Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Renata

I sit next to Ollie. He's driving and has been in silence for over an hour. There's no denying he's the quiet sort and only talks when he feels he needs to.

Right now, he doesn't need to. It's not the brooding silence my father would lapse into once in a while, the type designed to make you feel guilty like you did something wrong and afraid of what he'd do next.

No. Ollie is as different from my father as humanly possible. His silence isn't oppressive like my father's was. It's steady, commanding, as if he holds all the power in those unsaid words. It's quiet authority, making his silence feel powerful instead of passive aggressive.

He's as different from everyone as he could be.

I'm learning to lean into the quiet and silence and to appreciate when he does talk. He only speaks when he has something to say.

"Where are we now?" I ask, a little confused with the readings on GPS. Ollie said it's unreliable here.

"We're in the upper part of New York State," he says quietly. "There's no sign that anyone's followed us. Aleks reports the drone carrying your tracker is having an excellent honeymoon in Puerto Rico." I stifle a snort. The ruse will be short-lived, and when Carlos finds out we deceived him, he'll lose his fucking mind. But I'm enjoying this while it lasts.

"He could be gone," I say quietly. "He could still be tracking the drone."

Ollie sobers, his eyes on the road ahead of us. "Is that what you think?"

I look out the window. I swallow hard and respond cryptically. "If Carlos is still alive, which you maintain he is… I don't think he's caught on yet. I think Carlos is waiting, like a predator, waiting for the perfect moment. Waiting until the time is right before he strikes—" I swallow, nod, and continue. "Yeah. That sounds more his speed." I lick my lips. "I mean, if he were here…"

What will he do when he finds the two of us? He knows Ollie means something to me. He knows he's my husband.

My gut says retribution will be swift and merciless.

If it were just me, I'd be fucked. Thankfully, I'm not the only one here, the only one defending myself.

The Romanovs can hold their own.

I look out the window and twist a strand of hair. I nibble my lip thoughtfully. I have questions about him, about who he is. His motivations. I've seen him do terrible, cruel things, and yet…

"Ollie?"

"Mmm?" He taps the steering wheel as if lost in a world of his own. And maybe he is.

"Do you, like… ever have any regrets for… hurting people?"

He doesn't really show any signs that my question disturbs him or fear of answering honestly. That's not who he is.

I inspect an unruly cuticle and pick at it, suddenly nervous.

Finally, he shrugs a shoulder. "I'm not the family assassin, Renata."

"I know, but… well. You've murdered people."

He clenches his teeth. "Yeah. Truthfully?" He lets out a breath.

"Yeah. I wouldn't ask otherwise." My heart beats faster. Do I want to know the answer to this question?

His voice is cold and ruthless when he finally answers. "My only regret is not making some suffer longer before I ended it."

Oh God. My breath catches, but I force myself to stay composed, to not flinch or show discomfort. What do I say to that? What can I say?

Is he wrong?

Am I?

I've seen what people are capable of. I suppose if I were the average girl next door, I could have ended up with an average man. Maybe we'd meet at a bar. Is that how people still do things? We could be having conversations about grilling the perfect steak, discussing the best way to invest our money, or debating who to vote for in the next election.

But that life is a distant dream now. Ollie isn't a next-door neighbor kind of guy. I can't ask him to go for a walk on the beach or take me to a cozy dinner without considering the potential dangers.

He's the man that walks through fire and expects you to follow.

His voice breaks through my thoughts, softer now, almost reflective. Another woman might mistake his tone as casual. "How did you get that scar, Renata?"

He's watching me, really watching, and for a second, I feel exposed and vulnerable in a way I'm not used to. Answering him as his wife won't be the same as answering him before.

The memory of that night flashes before me, the pain unbidden—the fear and blood. I swallow hard, tracing the scar. How should I tell him? Is there anything he already knows?

Driven by a need to survive, to protect myself from threats that constantly loom over me, I've had to be strong. To push through. But there's a part of me, deep inside, that still craves trust and acceptance. A part that regrets the things I've done, the people I've hurt. A part of me that wonders if I'd only done things right by my family, would they have kept me as their own?

