Silence stretches, heavy and ominous. Then Roman speaks, his voice cold with determination.
"Then we find proof. Whatever it takes."
36
ROMAN
Istand in the doorway of the estate's media room, my shoulder pressed against the frame, watching a scene that makes something uncomfortable twist in my chest. Eva is curled up on the leather couch between her brother and Megan, her bare feet tucked beneath her, wearing one of those soft sweaters that cling to her curves in ways that make my hands itch to touch. Tyler sits in the armchair nearby, his wire-rimmed glasses reflecting the television's glow. His posture is stiff with the awkwardness of someone who knows he doesn't belong but can't bring himself to leave.
They're watching some American comedy I don't recognize, and when Eva laughs—genuinely laughs, the sound unguarded and bright—my chest tightens with an emotion I'm not accustomed to feeling. Guilt. Her brother leans against her shoulder, his blond hair so like hers catching the lamplight. Megan passes the popcorn bowl, and for a moment they look like normal people living normal lives. Not prisoners in a gilded cage. Not hostages to my paranoia and control.
Blyat.
I've kept them here for days, justifying it as necessary protection, as damage control.
But watching Eva's exhaustion—the shadows under her brown eyes that makeup can't quite hide, the way she flinches when my security team passes in the hallway, the tension that never quite leaves her shoulders—I know I'm destroying whatever fragile trust we'd begun building. She's carrying my child, agreed to marry me, and I'm repaying her by imprisoning the people she loves most.
My gaze drifts over her body, cataloging details I've memorized but can't stop noticing. The way her sweater stretches across her breasts, fuller now with the pregnancy. The curve of her hip visible where the fabric rides up slightly. Her legs tucked beneath her, and I remember how they felt wrapped around my waist, how her thighs trembled when I?—
Focus, you fool.
Eva's head turns slightly, as if sensing my presence, and our eyes meet across the room. Something passes between us—understanding, maybe, or resignation. She knows I've been watching. She always knows. Her brown eyes hold mine for a long moment before she looks away, but I catch the flush creeping up her neck, the way her breath quickens slightly. Even now, even angry with me, her body responds to my attention.
I make my decision with the same cold pragmatism I apply to business. I'll release them, but with conditions. Discrete surveillance, security details they won't notice while monitoring their communications and movements. It's a calculated risk, but keeping them locked up is costing me something more valuable than security. It's costing me Eva.
The movie ends, and I step into the room. All four of them turn toward me, their expressions ranging from concern to wariness. Eva straightens, her hand instinctively moving to her still-flat stomach—that protective gesture she's developed that makes something primitive surge in my chest every time I see it.
"We need to talk," I say, my voice low and controlled. "All of you."
Megan and Alexei exchange glances. Tyler's jaw tightens, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. But Eva just nods, her expression carefully neutral, and stands. The sweater rides up slightly as she moves, revealing a strip of pale skin at her waist, and I force my gaze back to her face before I do something stupid like pull her against me right here in front of everyone.
"You're free to leave," I announce, watching their reactions carefully. "Tomorrow morning. My security will drive you wherever you need to go."
The relief on Megan's face is immediate and obvious. Alexei's shoulders sag, tension draining from his young frame. But Tyler's expression hardens into something more complicated—suspicion mixed with desperate hope.
"Just like that?" Megan asks, her voice cautious. "We can just… go?"
"Just like that." I keep my tone matter-of-fact, revealing nothing of the surveillance I'm already arranging in my mind. "You'll have security details, but they'll be discrete. You won't notice them unless there's a threat."
"More guards following us?" Megan's voice rises slightly. "Roman, that's not?—"
"Non-negotiable," I interrupt, my voice dropping to that low register that makes most people step back. "You've seen too much. You know too much. I can't let you walk away completely unprotected or unmonitored. But you'll have your freedom. That's more than I should be offering."
Eva moves closer to me, and I catch the scent of her perfume, that light floral scent that's become as familiar as breathing. "Thank you," she says quietly, her brown eyes meeting mine. There's gratitude there, yes, but also something else. Understanding, maybe. Or the beginning of forgiveness.
Megan and Alexei leave quickly, eager to pack their few belongings and escape this gilded prison. But Tyler lingers, his face set with desperate determination. He stands, his wire-rimmed glasses slightly askew, his hands trembling as he points at me.
"Look at who you're marrying!" His voice cracks with emotion, with the pain of loving someone who doesn't love him back. "He's Russian Mafia, Eva! A criminal! A monster! He kidnapped us, held us prisoner, and you're just going to marry him anyway?"
Eva's expression softens with something that looks like pity. She moves toward Tyler, her hand reaching out to touch his arm gently. "Tyler, I know you care about me. I know you're trying to protect me. But this is my choice."
"It's not a choice if he's forcing you!" Tyler's voice rises, desperation bleeding through. "Eva, please. Come with me. Right now. We'll go to the police, we'll?—"
"No." Her voice is gentle but final. "I'm not going to the police. I'm not leaving. This is where I belong now."
Tyler's face crumples, tears spilling down his cheeks behind his glasses. "I love you," he whispers, the confession torn from his throat. "I've loved you since the first time I met you. Please don't do this. Please don't marry him."
Eva's throat works as she swallows, and I see the pain in her expression. Not because she returns his feelings, but because she's hurting someone who doesn't deserve it. "I'm sorry, Tyler. You're a good man. You deserve someone who can love you back the way you deserve. But that person isn't me."
