The embrace is brief but witnessed by everyone in the room. When he pulls back, there are actual tears in his eyes.
"Good to see you again,” I say.
He puts one hand on my shoulder. “We have much to discuss.”
“Yes, we do.”
“But tonight, we celebrate.”
“Yes, I noticed. I hear congratulations are in order.”
"Yes."
Roman's hand remains on my shoulder as his eyes scan my face with what looks like genuine concern. "The scars," he says quietly, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear over the resumed murmur of conversation around us. "Maksim, what did they do to you?"
I resist the urge to pull away from his touch. "These?" I gesture vaguely at my face. "One of many."
His jaw tightens, and I watch something dark flicker across his features. Anger, maybe. Or a good imitation of it. "Who was responsible? Tell me, and I'll make them pay. Every single one of them will suffer for what they did to you."
The vow sounds sincere. Passionate, even. But something about Roman's righteous fury feels... rehearsed.
Still, I play along. "I appreciate the sentiment."
"How did you escape?" He guides me toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the worst of the staring. “Who did we bury?”
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. "Eventually, I found an opportunity. Took it. Made my way back."
"That's..." He shakes his head. "That's incredible. You must have been through hell."
"Something like that."
"And how long have you been back? In Moscow, I mean." His eyes search mine, looking for something. Information. Confirmation. I'm not sure what.
"A few days. Took me some time to get my bearings. Figure out what I missed."
"A few days." Roman repeats the words slowly. I can practically see him calculating. Wondering what I've learned in those few days. Who I've talked to. What conclusions I've drawn. "You should have come to me immediately. I could have helped you."
"I needed time to process." I meet his gaze directly.
"Of course. Of course." He squeezes my shoulder again before finally releasing me. "But you're here now. That's what matters. We have so much to discuss—your father's affairs, the organization, your rightful place in everything."
My rightful place. Interesting choice of words.
"I'm sure we do," I say. "But tonight is your celebration. I wouldn't want to take away from that."
Something flashes in his eyes—relief, maybe—before he masks it with a smile. "Nonsense. Your return is cause for celebration too. In fact—" He raises his voice, addressing the room.
"Everyone! A toast!"
The crowd quiets immediately, all eyes turning toward us.
"Tonight, we celebrate not just my engagement," Roman announces, his glass held high. “The return of a man I consider my family. My son!”
Son, my ass.
But I still stand beside him and let my reintroduction to the world be completed.
Chapter Nine