But Ollie… maybe he doesn't need redemption the way I do. He's fully submerged in the darkness as if it's part of his identity. And maybe that's what is so unnerving and fascinating about him.

I take a deep breath and look ahead of me.

"There was a time when Carlos was protective and caring, but then he became obsessed with power and control. As he climbed the ranks in the cartel, he became best friends with Javier Morales. I wanted a way out. To him, looking for a way out was the ultimate form of betrayal."

Ollie nods and barely reacts, but his jaw is clenched, and we're driving faster now. The other cars outside our windows fly by. My belly drops as the needle on the speedometer creeps up.

"I discovered he'd been manipulating me. He wanted me to marry into another family. He had a good friend who was obsessed with me. An older guy. He set us up on a date, and at first, things were fine…"

I look out the window. I will never forget what it felt like to be that small and powerless, to know the only weapon I had was my body.

"His friend tried to seduce me. I wouldn't let him. I left and ignored his calls. He was creepy as fuck." I shiver at the memory of his oily voice and loose skin, the way he smelled like expensive cologne and cigars. "Then Carlos called me to him and announced that he'd arranged for my engagement."

I laugh bitterly. "If I knew then what I know now… anyway, I told him no. We got into a huge fight during dinner. He threw his plate at me, and it shattered on my face. Isabella was the one who brought me to the hospital. She had a friend there who wouldn't talk."

Ollie's grip on the steering wheel tightens. I can't look at how fast he's going. I reach a hand to his arm. "Please, Ollie. Driving faster won't make this go away. Please, slow down."

He lets out a long breath and begins to slow down. "Sorry. I didn't realize I was doing that."

"I know."

We sit in silence for a moment. He reaches his hand to my leg and strokes his thumb along the bare skin.

"My brother didn't mean to hurt me. He saw the next step forward for our family and was taking the brunt of my father's rage."

"That doesn't fucking matter," Ollie mutters.

I sigh. "But it does. I'm not saying it was right, but he told me later that he was trying to protect me, and marrying into this other man's family was the best choice."

"The damage was done, though, Renata. He hurt you. He scarred you."

"I know," I say softly. I swipe at my cheeks, remembering how it was after that night. "After that, he didn't trust himself not to hurt me, so he disappeared. There was a rift between us, a constant reminder of how far he had fallen."

"Renata."

"Yes?"

"Is there still a part of you that believes Carlos can be redeemed?"

I turn my head and don't answer right away.

"Yeah. I still remember what he was like as a boy. How he took care of me. It's… complicated. He might be a monster in your eyes, but he's still my brother."

"I know."

"The brother I loved is still in there somewhere, Ollie. I know he is."

The view outside our window has changed. The houses are farther apart now, and there's more green between them. Wide fences mark property, and in the distance, the sloping mountains beckon with scattered clouds.

"Renata—"

"I know he is. Imagine if one of your brothers turned his back on you. Hurt you. You'd want him back, too, wouldn't you?"

"First, the answer is… if any one of my brothers turned their back on my family, he'd be exiled. We aren't united by blood, Renata. We were all adopted by my parents, our family forged on loyalty and love."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Second." His voice takes on a darker, more serious edge. "I don't appreciate being interrupted. I give you space to talk without interruption."

I feel small and chastened. "Sorry about that."

His voice is a low, soft command. "Interrupt me again, and you'll find yourself over my knee before you realize what's happening. Clear?"

My pulse races. I swallow and nod. "Mhm. Got it." I look down at my hands and place one on top of his, my voice a low purr. "Yes, sir."

His low growl of approval is all the answer I need. He may give me shit about my own kinks, but my husband is kinky as fuck, too.

"Your brother is our enemy. The brother you knew is gone, and if history is any indication, he will never return."

I nod. It doesn't hurt as much as I expected it would because he's not telling me anything I don't already know deep down in my heart.

"Renata," he says softly. "You have a family now. A family that will protect you, cherish you, and fight for you no matter what. You're a Romanov now, and we will prove our loyalty to you."

