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The Romanovs can hold their own.
I look out the window and twist a strand of hair. I nibble my lip thoughtfully. I have questions about him, about who he is. His motivations. I’ve seen him do terrible, cruel things, and yet…
“Ollie?”
“Mmm?” He taps the steering wheel as if lost in a world of his own. And maybe he is.
“Do you, like… ever have any regrets for… hurting people?”
He doesn’t really show any signs that my question disturbs him or fear of answering honestly. That’s not who he is.
I inspect an unruly cuticle and pick at it, suddenly nervous.
Finally, he shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not the family assassin, Renata.”
“I know, but… well. You’ve murdered people.”
He clenches his teeth. “Yeah. Truthfully?” He lets out a breath.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.” My heart beats faster. Do I want to know the answer to this question?
His voice is cold and ruthless when he finally answers. “My only regret is not making some suffer longer before I ended it.”
Oh God. My breath catches, but I force myself to stay composed, to not flinch or show discomfort. What do I say to that? WhatcanI say?
Is he wrong?
Am I?
I’ve seen what people are capable of. I suppose if I were the average girl next door, I could have ended up with an average man. Maybe we’d meet at a bar. Is that how people still do things? We could be having conversations about grilling theperfect steak, discussing the best way to invest our money, or debating who to vote for in the next election.
But that life is a distant dream now. Ollie isn’t a next-door neighbor kind of guy. I can’t ask him to go for a walk on the beach or take me to a cozy dinner without considering the potential dangers.
He’s the man that walks through fire and expects you to follow.
His voice breaks through my thoughts, softer now, almost reflective. Another woman might mistake his tone as casual. “How did you get that scar, Renata?”
He’s watching me, really watching, and for a second, I feel exposed and vulnerable in a way I’m not used to. Answering him as his wife won’t be the same as answering him before.
The memory of that night flashes before me, the pain unbidden—the fear and blood. I swallow hard, tracing the scar. How should I tell him? Is there anything he already knows?
Driven by a need to survive, to protect myself from threats that constantly loom over me, I’ve had to be strong. To push through. But there’s a part of me, deep inside, that still craves trust and acceptance. A part that regrets the things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt. A part of me that wonders if I’d only done things right by my family, would they have kept me as their own?
But Ollie… maybe he doesn’t need redemption the way I do. He’s fully submerged in the darkness as if it’s part of his identity. And maybe that’s what is so unnerving and fascinating about him.
I take a deep breath and look ahead of me.
“There was a time when Carlos was protective and caring, but then he became obsessed with power and control. As he climbedthe ranks in the cartel, he became best friends with Javier Morales. I wanted a way out. To him, looking for a way out was the ultimate form of betrayal.”
Ollie nods and barely reacts, but his jaw is clenched, and we’re driving faster now. The other cars outside our windows fly by. My belly drops as the needle on the speedometer creeps up.
“I discovered he’d been manipulating me. He wanted me to marry into another family. He had a good friend who was obsessed with me. An older guy. He set us up on a date, and at first, things were fine…”
I look out the window. I will never forget what it felt like to be that small and powerless, to know the only weapon I had was my body.
“His friend tried to seduce me. I wouldn’t let him. I left and ignored his calls. He was creepy as fuck.” I shiver at the memory of his oily voice and loose skin, the way he smelled like expensive cologne and cigars. “Then Carlos called me to him and announced that he’d arranged for my engagement.”
I laugh bitterly. “If I knew then what I know now… anyway, I told him no. We got into a huge fight during dinner. He threw his plate at me, and it shattered on my face. Isabella was the one who brought me to the hospital. She had a friend there who wouldn’t talk.”
