by B. B. Hamel
28
Cassie
There was a soft knock at my bedroom door.
Well, I guess it’s Roman’s.
Since when did I start thinking about this place as my own?
“It’s open.”
Roza poked her head in. “Roman needs you up top.”
“Up top?” I frowned a little. “I thought topside was just for show.”
“For show and for guests.” She looked uncomfortable, which wasn’t like her. “Someone’s waiting for you.”
“Roza. That’s ominous.” I stood up and walked toward her. “Who’s waiting for me up there?”
“Your dad.”
My jaw clenched down, and I stopped moving.
What the hell was my father doing here?
He was the last person I wanted to see right now. Things were complicated and I didn’t need my dad coming here and making everything worse.
“I didn’t know people like him were allowed to come here. I thought this was all top secret.”
“He was blindfolded. We have a protocol.” She shifted her weight and gestured toward the hallway. “I know this sucks and you don’t want to see him. I get it, family stuff’s complex and weird and icky. But I have to insist you come with me. Roman’s orders.”
I scowled. “You really do have to follow his every command, don’t you?”
That seemed to hit a nerve. Roza’s face went blank like it had when she pressed me into signing the prenup and the marriage certificate.
“Don’t pretend like you know me or what I’ve been through. Roman saved my life, and I owe him everything. Now if you’re not coming with me, I’ll call Erick down here and he’ll carry you up, kicking and screaming.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Good. Come on.”
I followed her, afraid she was going to bite my head off, but as soon as I stepped into the hall her face snapped back into her normal friendly smile. It was almost disconcerting, but I guessed it was a defense mechanism.
Working in a place like this must do something to a person—harden them, make them build defensive walls.
I wondered if that would happen to me one day.
Roza was strange. I studied her as we walked—she was poised, confident, chin tilted up, full lips pressed together. She clearly felt like she owed Roman some kind of debt—but I didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that level of loyalty.
Saved her life, apparently.
We rode the elevator up in silence. Back in the upper house, she walked through the modern halls and paused outside a pair of French doors covered by cream curtains.
“They’re inside. Roman knows you’re coming, but your father doesn’t.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I reached out impulsively and hugged Roza.
She seemed surprised, but hugged me back. “Are you feeling guilty for what you said down there?”
“A little bit. I guess I also could use a little human contact before I face my dad again.”
She laughed and stroked my hair. I felt so stupid and weak but it was better to be stupid and weak with Roza than in front of my father.
“Don’t worry. I’m not mad. It’s just, Roman pulled me out of a dangerous situation and I owe him everything, so I get a little defensive.”
“I know. It’s scary. You turn into a she-wolf.”
“I’m a scary bitch.” She pushed me back and held my shoulders. “And you are too. Now go in there and put on your best Fuck You face, and don’t let him get under your skin. Understood?”
I composed myself and nodded. “I’ll try my best.”
“Good.” She gave me a little shove toward the door.
I opened it up and stepped inside.
My father sat on a formal leather sofa across from a coffee table set with tea service. Books lined tall wooden shelves and a fire crackled in a stone hearth. Roman stood near the mantle, staring into the flames, and my dad looked over with a surprised frown.
Roman didn’t turn. Of course he didn’t. He was so dramatic.
“Ah, there you are,” Roman said. “We were just talking about you.”
“Nothing bad, I hope.” I stared down at my father and tried to summon all the courage I had in my skinny little body.
He gazed back with an upturned lip. “Oisin believes you found an excellent match.”
“Of course he does. That’s what I’m good for, isn’t it, Dad?”
He looked away and didn’t answer. “Oisin’s willing to come to the wedding under certain circumstances.”
“It’s my wedding. I’m not interested in negotiating.”
“Then I doubt Oisin will show.”
Roman glanced back at me. “What do you say, wife? Will you give up your vision of your special day so some old Irish man will grace us with his presence?”
“I’ve had enough old Irish men to last me a lifetime, but I’m willing to make some sacrifices.” I walked around the couches and joined Roman at the fire.
“What does he want then?”
My father cleared his throat. I stood close to Roman and felt the warmth of the flames lick against my skin—or maybe that was my own flush at being so near to my husband.
“Neutral ground. Somewhere in Chicago.”
“Not Chicago. You’re gaining too much strength there.”
“Atlanta then.” Dad showed his teeth. “We’re still working on Atlanta.”
“Atlanta works.”
“He wants his security detail. And he wants Darren Servant in attendance.”
Roman didn’t move. He stood so still I thought his body might turn to rock. “Security I’ll grant him, but not Darren Servant.”
“Servant’s the only person in this world that can keep you under control, Roman. Oisin won’t show without him.”
“Then Oisin won’t show. I don’t need this relationship, especially not if it’s going to involve another Oligarch.”
“Oisin is only looking for safety.”
I put my hand on Roman’s arm. That surprised him, and he turned slightly toward me, chin tilted, lips pulled down.