I watch the fading sun outside our window, and my heart swells. He's right. The brother I knew is gone. The man who took his place is no friend of mine. But the Romanovs are my family now, and with them, I'll find the strength, loyalty, and love I've been searching for.

"Are you hungry?"

I sigh. "Always."

He squeezes my knee. "Good. There's a little diner ahead. No one's followed us. Aleks is watching."

I smile. "Oooh. I've always wanted to go to a diner."

"I'm guessing you don't have them in Colombia?"

"No. I mean, in some larger cities, you can find American-themed restaurants, but they're unusual. We prefer our own food."

He gives me a rare smile. "Then you're in for a treat."

"Yeah?"

"Something uniquely American I go for every time I come back to America. I crave a good ol' American breakfast. Bacon and eggs, those little fried potatoes. Toast with these little pats of jelly."

"They sell breakfast?"

"Yes, every kind of breakfast you can imagine. Of the American variety, anyway. And sandwiches for lunch, all the sandwiches."

"Burgers? I love an American burger."

"With fries? You got it."

Now I'm starving. "Can I get an ice-cold Diet Coke on the side?"

"Of course." He opens his door and comes to my side. We're the only ones here, and for once, it's nice to see that Ollie is almost… relaxed. Carlos is momentarily distracted; his family's got us on their radar. We've got this.

A neon sign flickers above the small diner like a beacon of light in an otherwise desolate place. It looks like it's straight out of an American movie from the fifties, and my heart soars. We're honeymooning! Me and my badass, grumpy husband.

He opens the door, and I'm immediately presented with a large glass display case of assorted pies and pastries. "I'm starving. "

The bell on the door jingles as we walk in, the scent of warm coffee and fried food greeting us. The only person here is an older woman with graying hair and glasses wearing a frilly apron. She's holding her phone at arm's distance, pecking at something on the screen, her tongue sticking out of her mouth.

"Welcome," she says warmly, placing her phone in her apron pocket.

Her eyes go wide as saucers when he enters behind me. I look over my shoulder and try to see him the way she does—scary, badass, and dangerous. "Have a seat. You have your choice of the place. Anywhere you like, hon." I can tell this isn't something she offers just anyone, as only the first four tables are set. There are benefits to being with Ollie.

I draw closer to him. I fully intend on enjoying said benefits.

He leads us to a booth near the back, away from the windows and close to the kitchen. Of course he needs to be able to have a good vantage point.

I can't help but notice the way the red vinyl squeaks under Ollie's weight. I fit here just fine, but even though Ollie isn't quite as enormous as the others in his family, he still dwarfs this place. The table between us is small. When our knees brush under it, it sends a spark of something down my spine I can't ignore. He picks up the sticky menu, scanning it with a look of utter concentration.

I stifle a giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.

"Nothing, just… I've seen you take down a man twice your size without flinching, and here you are, staring down this little menu like it's a life-or-death decision…"

"Food is a life-or-death decision, Renata," he says seriously, though his lips twitch.

"Is that so?" I say. There's a lightness in my chest I haven't felt in so long, it almost scares me. It feels dangerous and wonderful. "What might you recommend for someone who could be looking at her last meal?"

His eyes narrow playfully. It's a welcome change from his usual stern demeanor. "The bacon cheeseburger followed by apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Anything else is just playing with fire. Too risky."

I frown and shake my head with mock seriousness. "Definitely not the avocado toast and lemon meringue, then?"

His eyes go wide in mock horror. "Have you listened to a thing I said?"

The waitress sidles up to us, pad in hand. "We're out of lemon meringue."

My instincts flare, and I stare at her, surprised. She's lying. Over pie? I bet if my hot-as-hell husband asked for it, she'd miraculously find some.

Hmph.

"Coffee?" she asks Ollie. "I'll make a fresh pot, sir."

Jesus. Gag me. I want to ask if she'd still be hot for him if she saw how easily those hands of his can wrap around a traitor's neck. I've seen that in person, thank you very much, and can say with confidence it takes a special kind of person to learn to appreciate the nuances of brutality.

He shakes his head. "No, thank you, but my wife might want some." He quirks a brow to me.

I shake my head.

My wife.

