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Because she didn’t, and she didn’t want to be dishonest.
“I know,” he said, kissing her shoulder. “It’s okay.”
But she heard the torment in his voice. Knew he was lying.
To her. To himself.
29
Roman
Roman’s footsteps echoed on the concrete as he walked through the empty warehouse.
“It’s definitely big enough,” he said. “And I like that it’s on the water.”
“Those were my thoughts too,” Max said.
Roman didn’t mention the warehouse’s other attribute: a view of the Statue of Liberty, one of the only places in the city with a full-frontal view of the monument.
It seemed too fanciful to mention, that he looked forward to a future in which the warehouse had been built out as a headquarters for his army, a future in which he would gaze out at the statue — a universal symbol of freedom — from the warehouse’s old factory windows.
Then he would think of his father — broken, penniless, and probably dead.
Roman would be truly free. And so would Ruby, although her freedom meant another kind of exile for him, one where she went on with her old life without him, probably tried to forget he ever existed.
“It’s going to take a lot to retrofit it for our use,” Max said. “Especially if we want to develop the waterfront.”
“We’ll have it,” Roman said. It had been a week since Vladimir Orlov’s death and Valeriya had been in touch to assure him the money would be transferred in a few more days.
Soon, Roman would have more than enough capital to renovate the warehouse as a proper headquarters for his men. More than enough to put the final nail in his father’s coffin.
And not a moment too soon.
Valeriya had broken off her engagement with Erik — Roman would have killed to be a fly on the wall when his father realized he was losing access to the Orlov fortune — but Igor’s diamond shipment was due to arrive in less than a week. If Roman hoped to prevent his father from refilling his war chest, he would have to incentivize his father’s buyers to pass on the shipment.
That meant money — and a lot of it.
“Word is Erik is spinning out,” Max said.
“To be expected,” Roman said, walking to one of the big windows overlooking the water. His brother’s sobriety was tenuous under the best of circumstances. He’d undoubtedly banked on currying favor with Igor through his marriage to Valeriya and the ensuing influx of capital.
If Roman had to guess, he’d say his little brother was in a hotel somewhere, shooting up and getting drunk, giving in to the siren’s call of the substances that had always had a dark hold on him.
Roman didn’t relish the idea. He had no professional respect for his brother, who was better suited to a simple life of routine and discipline, but Erik was still his blood. Roman didn’t wish him harm. He — and his impending marriage — had simply been in the way of Roman’s plans.
The same couldn’t be said of Roman’s feelings toward Igor. Roman imagined his father screaming and shouting at Konstantin while Kon stood helplessly by, imagined his father watching the promised money disappear with the news of Vladimir Orlov’s death, the dissolution of Erik’s engagement to Valeriya.
With any luck, the old man would die of an aneurysm, saving Roman the trouble of further humiliating and killing him.
Roman was mesmerized by the view, Lady Liberty gleaming like a beacon in the March sunshine. “Let’s make an offer. Say… eighteen million.”
It was nothing to Valeriya, who was inheriting a fortune worth billions.
“Okay,” Max said.
“Good.” Roman headed for the door of the warehouse. He would need to appropriate one of the bratva’s service holdings as a recreational headquarters for his men.
Not Venus, the strip club used by his father. Roman needed something else. Something that hadn’t been used before. Something classier. A restaurant or club.
