Page 28
His grin falters. “…That was a no?”
Ever since he learned Elara is the mystery girl I’d been searching for—the reason I swallowed pills every night to keep the madness at bay—he had been forced to bury his disdain for her.
Roman has a unique way of telling people close to him that they matter.
The only love language in Bratva is portrayal of affection through violence, if he’s your spawn, you better know how to control it.
While Roman’s case wasn’t much different from mine, unlike me he got talkative.
Him and Alec are quite similar in that regard, and I sometimes feel out of place entirely among their constant bickering.
What we have in common is daddy or mommy issues.
We’ve seen our fair share of violence at a young age to get desensitised towards it. While I wouldn’t voluntarily hit anyone, Ro and Alec would hit anyone just for breathing wrong at them.
They are my family and I don’t judge them, call me a hypocrite and see how many fucks do I give.
In fact, if hypocrisy had a face, I’d be its quintessence.
Hitting children is where I draw the line and the guys agree.
Anything else is fair game.
Roman’s appetite for violence eclipses anything remotely holy. He unravels with frightening ease, transforming from a smiling idiot into someone capable of reducing a man to pulp before the grin ever leaves his face.
He hates humans—his words, not mine.
Ironically, the only time I’ve seen him willingly touch another human being is when he’s killing someone or fucking someone.
I know because I’ve walked in on the latter more times than I care to admit.
We don’t judge him.
We all have demons, but his could ruin lesser men.
The fact that he’s still alive—still smiling as if none of it burns him from within—is something I’ll never quite understand.
My phone pings as the footage of that night transfers from my computer and my eyes widen.
The image is blurred however, still clear enough to make out the look of panic on Elara’s face.
Alec and Ro sit next to me; their gazes fixed on the screen as some random arsehole approaches Elara.
My Elara.
The glass squeaks beneath my grip and Roman quietly pries it from my hand before I can crush it into shards.
“I think you’re about to break that little no-killing rule of yours.” Alec’s words stop me cold. Rage bleeds into my senses, warping time itself.
One moment I’m seated; the next, I’m on my feet, striding past the elevator of my penthouse without recalling the decision to move.
“Fucking. Hell.” I snarl, climbing two stairs at a time. The elevator is the sane choice, but I’m losing my marbles.
Someone touched her.
Someone touched my woman.
“I’ll be the one who ends his sorry life.” Neither of them argues. The look Roman exchanges with Alec is almost identical to the one reflected back at me.
