my interruption and continued. “But take it from a woman who's seen a lot…. It'll all work out in the end.”

I honestly wanted to believe her, but I couldn't see the possibility of it happening, not in a million years. The certainty in her tone was admirable, but she clearly didn't know the whole story, the hatred Roman had for me.

“Get some rest.” She concluded her speech with a gentle squeeze of my fingers.

Aida rose to her feet, hit me with another dose of her enchanting smile, and then headed out the door. She took one last look at me before shutting it behind her.

How could she say that my life didn't suck as much as I thought it did?

For Christ's sake, I was literally a prisoner in this house. Sure, I was allowed to roam around the mansion, but I couldn't leave.

Even if I had an escape plan—which I didn't—it would be impossible to execute.

The damn place was swarming with guards, serious-faced men armed to the teeth.

Plus, I needed to be on good behavior for the sake of my brother, whose whereabouts I was still unaware of. Whenever I summoned the courage to ask Boris about Tom, he always said, “He's fine.”

Goddamn it!

That wasn't enough.

I needed more. I needed details.

I needed to see him with my own eyes to make sure that he was truly okay.

Relying on the words of a man like Boris did not help my situation at all. His tone, whenever he replied, was always flat, his expression unreadable.

How was I supposed to get assurance from that?

This suspense was killing me slowly, and that was what Roman wanted.

This was his own way of punishing me; I knew that. Yet that knowledge didn't make it hurt any less.

He couldn't torture me physically, considering my condition, but he sure as hell could torture me emotionally.

He must be basking in the satisfaction that came with seeing me suffer.

I felt a nasty sting in my eyes as they misted on the thought of the blissful moments we shared together—however brief.

It was hard to picture the times when we were lovers…sort of. Yes, I did have my agenda back then, but something about him had managed to slowly creep into my heart.

There was a time during my mission when I'd zone out at work, thinking about his touch and the way he made me feel safe and secure.

Ironic how the same man today was the reason for the fear that overwhelmed me completely.

He'd forced me into marrying him—although without using brutal force—sealed our union on a piece of paper, and then locked me up here.

I barely saw my “husband” twice a week despite living in the same house, and it was always by chance.

Sometimes, I'd be walking around the house when I'd see him on the phone, heading out. Or I would be in the kitchen with Aida when he’d be driving in or out of the compound.

He hadn't said a word to me since the wedding at the courthouse, and up until now, his threats still echoed in my head.

A part of me was satisfied with him ignoring me, acting like I didn't exist. At least that had saved me from his wrath. I didn't have to put up with his anger, disdain, hatred, or resentment toward me.

Then there was the softer part of me that just wanted to see him—to have a decent conversation with the man I’d once felt something so intense for.

I wasn't exactly sure what the feeling was, but Roman had awakened something in me, something that felt genuine.

Deep down, this part of me wanted things to go back to the way they were, but I knew better. It was impossible.

His hatred for me seemed to bloom with each passing day, and every morning that I woke up, my fear intensified.

Roman had become the scariest and coldest living creature I'd ever seen, and I was trapped in the same house with him.

So, Aida, with all due respect, you're wrong. I've accepted my fate , I thought, tossing the sheets aside.

I drew in a deep breath, placing my feet on the fluffy rug at the base of the bed with my fists pressing against the foam as I struggled to stand.

My stomach was so heavy that it made literally everything difficult, including standing. I had to hold on to one of the bed's four posts before getting on my feet.

I groaned at my aching body, both hands reflexively flying to my waist to support my protruding belly from the back.

With careful and cautious steps, I walked toward the door with the intention of stretching my legs.

However, I hadn't even moved five paces away from the bed when I felt it—a sharp pain in my belly that forced me to bend.

An agonizing groan escaped my lips as I reached back toward the post for support. At first, I thought it was just the baby kicking as it usually did, but this pain was a lot worse.

I could feel my legs trembling, my hands shaking with a palm on my stomach. I grabbed a bedpost, tightening my grip around it with wide-open eyes and sharp breaths. I remained like that, frozen, unable to move.

This searing pain clenched my abdomen like a vise tightening around my swollen belly. The contraction rippled through my shuddering body, jolting to my lower back. I gasped painfully, my breath hitching in my throat as I felt it sprint down to my pelvis.

This was definitely not the baby kicking.

I was going into freaking labor.

Suddenly, a warm gush flooded between my legs, trickling down my thighs. My gaze dropped to the floor, where the liquid pooled beneath my feet.

My eyes widened in a mix of shock and fear at the realization that my water just broke.

Fuck. The baby was coming.

“Aida!” I shrieked at the top of my voice.

In a flash, the door burst open, and she came rushing to my aid.

The front door swung open, and I barged into Uncle Ivan's living room, eyes blazing with fury.

His men, about four of them, reacted instinctively to the way I stormed in, guns out and ready to fire.

