Page 67 of Destined for the Devil
Holy fucking shit, I was trying to justify having killed her parents with the worst possible explanation.
"In my line of work...it happens a lot. I'm sorry. I'm so,so, sorry that your family fell victim to it.” I breathed in her scent, getting momentary respite from the pain of our reality. “I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
The thought turned over in my head—Islaseemed to have no idea who her father really was. He moved in my circles, and the rules were black and white. I didn’t kill him because I simplywantedto. It wasn’t out of spite or personal malice; it was business. I wasveryclear about the consequences if he didn’t cooperate. I warned him again and again, but he was the one who picked the path of war.
In fact,hewas the one who initially barged into our territory. If he hadn’t made that first move, our paths never would have crossed. But how could I possibly explain any of that to her? She’d never believe me. Not now. Not after the details she’d found out.
Alarmingly calm, Isla listened to my words but then asked a question I’d dreaded since the moment I met her. "What exactly is your line of work, Roman?"
We both knew I never told her the full extent of it.
I chewed on my bottom lip and divulged nothing, unsure how much lower I could possibly fall in her eyes tonight.
"Hm?” She prompted me, seeing my hesitation. “You can tell me. It's obvious you do something fucking sinister, so just spit it out."
There was no way around it now. My secret would be revealed, and all the gory and horrible details of my life would start popping up like mushrooms after summer rain. The plan was to hide it from her for a few years and then disappear. But now…that plan flew out the fucking window.
After a few more seconds of charged silence, I finally gave her the truth.
"Bratva."
The word fell between us, and I prayed that she wouldn’t understand and never ask for clarification.
"I don't know what the fuck that means, so why don't you tell meexactlywhat you do, Roman?” She was serene and eerily composed, like she didn't just cry for a whole hour. "Don't be scared,” she almosttaunted. “Your worst fears are already coming to pass; there’s no need to hide anymore. Tell me." Deep hate reflected in her gray eyes.
I took a deep breath in and out. There was no point in holding back anymore.
"I'm in the Russian Mafia, Isla. And I steal and kill.” She stared at me, her expression giving nothing away. “The West Coast is my territory. Everyone has their piece of the pie. I did what I did because there was no other choice. It's either our way or death. And your father knew that."
33
Escape
Isla
It'seitherourwayor death.
Roman’s low voice died down, but his poisonous words boomed in my ears. I searched his icy blue eyes for any remorse, but there was none, not when he told me who he really was.
No.
He was confident, assertive, and unrepentant.
I wanted to kill him. I wanted to cause him as much pain as he’d caused me. He was no longer the love of my life. Now, he was my enemy.
Bitter understanding seeped into all of me, and I nodded in defeat, trying to walk out of his grasp, but I made no progress.
I was in love with a man who was in the Russian Mafia. Wow. There wasn’t a way to ever anticipate that. His appearance, friends, and money all made perfect sense now.
"What's going to happen if I leave you? You're going to kill me too?" I knew he wouldn't, but I wanted him to think that I believed he was a monster. Tears pooled in his eyes when he heard that. Good.
"Of course not,” he whispered. “But you're not going to leave me, Isla. Because we both won't survive it. You know it. Don't lie to yourself.” He spoke quietly and with conviction, as if I was supposed to melt at those words.
Fuckhim. I could survive anything; I was sure of it now.
"A very big difference between you and me is that I'm actually alwayshonest. I don't lie. Let go." I jerked in his grasp, trying to free myself, but he didn’t even flinch, still drowning me in his hug. "Let me go!" I writhed in his arms, but it produced no results.
"No. I'm not letting you go anywhere. Stay mad. Cry, hit me, yell, break things!” he implored me, his eyes full of care once more. “But you’re not leaving. We’re going to work this out.”