“Surely Oisin’s men can keep him safe,” I said, shaking my head. “Why get someone else involved?”
“Because your husband started a war between the Ramos Cartel and the Liberto Mafia and that’s raging out of control all over Philadelphia, Austin, and San Diego. Osin thinks he’s less likely to do something stupid with another Oligarch present, especially Servant.”
Roman’s arm flexed under my fingers. He hated Darren Servant with a strange passion—I didn’t know why, but I got the sense that the men had a past.
“That’s the last concession I’ll give,” Roman said through clenched teeth, holding back rage. “Darren may come, but he’ll come alone. If I find any of Servant’s men in attendance, they will die, and our deal will be off. Do you understand?”
“Understood.” Dad nodded once but didn’t stand. An awkward silence stretched, and Roman stared at him like he was dismissed, but still he didn’t move. “I was hoping I could speak with my daughter privately.”
Roman looked at me. I felt my pulse judder and my fingers dug into Roman’s arm. I didn’t want to be anywhere near my father, and especially not alone in a room with him.
But maybe this could be good for the cause. And maybe I might finally say all the things I’d been dreaming about saying to him over the years.
“It’s okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll talk to him.”
Roman peeled my fingers away gently and kissed my cheek. “I’ll be in the other room. Shout if he gets too close and I’ll put a bullet in his head.” He walked out and shut the doors behind him.
I stayed by the fire. Dad stared at me with those familiar eyes and I almost wanted to make things right between us—I missed my old life and the person I used to be before the incident took away my innocence and locked me deep into a well of self-loathing and anger.
Roman was dragging me out of that darkness, but my father could tip me ba
ck down with ease if I let him.
“You look well. Like you’re taking care of yourself.” Dad picked up a teacup and sipped.
“You look the same. What do you want? Or did you plan on telling me how I’m ruined again?”
He flinched, like I’d slapped him. “I regret saying that.”
“You should. I was in the hospital with a stab wound. I was barely alive and only just escape getting raped, and you acted like I was broken and worthless to you.”
“It was wrong.” He closed his eyes. Tea spilled down the sides of the cup. His hand trembled as he put it back down on the tray. “I was upset and angry, and I lashed out at you, but you were the wrong person. You didn’t deserve that.”
“No, I really didn’t. Who was the right person, Dad?”
“His name was Mikhail O’Conner. He ordered your death.”
I took a step back. “Excuse me? Who the hell is that?” This was the first I ever heard of anything like that name. My breath came shallow and quick and my blood roared in my ears.
“I found out later. He wanted to get at me and thought you’d be the perfect target. It’s my fault, what happened to you, and I’m so, so sorry, Cassie. I cut his throat myself, but I know that doesn’t fix anything.”
“You’re the reason?” I stared at him, my mouth hanging open.
I should’ve known.
I was the daughter of a mobster. Of course my life was in danger.
Back then, I thought I was safe. I thought my father would protect me from the worst of his underworld, and for a long time, that seemed true.
Until that night.
“I was climbing too fast and getting too close to Oisin. Mikhail was jealous and felt he’d knock me back down by hiring a guy to murder you. Except his guy went too far and things didn’t go as planned.” Dad stared down at his hands. “I’m sorry Cassie. I never should’ve said what I said, and never should’ve left you alone.”
He looked so old and pathetic, so skinny and weak and sad. His eyes watered and he slumped forward, his shoulders rounded, his head hanging. I’d never seen him so dejected before in my life.
I almost believed him.
“Fuck you.” My fingers turned white, the knuckles bulging as I stepped toward him. “Fuck you, Dad. Fuck you for everything. For what you said, for dragging me into your hellish world, for spying on me after I left, and for saying all of that. Fuck you.”
He looked up, surprised. But his shock didn’t last long. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, and the man I remembered from my childhood, so distant and big and strong and always so damn strict emerged once again.
“Don’t talk to me that way. I’m still your father.”
“You’re dead to me. As far as I’m concerned, you were the one that got knifed and raped that night, not me. Don’t come to the wedding, and if you do, don’t speak to me. I want nothing to do with you.”
Tears sprung into my eyes. I could curse and scream for an hour at him and it still wouldn’t be enough. I didn’t want to cry, didn’t want him to see me break down, but damn it, and damn him.
He shouldn’t have said any of that.
Apologize? Now? After so long?
It was too late, way too late.
And to tell me that it was his fault—that didn’t help a damn thing, except ease his conscience.
I hated him so much I could scream.
He looked up at me with growing rage, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I stormed past him and out the doors, into the hallway. He didn’t call out, didn’t ask me to wait, and I slammed the doors behind me—
Closing them on my relationship with him for good.
I had no father. He was dead and gone and never coming back.
In some ways, that felt like closure.
Roman was there as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t know where he came from. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking my hair. “Say the word. I’ll kill him for you.”
