Page 132 of Between Us

“There's at least three of them, maybe more,” Roman told the group when the panel above them indicated they had eight more floors to go. “If they’re in the living room, we should be able to take them by surprise. There's five of us and we have the upper hand.”

“Stick to the layout,” Stepan said. “We can reach the living area through the kitchen and attack them from the back.”

Seconds later, the doors opened, revealing dark marble floors and a gold-plated crystal chandelier. Between that and the expensive art hung on the walls—including what looked like an original Degas—Roman felt a sudden wave of irritation wash over him at the sight of so much gaudy opulence.

“Let's go,” he ordered quietly, his black Oxfordsshining under the warm glow of the chandelier.

They walked across the foyer, taking a left in the hallway connecting to the west wing where the living area was, according to the plan of the apartment Stepan had so diligently procured in just a few hours. There was no sign of staff or Bratva men, so they kept advancing through the dimly-lit hallway.

Roman stopped just shy of the open kitchen doors, listening for any sign of activity. Laughter and the sound of talking reached his ears, but they were coming from farther away, and if the layout they had was correct, the kitchen was directly connected to the dining room through a side door. From there it was a straight path to the living room.

He entered the empty kitchen, noticing the take-out bags on the counter and the dirty dishes in the sink. He opened the side door, and the talking got louder. Looking into the room, he saw the vacant dining table, and past it, the arched entryway leading to the living room where a conversation carried on animatedly.

Keeping close to the walls, they rounded the table and slowly made their way into the other room.

Wide green eyes made contact with Roman’s blue ones. A young girl, maybe in her early twenties, wearing a red sequin dress and stilettos, stared back at him in horror from her place near the ostentatious bar that looked fit for a nightclub.

Holding his gun up and aimed at her, Roman brought his index finger to his lips, silently ordering her to be quiet.

The girl stood there, frozen, her red nails visibly tightening around the champagne flute in her hand. Past her, wide marble steps descended to a lower level ofthe room where the sitting area was located.

Roman’s gaze moved away from her terrified one. He was not in the business of hurting innocents, and even though she was about to see all of their faces, he knew she wasn't going to tell a soul about what she'd witnessed. Girls like her—prostitutes, to be more exact—had a formidable survival instinct. They had to, in order to survive in a world where every powerful, corrupt client could become their last if something went wrong.

Roman’s eyes landed on Oleg instead. The smug bastard was sitting in a swivel armchair upholstered in rich, green fabric, thick smoke drifting from the cigar resting between his meaty fingers. A young blonde was perched up on his lap, her short dress riding up her tanned legs and nearly exposing the white panties visible underneath.

There were three other men in the room, Nikolai and Sergey included, but Roman's attention was focused on Oleg.

As if sensing his presence, Oleg turned his head and his eyes met Roman's.

First there was confusion.

Then came recognition.

And finally, fear.

A satisfied smirk touched Roman's lips.

Everyone knew revenge was sweet, but no one ever mentioned it could be beautiful too.

Hand still raised, he pointed the gun at the face riddled with terror and felt the beauty of a bad chapter ending with a single pull of the trigger.

???

“Roman?”Alessandra’s sleepy voice greeted him from the other end of the line, and it was the most calming sound in existence.

“I'm outside,” he said, his eyes set on her bedroom window. It was late, almost three in the morning, but he couldn't wait another few hours to see her. After the past two days, he needed to be close to her.

“What?”There was the rustling of sheets then her pretty face came into view at the window.”What are you doing here so late?”

“Come downstairs.”

She didn't argue. Ending the call, she turned around and disappeared from the window.

When she rushed through the front door a minute later, she was wearing pink leggings and an oversized Nirvana T-shirt, her bare feet shoved into a pair of house slippers. She opened the passenger door and climbed inside with a smile on her face.

Roman shifted into gear and drove to the other end of the driveway for some privacy, since the two guards at the front gate still had their eyes set on his car.

Once the engine was off, he turned to her, his palm finding the side of her neck. She opened her mouth to speak but didn't get the chance to before he was swallowing her breath in a deep kiss.

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