He raised his hand, and they all lowered their weapons after recognizing who I was.

I halted before him, seething in silence, Boris standing a few paces away. My jaw clenched tighter as I glared at my uncle, unsure how this confrontation would end.

From his sofa where he sat, one leg across the other, Uncle Ivan lifted his gaze and locked eyes with me. He squinted, his forehead creasing slightly to indicate his dislike at my approach.

“I'll excuse your behavior because you're my nephew,” he said, his voice menacingly low. “Do you mind telling me why you're looking at me with so much rage in your eyes?”

“Don't bullshit me, Uncle,” I growled, throwing away my respect for him.

Jorah's brows knitted from where he stood at a corner of the room. He rose to his feet and stepped forward, his gaze pinned on me.

I heard Boris's boots clicking against the floor as he moved closer, taking a defensive stance beside me.

Ivan's men were now on their feet, casting threatening glares at me as the air charged with tension.

“You will address me with respect, boy. Do you understand?” Uncle Ivan's face twisted into a deadly frown.

With gritted teeth, I took a step forward, unfazed by his displeasure. “You lost that respect when you broke the rules…when you crossed the line,” I said, intentionally stalling so I could gather my emotions and not act out of impulse.

He was still my uncle.

His brows arched, eyes boring into mine as I boiled with rage. His face softened ever so slightly—almost undetectable—as he finally realized the reason behind my fury.

“That's right,” I hissed, my gaze unwavering. “I know. I know what you did, Uncle.”

With a deepened scowl, he rose to his feet. “You're gonna have to be a little bit more specific than that. I've done a lot of things,” he said, his tone unapologetic.

“You killed the Grays,” I muttered, my hands trembling with anger and my lips twitching at the corners. “Why?”

“You ungrateful fool,” he spat those venomous words. “You should be thanking me. I did the Bratva a favor by eliminating a threat…!”

“He was no threat!” I snapped, losing my cool. “Nor was his wife, and you killed them in cold blood!”

“Watch your tone, boy!” he thundered, his face inches from mine, spittle sprinkling on my skin. “I am still your uncle. Show some respect!”

I paused for a second, my voice leveling out. “Respect?” My brows arched at his effrontery, incredulous. “You mean like you showed me when you ordered the hit on Emily Clarkson?”

Uncle Ivan's face paled momentarily, the anger draining from his eyes.

“You knew how much I loved her,” I continued, my tone low, dripping with pain and betrayal. “Yet, you had your Terminator end her life.” I stole a glance at Jorah standing poised behind him before returning my gaze to Uncle Ivan. “And then you lied to me…for eighteen years.” My jaw tightened.

“It was a necessary evil,” he said, his face hardening without remorse. “Emily had to die for you to become the man that you are today.”

I unleashed a primal growl, triggered by his lack of remorse, as I seized him by the collar and slammed his back against the wall. I heard the sounds of cocking guns but didn't flinch.

“There you are!” he bellowed at me. “That's the monster I created! The monster that should've ripped that Gray girl limb from limb for daring to trick him!”

I yelled out, my rage finding expression as I struggled with the urge to drill my fist in his face.

“You were becoming weak, Roman!” he began, his voice rising as he fixed his eyes on me. “Your affection for that Emily girl was clouding your judgment. You were willing to give up the Bratva cause for her. You were losing yourself, nephew; I had to do something!”

My grip around his collar tightened, my arms trembling at the amount of rage jolting through my body.

“You're courageous enough to stand up to me now because I made you who you are,” he said, his voice dripping with icy control. “People fear you because of me.” He knocked my arms off effortlessly. “Everything I did, I did for the Bratva, and I don't regret it. And that's more than you can ever know.”

He walked away from me, heading into his office.

“I know enough,” I said, my voice causing him to stop in his tracks. “I know what happens to people who break the Bratva laws, irrespective of who they are.” I moved closer and halted in front of him. “You know that, and that's why you lied to cover your tracks, to save your own skin.”

He locked eyes with me, his face contorting at my words. He gritted his teeth.

“You're a coward, Uncle Ivan. And you will face the consequences of your behavior in accordance with the Bratva law.” My tone was glacial, my voice laced with menace.

His brows knitted, eyes flashing with anger and…fear? He stumbled backward, his face draining of color. “You dare threaten me?”

“If I threatened you, Uncle, you'd already be dead.” I smirked coldly. “I'm merely forecasting your future.”

Uncle Ivan's eyes bulged, a vein throbbing in his temple. His lips twitched at the corners but produced no sound until he snarled, “Jorah! Get them out of my house!”

My smirk widened, satisfied by the discomfort my words had inflicted him with. Uncle Ivan headed into his office, and as soon as the door slammed shut, his men surrounded Boris and me.

It was dishonorable to take down two defenseless men, so they all lowered their weapons, taking fighting stances.

The air thick with tension as we anticipated the chaos about to erupt like molten magma from a volcanic mountain.

