Page 26 of The Promise

His list of wrongs was all too clear to him, and at night in bed when he was alone and awake, his mind liked to run through all of them on repeat.

He should have stayed out of the Yazov business when he had the chance. Most importantly, he shouldn’t have fucked Maxim Yazov’s daughter—no matter how gorgeous and curious she was. Then, he wouldn’t have found himself beaten black and blue with a baseball bat. He could still feel that pain every time he moved. It wasn’t healing fast enough, and had turned into a morbid, constant reminder of the agreement he made with Karine’s father.

Was he in a better situation now?

Debatable.

It was the click of the door that pulled him from his thoughts, and Roman sat up in bed with a jerk, immediately reaching for the weapon he kept under the pillow. The room was dark, but light spilled in from the hallway, illuminating him in the bed. It was the shadow of her that stopped him from pulling the gun out from its hiding spot.

Karine’s petite and slender shape was outlined in the doorway. She stood there in silence, her hands clasped together, trembling—peering in on him like she was trying to discern if he was awake.

Maybe if he was a better man, then he would have told her to leave. Or he could have just pretended to be asleep. They shouldn’t indulge in nights together. He didn’t need to get more involved with her than he already was.

But ...

Well, Roman wasn’t a better man.

Goddamn.

He wasn’t even sure if he was a good one.

“Come in, but close the door behind you,” he said to her in a murmur.

Karine did as she was told.

SIX

Maxim Yazov proudly admitted to being many things, namely, an asshole. He never pretended to be anything less than exactly what and who he was because he refused to change what made him, him simply for the acceptance or pleasure of someone else. But he was more, too ... more than a monster. A man—criminal, ruthless, and cruel. Smart and quick, dangerous, many would say.

He would agree.

Maxim was aware that most people wouldn’t view those things as positive qualities. If only the opinions of others had ever been enough to sway how he felt about himself, but here he was. Nonetheless, they were qualities that were integral for a man to survive the life he lived.

Essential, even.

His position demanded it.

The world he’d claimed as his taught fatherless boys like him who hoped to one day be men bearing eight-pointed stars that sinners made their own heaven. And often, that heaven was born from someone else’s hell. That world had raised and shaped him, he could not afford to be someone else.

Never even considered it.

Perhaps the qualities that made up his person were not what an average man would take pride in, but they were the skills and the disposition that made him successful as a bratva boss with rivals on all sides.

And it bothered Maxim more than he cared to admit that, those same traits that allowed him to be untouchable, were the ones that also meant he had never been a good father. Lately, it had been more obvious and not something he could justify away with the heaven he’d created for himself in power and wealth. If there was someone who cared to listen to his secrets, he would even admit he felt shameful that his surviving child wouldn’t have many fond memories of him when he was gone.

Of course, there was a period of time when he had shown some positive qualities of a father—when he’d been foolish enough to think that a man like him could be the kind of father his children actually loved. Young, and dumb. Then, life happened and the events that unfolded led him down a path where love was weakness, and weakness was pain.

It started with the death of his wife—not the mother of his children—and the ball just kept rolling. The fatherless boy Maxim had once been assured that he’d rather be a bad father than no father at all, and so that’s what he became as he buried every mistake and heartache from his past with money and control.

He wasn’t the father his children deserved, and for that, he would always have regret.

The past was what it was, though. And he couldn’t change it. His only hope now as a father, was that he’d done something—no matter how small—to change the future. At least for one of his children.

His most precious child.

Once, a long time ago, one of the mothers of his children told him something he hadn’t been able to forget. And while he flaunted his sins without shame, he’d never been able to get her words out of his head. It had become a constant reminder that even if he didn’t care what kind of man he was, people who loved him did.

None of these babies have asked to be born into the world they live in—they didn’t ask for us, Maxim. They didn’t choose this life, but you did. Don’t they at the very least, deserve to be loved?