Roman’s body moves far faster than his size would suggest. His father’s words are cut off by a groan as Roman’s knee connects with his stomach, doubling him over, even as his fingers twist into the back of his suit jacket. I watch Roman lift Apollo right off the ground and toss him like a sack of garbage out into the hall.
“That’s it, son! That’s what I want to see! We can use that in the organization. You always were my favorite. Intelligence and brawn, not like your brother.”
“You leave my brother the fuck out of this.” Roman stalks out into the hall after him, leaving me all alone. “He worships the fucking ground you walk on and this is how you talk about him? Fucking piece of shit.”
I hear a crash as something is knocked over in the living room, my body still frozen in place by everything that’s just happened. I don’t want to be a part of all this. It’s too much. Clarissa was right to warn me off.
Glancing around, I realize how stupid I’ve been. This guesthouse belongs to the casino, and the casino belongs to Roman. He’s not going to let me stay here forever and I was stupid to think he would. As soon as he’s tired of me, he’ll kick me out and I’ll have nothing.
And the job?
It’s pretty clear he never needed me to cook for him. He had someone cook the meal that was set up in here last night, didn’t he? I’ve been a fool. I’m not being paid as a private chef, I’m being paid for sex.
I’m nothing but a prostitute.
Sliding out of the bed, I pull open the wardrobe and see the hangers filled with clothes that Roman bought for me. How he knew my size, I’m not sure, but if I put any of them on I’ll still belong to him. I don’t want anything from him. I need to get away.
My own clothes sit in their cases still in the bottom of the wardrobe. I can’t take them all with me right now, but at least I can put something on that belongs to me.
8
Roman
My fist is feeling battered, but I don’t care. I can plunge it into ice when I’ve killed the man who gave me life.
The next punch lands square in my father’s gut, lifting him off the ground, and I let him collapse at my feet. In an instant, I’m stepping forward, my bare toes connecting with his skull. He’s no pushover, and maybe in his day this would have been something of a contest, but he’s no longer in his prime and the beating is taking its toll.
I grab him by the collar and pull him to his feet, ready to deliver an ultimatum, aware that it will put me on the wrong side of the entire organization but no longer caring. But he holds up a placating hand.
“All right, Roman,” he splutters, one eye swollen shut. “All right. Enough. You’re stronger than me, you have been for a long time now. But if I get any more injuries there are people who will head over here and shoot you just to impress me. I don’t want that, you don’t want that—”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Oh, you don’t mean that.” His feet scramble against the floor, trying to keep him upright, but he’s tough as old boot leather and the injuries that would floor another man will just make him a little later getting out of bed in the morning. “We need to talk. The Russians—”
“Haven’t you heard a word I said? The Russians have nothing to do with me or this casino, not anymore. It’s my name on the deed and I’ll be the one who makes those decisions.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. All this over some…” His gaze meets mine and he backs away, drawing a deep breath. “Over a woman? You and me, we’re family.”
“Not anymore. I want you out. Now. And for your information, I’m signing the casino over to Mom.”
“No you’re fucking not. I won’t allow it.”
“My casino, I can do what I like with it. She needs something and I want to concentrate on investing. Mom’s good with figures.”
My dad laughs, drawing out his handkerchief, looking at it for a moment, then tucking it away and leaving the blood where it is, smeared across his face. “I know she’s good with figures, son. She was my accountant. She’s very good at cooking books, that’s not the argument. I don’t want to see her every time I come in here. In case you haven’t noticed, I was two million dollars richer before I divorced her.”
“She divorced you. And she deserved twenty times that much. Anyway,” I say, glancing behind him to where two heavily-built men are stalking across the golf course, “that’s not going to be your problem anymore.”