Page 103 of Between Us

“It could have been anyone’s car. My father is not the only person in Chicago who owns a black Lincoln SUV.”

Roman went silent again, and that was when she knew for certain he was holding back information.

“There's more to it than someone spotting a car that night, isn't there? Roman, you're scaring me. I need to know what's going on.”

He ran a rough hand across his mouth, his platinum wedding band glinting in the harsh light coming from the TV. “And I need you to fuckingstopwith all the questions.” He practically spat the words, his voice laced with venom and something else she couldn't pinpoint.

Fire licked at Alessandra’s spine, the throbbing in her forehead migrating to the back of her head to create a halo of pain. She could understand that he was upset and fatigued, but it was no excuse for his behavior. “You're a real jerk, you know that?”

His only answer was a lethal glare, followed by the sound of the bathroom door being slammed behind him as he stormed inside and left her standing there like a fool.

38

He'd made a mistake. He'd gotten angry and taken out his frustration on Alessandra despite promising himself he wouldn't do it.

Sitting in the darkened office, Roman’s mind replayed her confused expression as she’d watched him grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before leaving their bedroom. Now, fifteen minutes later, he was drowning his troubles in his second glass of whiskey.

How could he tell her the truth and expect her to understand where he stood?

Roman had spent the better part of his afternoon going through surveillance footage from a pet shop and a few other stores—all the evidence he could get his hands on from the cameras set up around the club's area. Their own footage would have been preferable, but the attackers had made sure to shoot up the only camera covering the back entrance of the club.

It took skipping through twenty-four hours' worth of video material before he’d finally found what he waslooking for. The pet shop's CCTV camera had captured the black SUV as it rounded the corner at the nearest intersection and flew past another car waiting at a red light. As reasonably good with computers as he was, he’d still needed another half an hour to zoom in the pixelated footage and acquire the plate number. A quick check by Slava later, he had all the confirmation he needed.

The car was owned by Nero Rossetti.

The driver’s identity was still unknown, but he would find it out, one way or another.

For now, the only other person privy to that information was Stepan—the only man Roman fully trusted beside his own brother. Alek was still dealing with their father's precarious condition, so Roman had decided not to involve him in anything related to the attack.

The need for another leader already spread unrest among Bratva men, and Roman knew it was only a matter of time before he had to take action. With Oleg working against him, fueling his Vory brothers' fears, he had to act fast and grab the position that was rightfully his. For that to happen, he needed to prove that he could find his father's attackers and bring them to justice. Revenge had to be swift and merciless, the way Vitaly would have delivered it if he were still calling the shots.

How could Roman explain to his wife that he had to retaliate? That someone in her family might end up getting killed. What comfort could he bring her when he put a bullet into Matteo?

If that were to happen, he knew there would be no forgiveness from Alessandra. She would despise himfor taking away her precious brother, and he couldn't handle even the mere thought of gaining her hatred.

He loved her too much, and that love stood in the way of everything he had been taught and was expected of him.

A timid knock on the ajar door pulled him from his thoughts. Alessandra pushed it open, and the heaviness in his chest lessened at the sight of her.

“I don't want to fight,” she said quietly, her voice thick. “Not like this.”

His gaze landed on her reddened eyes, and the realization that she’d been crying hit him hard. That oppressive weight returned in an instant, squeezing the air from his lungs.

“Come here,” he demanded softly, one hand already extended in her direction, beckoning her closer.

In a few steps, she was on his lap, arms around his neck and her face pressed to his skin. He squeezed her a little closer.

“Izvini.” He pressed the apology to her ear before adding its translation into English. “I'm not the best version of myself these days.”

“I, uh…” She cleared her throat to chase away the hoarseness. “I want you to know that I trust you.”

“I appreciate that, baby.” He drew back from the embrace to look at her, his palm cupping the side of her face. “And I want you to know that everything I do, I do it with you in mind. All I want is for you to be safe.”

She nodded. “I know. Can we stop fighting?”

A soft smile tugged at his lips. “We're not fighting now.”

“No, we're not,” she agreed, letting her head loll back onto his shoulder. His fingers found the soft flesh ather hip, and he rubbed circles there with his thumb, his mind more at peace with her in his arms.

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