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My mouth parts. “You don’t need to.”
“I’m going to,” he says firmly, looking me in the eye.
My heart starts to race.Fucking hell.
“But aren’t you worried you’ll combust if you spend too much time in an enclosed space with me?”
Roman peers at me like I’m crazy. He wants to give me a ride home and I’m the crazy one.
“Let’s go,lupacchiotta.”
“This is not going to end well,” I mutter under my breath.
I shouldn’t do it. But my legs practically move of their own accord as I trail after Roman.
CHAPTER10
Roman
The Legan home is a twenty-minute drive from mine. Neither myself nor Elena say a word for the first five minutes of the drive. But not hearing her voice feels odd, so I feel inclined to speak.
“The silence is eerie, trouble. What are you thinking about?”
I glance at her and her eyes are fixed straight on the road. She’s sitting ramrod straight, tension in her shoulders.
“What do you think I’m going to do to you?” I ask, amused.
She shrugs. “Nothing. But have you ever thought about what I could do to you?” she retorts with a mischievous smile.
“Probably not much,” I reply. “You’re a terrible shot, you’re awful at combat, and you’re tiny. I could break you so easily.”
I feel her glare on the side of my face. “Don’t underestimate me, Roman. I’m much stronger than you give me credit for.”
“I know you’re strong. It’s not something I’ve ever doubted. There’s just varying shades of strength.”
“Hmm,” she mutters. “How many people have you killed?”
I’ve known Elena Legan for more than a decade. Which is why I’m utterly unsurprised by the abrupt change in conversation. Her mind works in mysterious ways. And it’s always working. She never shuts down. It’s why she’s so good at math and numbers.
Briefly, I wonder why I know so much about a girl I supposedly couldn’t give less of a fuck about. But that’s a lie that worked when I was a kid. The truth is, she’s an important part of my life, one I can’t get rid of.
“Roman,” she prompts.
I mentally calculate the number of times I’ve taken a life.
“Fifteen,” I say.
She doesn’t look shocked or surprised, and I’m glad for it. She accepts the information quietly, and when I glance at her, her expression is thoughtful.
“What? You thought it would be higher?”
“Honestly, yes, but that’s still… so many people,” she says, shrugging. “Can I ask an invasive question?”
“I have a feeling you’ll ask me regardless. Fire away.”
“How do you justify it? The killing and all the murder.”
I pause to ponder her question for a minute. “I don’t think there is any justification for it. But what matters is that I don’t kill simply for the fun of it. It’s business. I kill for my family, for honor. The world’s already hard enough. Everyone does their best to survive. Kill or be killed aren’t just the rules of the jungle; ruthlessness is necessary for survival. I kill people that keep me from my goals, from getting to the top, and I refuse to regret it. Because I’m doing it for my family.”