I'm not used to that. I swear the waitress's face falls. "Ma'am?"

I shake my head. Ollie orders for both of us, which both annoys and pleases me. My chest tightens when he orders, "An ice-cold Diet Coke, extra ice with a wedge of lime, please." Just how I like it.

There's a hardness to him, yes, but there's something more, something almost vulnerable in the way he quietly entwines his fingers with mine, tracing the oval shape of each nail with the pad of his thumb. I don't miss the way his gaze flits to the door, windows, and restroom every now and again.

"Do you need to check in with Aleks?"

"Yeah." He slides his finger over the screen of his phone and shrugs. "No updates."

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It's easier to keep your eyes on a moving target.

"Thank you," I finally say.

"For what?"

For protecting me. For listening when I need to talk. For being a rock-hard fortress that won't let me down.

I shrug. "For ordering for me."

"You like everything," he says with a wistful look in his eyes. "You make it easy."

"I make what easy?" I ask, my heart beating faster. I'm not sure why. I swallow hard.

"Everything."

My heart seizes. I hold his gaze as I lean across the table. I want to kiss him.

"Me?" I whisper. "You sure you're not talking about someone else?"

"No one else, Renata. Just you."

Leaning forward, he holds my gaze. He's utterly concentrated on my lips as if they hold magic. I swallow hard, the air between us charged with something electric. Magical. I'm not sure if it's that we're married now, we've escaped our hunters, or that we're alone in this strange, timeless place in the middle of nowhere, but it feels like everything else fades away, and it's… just us.

I lean in. I want to kiss him. I want to ask about his past and talk about the future. I want to hear him bless me with the rare gift of his words because right now, we're in this strange bubble of newness and quiet.

I'm breathing heavily. His eyes have darkened, framed with thick brows, his lips downcast, making me quake with something that feels like fear mingled with need.

Two platters clang on the table in front of us. "Anything else I can get you, honey?" She seems oblivious to the spell she just broke.

"No, thank you," Ollie says, his hands pulling away from mine as he straightens.

"Enjoy, sugar," she says with a wink to him.

"I will," I say sharply. She turns away in a huff.

"Behave yourself, Renata," he says in that chiding way that makes my nipples furl.

"She's flirting with you."

He only shakes his head. "Eat, baby." He lifts his burger and takes a huge bite.

I dig into mine with gusto until I've left just enough room for pie. He eats all of his, then pulls my plate over to his side when I'm finished and eats every last crumb.

She brings over a plate of warmed apple pie topped with a generous dollop of vanilla ice cream and two spoons. I take a big bite. It's spicy and sweet, the ice cream rich and creamy. "Mmm."

He leaves the last bite for me. "Ladies first." I smile and scoop it up.

"Thank you." I'm quiet for a moment. "Ollie, is there ever any going back?"

"Going back to what," he asks, playing with the salt and pepper shakers in front of us as if they're chess pieces.

"Back to life before… all of this. Back to normalcy."

He casually shrugs a shoulder. "There has never been normalcy for me. My mother wasn't always a single mom. Eventually, she became a drug addict who slept with rich men to pay our rent. She overdosed and froze to death on the streets of Moscow when I was still young. That's when the Romanovs found me."

My heart aches. "I didn't know that."

He shrugs. "It's irrelevant."

It isn't though. But I don't say that out loud.

"My father scrapped together a family that needed him. It's one of the best ways to ensure loyalty, isn't it? Take ten dogs that are starving to death and feed them. Take ten that have regular meals and a roof over their heads. Which will be the most loyal?"

"Is loyal the right word?" I ask thoughtfully, sipping my Diet Coke. The ice clinks against the glass as it hits my lips. Wordlessly, he gestures for a refill. "Desperate, maybe. Grateful, yes. But loyalty isn't born of having a need met—it's born out of a sense of trust, of knowing that someone will be there for you, no matter what. True loyalty comes from a bond, not from filling an empty stomach."

He pauses, his expression unreadable, and traces a pattern in the condensation on his glass. I watch the blunt tip of his finger. Why does everything he does feel so utterly, irascibly masculine?