I laughed and cried as he steered me back to the elevator. He opened the door, and we stepped inside. I shook my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve.
“I think you’ve done enough killing lately.”
“Never enough killing.” He tilted my chin toward him. So tender and gentle. I could almost forget the horrible things he’d done with those fingers. “Are you okay with all of this?”
“It’s fine. It’ll have to be, anyway. I told him not to come to the wedding.”
He smiled, shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll get that wish. He’s important to Oisin these days.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to mess with your plans.”
He kissed my cheek. “Don’t say sorry to me. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He was quiet for a long moment as we stayed in the unmoving elevator. “I want to show you something. Will you come with me?”
“Of course.” I sniffled, getting myself together. I hated feeling so weak and vulnerable. “Where are we going?”
“Down to a level you haven’t been yet.” He pressed a button on the controls and the elevator descended. “I told you once about my brother.”
“You’ve mentioned him.”
“I want you to understand why I am the way I am. And for you to do that, I need you to see something.”
“See what?”
He took my hand and kissed my fingers, his soft, plump lips lingering on my fingertips. “You’ll find out.”
29
Cassie
The elevator doors opened, and it was like stepping out into an old-world cabin.
Everything was covered in wood paneling. Pictures hung on the walls, cheap thrift-store paintings of ducks and ponds and mountains. Roman stepped out and walked forward, his steps creaking the floorboards.
I hesitated on the threshold. “What is all this?”
“Come.” He kept going down the hall and stopped outside of a door.
I followed him. The place smelled like smoke and pine. The walls looked aged, like they were fifty years old, a hundred years old—and it was the first time anything in this bunked seemed less than pristine.
He stepped into the room.
I looked inside. A twin bed with a space-themed comforter was pressed against the far wall. There was a window, but it showed nothing—another reminder that we were underground. A desk was across from the bed, and a dresser was on the opposite wall. Baseball cards littered the floor, the bed, the desk, the windowsill. The ceiling was covered in softly glowing star decals. The floor had a big baseball rug, and trophies lined several shelves, little league and swimming and running, some of them draped with big blue and red ribbons. Small plastic army men were lined up in a battle in the corner next to the bed, some of them knocked down as if they’d been played with recently.
It smelled like gym socks and bubblegum.
Roman sat gently on the bed and smoothed the comforter, tugging at it nervously.
“Roman?” I said his name softly, like I was afraid that it might break the spell of this place.
It was a child’s room. A little boy, if I had to guess. Maybe twelve or thirteen. Several baseball bats leaned up against the closet door.
“My brother’s name was Anthony. I called him Ant and he called me Lix. I hated that nickname, but I loved my brother fiercely.”
It hit me all at once. This room, the little boys. “This was his, wasn’t it?”
“As close as I could make it. His real room is long gone, his things packed away or sold or burned, I don’t know.”
“Did you live here?”
“My room is next door, but I don’t bother going in there.” He stared at the little green army men. “This was our cabin in the old world, up in Siberia back in Russia. My father insisted we visit once a year in the dead of winter, when the snow was six feet deep and the lakes were iced over. He said it would make us stronger.”
I drifted into the room. It felt like breaking
through a paper barrier, like stepping into a dream.
It was the past. Roman’s past. Still real, made manifest.
He sat in his own memory.
“Your brother’s dead.”
He nodded. “Died when he was twelve and I was ten. This is all that’s left of it.” He picked up an old framed photograph and held it out to me.
I walked over and took it. A young boy smiled out at me, holding up a massive trout, grinning ear to ear. Tan, scruffy hair, little-kid skinny, in jeans and a white t-shirt. He looked like Roman, but different, sideways somehow.
“I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine.”
“I know it’s hard to understand. I’ve tried to explain before, but I think maybe telling you how he died will help.” He patted the bed.
I sat next to him.
His dead brother’s comforter. I handed back the picture.
“Explain what?”
“Why I hate my father so much, and why I’ll do anything to avenge him.”
I put my hand on his leg. “If you want to tell me, I’ll listen. But just know, you don’t have to.”
He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. I fell into rhythm with him and only realized after a few seconds of synchronicity that he was looking at me again.
“It started close to spring. I thought we were through the worst of it.”
30
Roman
Twenty-Eight Years Ago
“Ant!” I trudged through the heavy, wet snow after my big brother. He loped ahead like a freaking deer. So darn fast and quick with those long legs. “Hold up!” We moved along the path that bordered the big frozen lake—not so frozen anymore, now that spring was coming and stuff was getting warmer—and Ant was determined to reach the big rocks first.
He was a speck in the snow. We were alone out here—Papa promised nobody would ever bother us while we were in the cabin, but I don’t know, lots of spooky stuff happened in Russia where everyone spoke a weird language and had weird ideas about the world. I missed home, missed New York. I hated the country. I hated Russia.
