Page 52 of Between Us

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That evening, Roman sat in the living room of hispenthouse, nursing a bottle of vodka. He had instructed Alek to pack some of his clothes and bring them over as he had no intention of returning to the house he shared withheranytime soon. He’d spent most of the afternoon in the same spot he was currently occupying, drinking and ignoring his Vory duties.

“Are you going to tell Vitaly about it?” Alek asked, his gaze not straying from the TV playing a football game. It seemed that he felt the need to babysit his older brother, at the risk of his annoyance.

“To what purpose? You said it yourself, we can't risk the war.” Especially now that Roman knew about their father's plans involving both the Italians and the Armenians.

“You believe what she said? That she didn't ask him to come?”

Roman didn't answer that; didn't even want to think about it. Alek sipped his beer, looking thoughtful.

“Who's watching her?”

“Vladimir.” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat to get rid of the feeling of having sandpaper stuck between his larynges. Since she couldn't be trusted, she was to be watched at all times by one of his men.

“Look,brat, I know it sucks. I won't claim to know anything about your relationship and how you feel. But maybe, just maybe, she's telling the truth.”

“She's just like the rest of her family—a bunch of opportunistic bastards.”

Alek sighed. “But what if she's not? You two seemed to be getting along well. She made you happy, right?”

Roman turned his face away from his brother, convinced he was an open book. He despised feelingso vulnerable. Couldn't even remember a time when he'd been so affected by a woman. “It doesn't matter. I should have known better. I've been a fool to let my guard down.” He took another swig straight from the bottle. “She's just a fucking woman.”

Silence fell upon the room, until Alek said quietly, “I've never seen you getting plastered because of one before.”

Roman's eyes burned with fury as they settled on him. “Why the fuck are you here, Alek?”

“Where else would I be?”

Trying not to let his anger consume him, he stood and headed for the floor-to-ceiling windows, taking the vodka with him. The next drink burned his throat, leaving behind bitterness and a fire that engulfed his entire being.

The city was beautiful at night from sixty floors up. His gaze found his own face in the window, and he grimaced at the image reflected back at him. His eyes were bloodshot from the alcohol and his dark hair betrayed the fact that it had suffered the abuse of his hands for hours.

Averting his eyes toward a glowing point in the distance, he thought of his wife. He wondered if she was as innocent as she claimed to be or just a better liar than he’d realized. He hadn’t been able to find anything on her phone to suggest she’d kept in touch with her ex, but that didn’t really mean anything.

Uncertainty flooded his chest, along with a feeling of unease. What if she was really telling the truth? A part of him wanted it to be true. The other part was still fighting with the image of that asshole's hands on her body.

Guilty or not, she was not to see Luca Morano ever again. Roman would make sure of it, no matter what it took.

21

Day after day, she was in limbo. Ever since Roman had moved out, more than a week ago, she felt like a shadow of her former self. Her daylight hours were spent walking around the house aimlessly, wallowing in her misery, while at night, she cried herself to sleep, wishing for it all to go away.

Alessandra had never hurt like this before—she couldn't have imagined that her happiness would become so dependent on another human being.

In her short nineteen years of life, she’d never known this passionate, intimate, all-consuming kind of love. She, of course, loved her mother, her brother, and to some extent, even her father, but what she felt for Roman surpassed all that in a way that filled her with a sense of belonging she’d been foreign to until she met him.

She loved him.

She loved him with an intensity that set her skin ablaze and filled her stomach with butterflies wheneverhe touched her. It only took for him to walk out the door, angry and hurt for what he believed to be her betrayal, for her to realize it.

And it had felt so good, all the time they'd had together before her happiness dissolved in front of her eyes like a handful of coins melting in a pot of acid. Still, it had been too little time. Her little piece of Heaven had only lasted a few weeks, and now she ached with a longing that made her want to scream in agony. She never knew love could be so cold; so merciless in its vengeance.

She hated Luca. Hated him for what he’d done to her marriage. Her anger was all the greater because he’d hurt her not once, but twice. First, with his apparent indifference when her father had sold her to the Russians, and then again with his recklessness when he'd barged into her new life asking for what she couldn't give him.

Walking into the kitchen on Friday morning, Alessandra felt hollow inside. She was tired from the lack of sleep, but also mentally and emotionally drained from crying so much over the past week. She’d called Roman twice after Alek brought her phone back without an explanation, but when both calls remained unanswered, she knew that he wasn't ready to speak to her yet—maybe not for a long time. The prospect of her husband not returning to her anytime soon sent her body into a terrible state of anxiety. Her mind conjured up scenarios of Roman moving on with his life, living separately and seeing other women while she was left behind in that empty house. Her fragile heart couldn't take it—already cracked into a million pieces she was trying to keep together with the hope of areconciliation.

Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she poured herself some water from the sink. Her eyes wandered outside to where one of Roman’s men was leaning against his car, smoking. His gaze was shielded by a pair of black sunglasses, but she was certain that he was looking straight at her.

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