"Maybe you're right," he finally says, his tone softening. "But in a world like ours, desperation and fear are all you need to keep people in line."

I nod slowly, knowing he's right but wishing it weren't so dire, so bleak.

"Is that really how you feel about loyalty, Renata?"

I hold his gaze and nod.

"That true loyalty comes from a bond? From a sense of trust?"

"I do."

His green eyes hold mine for a beat too long, making me squirm under the heat of his gaze. "I'll keep that in mind," he says softly as the waitress presses a green-and-white bill onto the table.

Ollie stands, tosses five $100 bills on the table, and reaches for my hand. It's warm and firm around mine, and I take a sense of comfort in holding it.

I stare. "That's a lot of money," I whisper.

"Good," he whispers back. "Maybe she'll buy a dildo with a Russian accent."

I squeal and clap my hand over my mouth. "Clearly, you and I do not shop in the same stores."

He grins, making my heart turn over in my chest. I feel like I win a small victory whenever I can make him smile. The edges of his eyes soften just a touch.

As we head toward the door, I can't help but glance back at the tables where the waitress stands, her mouth agape.

The night arrived while we were inside, the air cool and refreshing after the warmth of the diner. Ollie still holds my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"You know," he says, sobering. "What you said in there about loyalty and trust… it's rare in our world."

I nod. "I know."

My God, do I know.

"It's something worth protecting, isn't it?"

"Yes," he says as we reach the car. He does his obligatory scan of the car, our surroundings and checks in with Aleks, but we're still in the clear. Our honeymoon gift.

"It is," he says softly, opening the door for me. "Something worth protecting. And something worth fighting for."

The door shuts with a click.

He slides into the driver's seat, and the engine roars to life with a low, rumbling growl. Something has me on edge, but I can't quite place it. Maybe I'm not used to being protected and safe. I've spent too long fighting for survival to trust when things are good.

Are they good?

This is no joy ride; I know that. Ollie's testing to see if Carlos has discovered us.

"Can I drive?" I ask before we leave.

He growls and gives me a sidelong glance.

"I know, I know. You like to be in the driver's seat. You like to be in control. Well, maybe I do too."

He frowns as he thinks this over, fingering his keys before he finally blows out a breath and hands them to me.

"Go on. Be careful, Renata. This engine's powerful." I stroke his thigh and wink at him. "I think I know how to handle powerful things, don't you agree?"

We drive in quiet, my eyes focused on the road. As I round a bend, the headlights catch something in the distance—a dark figure standing in the middle of the road. I gasp and slow.

"Ollie—"

"I see it," he says quietly, his voice low, something in it sending a chill down my spine.

"Keep driving straight at it, Renata," he says in a quiet command.

I accelerate. My heart pounds. I stifle a whimper as we approach, the figure looming closer. I whisper a strangled prayer as I drive closer. " ?Ay, Dios mío, protégeme de todos mis enemigos! "

"Should I— Oh God —what am I?—"

"Don't swerve. Drive straight at it," he orders, his voice a dark promise of danger, pulling me deeper into his world. His grip on my thigh tightens.

I feel like I'm going to be sick. Bile burns the back of my throat.

"When I tell you to swerve, do it ." The little hairs at the back of my neck stand up. I'm not sure if I'm more afraid of him or whatever's in front of us.

Just as I'm about to crash right into whatever it is, he shouts, "Move!"

I yank the wheel, swerving sharply, tires screeching as we narrowly avoid the shadowy form.

"Park!"

I slam on the brakes, and he opens the door and vaults into the dark night. My heart pounds, adrenaline coursing through me as I look back.

I'm alright. We're alive. I didn't hit anything, and… no one's there.

He runs into the night, but it's only him. Whoever or whatever was there left as quickly as it came.

"What the hell was that?" I ask when he comes back to the car. "I saw someone there!"

"Someone or something," he says with a nod. "Yeah. Have you ever used a gun?"

I gawk at him. I'm still panting, still trying to slow the rapid beating of my heart and remember how to breathe again.

"Your silence is answer enough for me. You keep driving. I'll keep watch."

It feels oddly symbolic. Will our whole life together be like this?