Instantly, the men charged in at us, and while Boris was handling them, I faced off against the mighty Jorah. He was bigger than me, older, and probably even more experienced.

But at this point, I was angrier, smarter, and faster. Uncle Ivan might have pointed the gun, but Jorah was the one who pulled the trigger. He was the reason Emily was dead, the reason Julia's life was ruined.

I lunged at him with all that rage surging through me, our hands a rapid blur of movements. Blows and kicks were exchanged in a heated brawl that filled the air with the sounds of thick grunts and crashing objects.

In the background, I could hear the wails of Boris's victims—the four of them were clearly no match for him.

Bones snapped, and flesh tore in this intense fight.

Jorah, noticing how formidable I was against him, resorted to arming himself with a switchblade. At first, I didn't see it until he charged, the blade slicing through the air. I dodged the deadly strike by a hair's breadth, countering with a swift jab that he deflected.

With lightning-speed reflexes, I evaded Jorah's slashing blade and soon landed a solid kick to his chest.

He stumbled backward and regained control before lunging at me. Swiftly, I sidestepped, trapping his arm in mine, and with a practiced motion, I twisted until his arm snapped from its joint like a twig. He dropped the blade, groaning in agony, and before he could reconcile with the pain, I slammed my knee into his groin.

Jorah bent over instinctively, and seizing the opportunity, I grasped his legs, lifting him with a quick, brutal motion. With a savage force, I hurled Jorah backward, and his body arched as he crashed on the ground, his neck snapping in the process. The sickening crack of breaking bone filled the air as his head struck the floor.

I turned around, and he was lying motionless, his limp body crumbled, eyes frozen in a permanent stare.

Boris struck down his final opponent and jerked his head at me, as if wondering what I would do next.

I glided toward the office and kicked the door open, only to find Uncle Ivan sitting in his chair with a gun to his head.

“I can't tarnish my name, Roman,” he said, holding my gaze as I slowly stepped into his office. “Turning myself in to be judged will ruin everything I spent so many years building.” He shook his head. “And I can't have that.”

“Put the gun down, Uncle,” I said, cautiously approaching him.

“Why, so you can tell everyone my secret?” he questioned. “I don't regret setting you on this path, Roman. But I'd rather die the hero our family thinks I am than live to jeopardize that legacy.”

I flinched subtly when he cocked the gun pointed at his temple.

“For the Bratva.”

Uncle Ivan pulled the trigger.

His body fell back in his chair, and the gun slipped out of his hold.

I froze for about a minute. He deserved it for the innocent lives he'd taken, but a part of me still felt hurt. He was family, nonetheless.

My phone rang in my pocket, and I withdrew it, staring at the screen. It was Aida.

I answered the phone, and my heart melted instantly at the cry of a baby in the background. Aida explained that Julia had just been put to bed, and my breath hitched in my throat.

In a twist of fate, I lost my uncle and gained a new life—a baby—on the same day.

***

I quickened my steps, my shoes clicking on the floor as I pushed the door open and walked into the ward.

My eyes widened at the sight of Julia, dampened in sweat, holding a baby in her arms. She was sitting on the bed with her back against the wall, eyes trained on the infant in her arms.

It was undeniable how beautiful she looked, especially when she raised her head, and her face brightened with a smile I hadn't seen for ages.

I'd stopped by the warehouse where I had her brother in good condition under surveillance and asked him to come with me. I was never going to hurt the boy—I just needed to punish her a bit.

Her eyes misted when she saw him poking his head from behind me.

“Oh, my God, Tommy!” she shrieked, her voice dripping with excitement.

He rushed over to the bed and carefully hugged her, kissing her head.

“How…?” she asked, speechless, her eyes roaming his body as if searching for injuries.

His lips curled into a smile. “I'm okay. I'm okay.”

She shifted her gaze toward me, a grin spreading across her face as I glided over to her, my attention fixed on the infant in her arms.

I’d never made time to digest the fact that I was going to be a father. But right now, seeing this cute little creature unlocked a different dimension of my emotions.

“Would you like to hold her?” Julia asked, her tone barely above a whisper.

I jerked my head, meeting her eyes, and in that moment, everything I’d once felt for her came rushing back. She held my gaze, her magnetic stare reminding me of the good times we spent together.

And just like that, all that anger, rage, and resentment dissipated, vanishing like mist in the sun.

I stretched out my hands, and Julia placed the baby in my arms. Straightening, I watched the little thing lay comfortably in my hold, its hazel eyes sparkling like diamonds.

“It's a girl.” I smiled at the mother, only now processing the pronoun Julia had used.

Julia nodded, sniffling as she dried her tears. I returned my gaze to the cutest baby in the world, my heart warming at her arrival.

This was a game changer—a new chapter in our lives that I couldn't wait to explore.

I'm a father .

I chuckled, unable to tear my gaze off my little angel.