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Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back. “They’ve ordered your hit, Roman. If you don’t leave St. Petersburg by dawn, you won't see another sunrise. And the worst part?” I take a shaky breath. “They want me to do it.”
His face pales, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “Why are you telling me this?”
I look away, searching for the right words. “Because despite everything, I can't do it. I can’t hurt you. But if you stay, I won't have a choice.”
A tense silence engulfs us, the weight of our shared secrets pressing down on us. The reality is clear: two worlds, two allegiances, have collided, and there’s no easy way out.
I watch Roman’s face as realization washes over him. The disbelief, confusion, and anguish are evident in his dark eyes. "They want you... Do you want to kill me?" he stammers, his usually composed demeanor crumbling.
His question makes my blood boil. "This isn't just about you," I snap. My voice is laced with bitterness as memories from the past flood my mind. "You and your precious Russian Bratva are the reason Iosef is gone."
He looks confused. “Iosef?”
“Iosef Tolensky. How many men have you killed that you can’t remember their names?” I spit. “Because I can tell you every single one I’ve sent to the grave. Iosef was my fiancé. He was everything to me. And he's dead because of you and your people."
Roman's voice cracks, "I’ve never harmed anyone who didn't deserve it, Valentina. I didn't know about Iosef."
But I can’t listen. The pain, raw and searing, takes over. "You think that makes it okay? That ignorance absolves you?"
There's a heaviness in his gaze. "Val, I didn't..."
"Don't call me that," I interrupt. My voice wavers with suppressed anger. "You haven't earned that right."
Silence hangs between us. The intensity of our exchange has left us both emotionally drained. His face is a storm of emotions: regret, confusion, desire. But his next question stops me cold.
"Why haven’t you killed me already? If you hate me so much, why didn’t you kill me the first night when you had the chance?"
It's a question I've been asking myself. Why did I let my guard down? Why did I allow myself to be swayed by his charm? By his touch? It's clear there’s something between us, a pull I can't deny. But it’s a weakness, one I cannot afford.
"I should have," I murmur, avoiding his gaze. "But every time I tried, something stopped me."
He steps closer, the distance between us narrowing. "Is it because you have feelings for me?"
I shove him away, the force of my push sending him stumbling back a few steps. His audacity astounds me. "You're mistaken if you think there's anything between us beyond a physical connection."
"But Valentina..."
I cut him off with a sharp gesture. "No, Roman. Don’t delude yourself. You’re a loose end I haven’t tied up yet. And if you value your life, you'll leave St. Petersburg. Because the next time we cross paths, I won’t be as forgiving."
I turn on my heels and stride away. My heart pounds so loudly in my chest it drowns out the distant sounds of the city. Every step takes me further from Roman, from the complications, from the undeniable feelings I refuse to acknowledge.
But as the distance grows, one undeniable fact remains: things between Roman and me are far from over.
Chapter 18
Roman
The weight of the evening’s revelation presses heavily on me as I weave my way through the dim streets of St. Petersburg. A cool wind, heavy with the scent of the Neva River, brushes against my face, but I barely notice. My mind races, replaying the confrontation with Valentina over and over.
My apartment’s heavy wooden door is a welcome barrier between me and the city outside. As I turn the key in the lock, the familiar sound provides a momentary sense of safety, but I'm under no illusion that I'm safe here. Or anywhere, for that matter. I'm a marked man, a fact Valentina has made painfully clear.
I slip out of my coat, letting it fall onto a nearby chair and head straight to the minibar. A glass of the strongest whiskey soon sits heavy in my hand, and I knock it back, the burn doing little to distract me from the turmoil inside. The amber liquid is both a balm and a blade, calming yet sharpening my senses. I set the glass down with a thud, drawing in a shaky breath.
Iosef Tolensky. The name gnaws at the edges of my mind, a splinter I can't ignore. Valentina said it with such conviction, such pain. But who the hell is he? I've done many things in my life, crossed paths with countless souls, but this name...it doesn’t resonate. I can't recall any connection to him.
I boot up my computer, the screen illuminating the dark room with a soft blue glow. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I pull up my personal database. Years of intelligence, names, faces, operations—all stored meticulously. If Iosef Tolensky was someone I had dealings with, he would be in here.
Search after search yields no results. It's like searching for a ghost. No records, no images, not even a footnote of his existence in my world. Frustration builds inside me. If Valentina blames me for the death of someone who doesn’t even appear in my records, then there’s a piece of the puzzle I’m missing.
