The thought makes me cringe, and sarcasm comes naturally. “Sounds like fun.”
A mirthless laugh. “Worse still, the threat was a story. My father and Caine made it up between them. They wanted me married, settled. They wanted a line old men could call legitimate.”
A breath blows out of me. “That’s messed up.”
“Indeed.” He sighs, gazing over the darkening water. “I didn’t find out until after Vitaly was born and my father was considered to be “safe.” Upon Vitaly’s birth, he and Caine had a big laugh, telling me how my father had never been in any danger—it was all just a story to form a blood bond between our families and make the other pakhans fear us. After all, who would attack a pakhan with an assassin in his family?”
“Damn.”
He sips his wine, as if he needs it to get through the story. “Bridgette wanted power with her name on it. She hated that I held the power between the two of us. She had the training to make me fear sleep. I watched my back. For years.”
“Did you ever love her?”
“No,” he says with weight. I can’t tell if he feels guilty about it. “I loved another. Olga. A rival’s daughter. We were young and foolish and thought we might be able to bridge the rivalry with our love.” His eye roll makes me smile, despite the sadness of the tale. “And then I married Bridgette to save my father. Olga hated me for it, not that I blame her for that. I hated myself too, after I found out the truth.”
“I hope you don’t hate yourself anymore.”
“No. But it’s hard not to blame myself for Olga’s death.”
“What happened?”
“She married an ambitious man in New York, who thought he could use a pakhan’s daughter to bolster his image in the Bratva. A bomb took her car apart in the first year of their marriage.”
I cover his hand on the table. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I. It was a bad end, but at the very least, it was a quick one. She would have been ground down by this life. Olga had a kind heart. She was a genuinely good person who lit up every room she entered. It was impossible not to love her.” His sigh is heavy. “She would have suffered a slow demise if we had been together. She had no taste for what I do, too many morals and qualms, not enough ruthlessness.”
“Am I anything like her?” I ask. It’s not a fair question, but I can’t hold it in.
He squeezes my fingers once. “No. You know where to stand, when to move. You do not break when men tell you that you will. You are defiant and strong-willed. A good person, but one with enough seasoning to know how to watch her own back and protect her children. That is the difference.”
My throat burns. So do my eyes. He does not look away. He rubs his thumb over my knuckles once, then lets me fix my face without forcing comfort on me.
I’m not used to being seen that way. “Vitaly said I was weak. He said I needed him. He said I was lucky he would take care of me. He said I wouldn’t last a week alone.”
“And yet, a year later, here you are,” Roman says. “Vitaly sees what he wants to see. Tries to manipulate people into seeing it too. He is not as smart as he thinks he is.”
The server brings fruit. Pineapple and papaya arranged like a sun, and I nibble at the papaya. “Thank you for telling me. For not sanding the edges off.”
“I won’t lie to you, Mina. I’ll give you the unvarnished truth, if you’ll do the same for me.”
“Deal.”
We walk along the water’s edge after dinner. The torches on the sand make small circles of light. The path to our bungalow is a line of boards and shadow. Marcus and Tanner trail us at a distance. They look like men killing time, not personal bodyguards. Not that it matters—no one else is around this part of the beach.
I want them gone. The want is not smart. It is hot and simple and lives low in my spine. I stop. Roman stops because I stop. He follows my eyes to the guards. “Tell them to give us the beach.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I want my husband to have his way with me here. Now.”
The word husband puts heat in his eyes. He looks at the men and back at me. He hates that he wants what I want, because he knows how irresponsible it is to send them away.
“Marcus, back to the boardwalk,” he calls. “Tanner, eyes on the path. Any sound from the water, you call the dock.”
No smirks. No jokes. Positions shift. Space opens.
We step into a clearing between some of the clustered palm trees. They’re tight enough to provide the illusion of privacy. They tick in the breeze like quiet applause. My back finds a warm, mostly smooth trunk at a perfect angle for leaning against, with my legs spread wide. I lift the hem of my dress for him.
