I don’t hesitate. Three strides, and my fist meets his face. It’s not careful; it’s all the rage knotted in me. The sound is ugly and final. He spits, tries to laugh. His laugh is thin.
“Look at you now,” I hiss, voice raw with something like contempt. “Pathetic. You tried to sell her. You thought you could turn my wife into merchandise.”
He scrabbles for bargains like a drowning man. “Roman—please—she’s worth billions. Split it. Take the money. Don’t—please—”
I kneel until we’re eye to eye, close enough that he can see the damnation on my face. My hand finds his chin and doesn’t tremble.
“Elara is priceless to me,” I say, slow and cold. “She’s my wife. She’s not for sale.” My thumb presses into his jaw until he flinches. “You will never make her someone else’s bargain. Not while I’m breathing.”
He snarls, venom spilling from his lips. “Suit yourself. She’ll leave you dry and hanging. She’s a bitch. She’s—”
The words snap.
I don’t give him the courtesy of more pleading. The knife is already in my hand before thought catches up—small, precise, iron cold against my palm. I drive it in just below David’s ribs, hard and clean. He doubles, a choked sound, eyes bugging, mouth forming a question that dies on his tongue. His hands claw for air. For a beat, I watch the life slide out of him like water through cupped fingers.
When he stops moving, I turn to my brothers. “Thank you,” I say sincerely. “Whenever you all need me, I promise to be there.”
Chapter 27 – Elara
I surface slowly, pulled up from a deep, black well of exhaustion. My body is a roadmap of pain—the deep ache of bruised muscle, the searing sting of rope burns on my wrists, and the persistent, terrible hollowness where my peace used to be. I am shattered by the ordeal, but alive.
I open my eyes. Sunlight struggles to filter through the heavy drapes of the bedroom, casting the room in a golden gloom. I’m back in Roman’s manor. Back in our bed.
I’m not alone.
Roman is sitting on the edge of the mattress, dressed casually, his posture rigid. He’s watching me. He hasn’t moved. He looks utterly spent, a shadow of the focused warrior from the night before, but his hazel eyes are fixed on my face with an intense, hawk-like possessiveness. He won’t leave my side.
I try to sit up, but a fresh wave of nausea hits me. He’s instantly there, supporting my back with a strong, gentle hand, easing me back onto the pillows.
“Easy,printsessa,” he murmurs, his voice rougher than usual. “Rest. The doctor gave you something for the pain.”
The safety he provides is absolute. The horror he inflicted is gone. But the price of that safety—the life of my father—still hangs heavy in the air between us. I need to know. I need the final piece of the bargain fulfilled.
I look at the bruise swelling on my cheek, the one that bastard gave me. I run my tongue over my split lip.
“Did you…did you manage to take care of my father yesterday?” I whisper, the question barely audible. The words feel terrible and necessary.
Roman freezes. The tension snaps in his neck. He sits up straight, pulling his hand away from me, and turns his entirebody to face mine. He looks down at me, and his eyes are cold and dark.
“If by ‘take care of him’ you mean kill him, then yes.” His voice is flat, dangerous, devoid of emotion. He reaches out and gently cups my cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of the purple bruise left by the buyer. “My only regret is killing him quickly. I should have dragged it out and made him beg.”
He meets my eyes with a grim, unflinching certainty. “But either way, it’s done, and he’s out of your life for good.”
The finality of the violence is shocking, but it brings with it an aching relief. The monster who saw me as inventory is gone. I don’t pull away. I place my trembling hand over his.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for choosing me.”
He searches my face, waiting for the expected revulsion. “You’re not mad?” he asks, the question quiet. “I killed your father.”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. I don’t pull away. I place my trembling hand over his. “I don’t need his evil anymore. Everything I need is right here.”
A genuine smile breaks across Roman’s face, slow and devastating. He pulls me onto his lap, shifting until I’m cradled against his side, my head resting against his steady heart.
“The other day, before I left for Texas, you said you loved me too,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. His fingers brush the delicate skin below my eye. “Did you mean it?”
I feel a blush creep up my neck, hot and sudden. I nod, burying my face further into his shoulder. “Very much. I love you very much.”
He lets out a long, shuddering breath, a sound of relief and absolute victory. I reach up, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kiss him. It is a soft, deep kiss—a promise of a future forged in violence and secured by truth.
