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“I don’t believe that for a second,” Angela declared. She softened after a moment, asking, “What happened?”
“I’ll spare you all the gory details,” he replied. He didn’t want to relive them any more than he wanted those images to invade Angel’s mind. “Eventually, my father killed my mother’s lover iàn front of her. He cut the baby from her belly, then he killed her as well. He told me she died in childbirth and that the baby—my brother—had also died.”
He met her horrified gaze levelly, telling her honestly, “I spent the next six years hardening my heart to everything and everyone. I became a cruel, spoiled child of a monster. My father was most pleased,” he added sardonically. “I became a mirror image of him and everything he ever wanted in an heir.”
Angela reached out, taking his hand in her own without hesitation. “You somehow learned the truth?”
Roman nodded once sharply. “I did. I overhead a conversation between him and my uncle talking about Luca and the life he was living. Turns out, he didn’t have my brother killed. He had sold him to the highest bidder.”
Angela dropped his hand as if it was on fire. “Human trafficking?” she whispered brokenly.
Angela went so white that Roman feared she was about to pass out. He cursed, moving forward to grip her shoulders. “Angel, are you okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you all of this.”
“No. It’s okay. I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting...” She swallowed audibly and gave herself a shake. “Continue.”
He hesitated. “Angel...”
“Please. I want to know,” she assured him, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Hiding from harsh truths never saved anyone.”
“I agree with you there. All right.” He nodded and sat back in his seat. “Yes, my father trafficked a mere baby. I confronted him. He tried to lie at first, but I soon beat the truth out of him. Right before I killed his hateful ass, I saw the way he looked at me. He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t beg for his life. He laughed. I had become the monster. And he was proud.”
Roman looked away, too afraid to see what expression Angela wore. “I’ve never hated anyone as much as I did in that moment. And it wasn’t my piece of shit father,” he told her.
“You hated yourself because you thought he was right,” Angela guessed.
His head whipped back around, finding a sympathetic look on her face. It was somehow worse than the look of disgust or fear he thought would have been there. “Because I knew he was right,” he immediately corrected her. “I am a monster, Angel. Make no mistake about that.”
They were both silent for a long while, lost in their own thoughts. I’m going to have to cancel family dinner night, he thought. He knew he wouldn’t be good company. The suppressed pain and rage he constantly lived with had risen to the surface, renewed. “Mi scusi,” he eventually murmured, rising from his seat. He needed to go. But he paused when Angela spoke.
“Roman, why did you tell me all that?”
He met her bright-green eyes squarely. “Because you asked.”
“You could have lied,” she said, her gaze mapping his face.
What she was searching for, he didn’t know. He reached down, tracing her bruise carefully, feeling a little sick. “I will never lie to you,” he vowed. “Maybe you should remember that whenever you ask me something in the future.” Then he strode away.
Angela called his name one last time. “I’ve looked into the eyes of many monsters, Roman. Yours are not one of them.”
Her words were spoken adamantly, but Roman didn’t say anything. And he didn’t look back. Because he knew, for once, that Angela was wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Who’s running the drugs?” Roman demanded of Abel two days later.
He had taken an uncharacteristic day off after his talk with Angela. As predicted, he’d been unfit for company and spent the morning pounding a punching bag in the gym until it fell off. He then went for a drive and was surprised when he found himself at the Lighthouse Resource Center. Sister Philomena took one look at him—and his busted-up hands—and told him she’d heard digging in the dirt was good for the soul. She handed him a trowel and left him to it. He dug in the garden in the courtyard for four hours.
His friends gave him space, not questioning him. Luca did, of course. But he didn’t pressure Roman when he said he didn’t want to talk about it. His younger brother had simply hugged him silently, a balm to the inferno of his inner turmoil.
But today was a new day, and Roman had woken up feeling back to his usual self. He was ready for Abel’s report, wanting to know what the fuck was going on with the drugs on the street, and why Angel was getting kicked in the face as a result.
“We are,” Abel replied to Roman’s question.
“What?!” Roman barked, rising from his chair.
“Well, not us exactly,” Abel quickly amended. “Beltane has the current monopoly on the drug market in the city. But he’s cooking them up in one of our buildings.”
Roman grunted and remained standing. Beltane was the head of a small cartel working out of the docks. Roman didn’t know him very well, but Luca had done a deep background check and nothing other than a rich drug history had popped up. When the man had come to him asking to rent some of his warehouses along the water, Roman agreed with very few questions.
