…And then Dove Marchetti convinced her to go out one night and use their fake IDs to go to that bar, where they metthat fucking monster.
And everything changed.
Ichanged.
Outside later, Laz takes off with Nero, and Roman and I wave goodbye as Carmine roars off in his Lamborghini. Then it’s just the two of us.
Like I said, Roman is arguably the buddy that I’m closest with. A lot of that has to do with his father Pavel and mine being such close allies for so long.
I mean, until Pavel tried to have my dadkilleda few months ago, and all the bullshit that ensued.
But yes, Roman and I grew up together and we’re close—close enough that he’s the only one of my friends who ever knew about Lark.
Not many people did.
First, Lark had asked me to keep “us” a secret. Maybe she was weirded out to be dating a guy who was going to take over abratva empire someday, but I like to think it was down to her being a private person. So nobody knew we were dating. All my friends went to other schools, so it was easy to keep it quiet.
But I ended up telling Roman because I had to tell someone.
In the bratva world, marriage isn’t necessarily a matter of love. It’s about power. For cementing alliances, for burying bad blood.
Lark wasn’t from a mafia family. Her grandmother was just the housekeeper for one. There were no alliances to be made with her. No power to be consolidated. No feuds to end.
I just…loved her.
We were young—probably too young. And we weren’t perfect. I know she had her own issues and demons. But I asked her to marry me anyway, because when you’re young and the world hasn’t quite fucked you up enough yet, you think you can overcome any obvious pitfalls.
When I asked her to marry me, my father had his concerns, of course. But those concerns came from a place of love—a place of being myfatherbefore mypakhan, the head of a Bratva family.
He didn’t give a fuck that Lark had no mafia power or money or connections to bring to the table. He just wanted me to be happy.
Roman was the other one I told. So, I’m waiting for it when he sighs and turns to me as Carmine’s supercar roars away into the New York night.
“So…Dove Marchetti?” he growls.
“Story hasn’t changed, man,” I mutter. “It’s just business.”
“Uh-huh,” he says dryly. “Look, we both know there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that anything between you and Dove can bejust business.”
“Why?”
He levels a look at me. “C’mon, Bane…”
“Roman, I don’t?—”
“I’m going to ask you something shitty,” he growls. “And I’m banking on you understanding it comes from a place of love, brother.”
I lift a brow. “Go for it.”
“Tell me this isn’t a weird revenge thing.”
My jaw grinds. “It isn’t a weird revenge thing,” I grunt.
It’s far more complicated than simply a weird revenge thing.
Roman nods. “Another shitty question, if I may…”
I sigh. “Go ahead.”
