Chapter 4
Naomi
Ilsa ended up taking us to a heavy iron gate in the LA hills, not far from where I believed Gavril’s mansion was. “Why are you in LA?” I asked, remembering the lovely island that Roman owned in the Gulf of Mexico.
Ilsa shot me a dark look. “Were you not paying attention? Didn’t I tell you we were looking for you?”
They had come to find me. My throat clogged with tears, but she was turning toward a keypad, swiping a card over it to open the gates. Roman had just gotten himself out of a tangle months ago with the very men that Gavril was about to face, and I’d thought that they would live it up in paradise, especially with Ilsa carrying his child.
But they had come for me. I couldn’t believe it.
Ilsa navigated the car up a driveway and to a Mediterranean-style home that was backdropped by a ton of flowers and the ocean in the far distance. The door opened immediately, and I was helped out by a kind-looking guard just as the front door opened and Roman Marchetti strolled out, looking every inch the don that he was.
All that dissipated, however, when he laid eyes on his wife and visible relief crossed his face.
“I told you I was fine driving,” she said as he gathered her close. For a moment, Ilsa pressed her forehead to his and said something I couldn’t hear, but it reminded me of the moments that Gavril and I had shared just like that, and it made me miss him all the more. Did he have that look of relief on his face whenever he saw me? Was the love in his expression like the way that Roman was looking at my best friend now?
“Naomi,” Roman finally addressed me, pulling away from Ilsa but keeping her at his side. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” I told him, and I meant it. There had been a few moments in our first meeting when I didn’t care for him so much, but it hadn’t taken long for him to win me over, especially with the way he clearly loved Ilsa.
“So, you’ll never guess who knocked her up,” Ilsa supplied cheerfully. “Gavril mother-fucking Kirilenko.”
Roman’s expression grew dark with anger, and his gaze flickered to my stomach. “Is that so?”
I nodded, standing a bit taller. When I had found out about Ilsa’s pregnancy, Roman had been nearly on death’s door, and I was the one who had helped my friend stay strong. Now, I would stand up for myself against his judgment.
“The man is a fucking bastard,” Roman spat out, as if the words were bitter on his tongue. “He’s not meant to walk this fucking earth.”
“Careful,” I said, anger rising in my body. “It’s easy for you to call him a bastard when I thought the same thing about you all those months ago.” I wasn’t afraid of Roman like others would be. Honestly, he was part of my fractured little family, but even a Mafia don needed to be put in his place every now and then.
Ilsa cocked an eyebrow, but Roman let out a weary sigh, conceding to my words. “You’re right. I apologize, but I want to hear the entire story, Naomi.”
“Why don’t we go inside for that?” Ilsa suggested, shooting me a look as if she were looking at me for the first time. She had never known me to be so straightforward and challenging before. Knowing that Jon was out there, lurking in the shadows, had kept me meek and cowering even after therapy.
On the surface I was outgoing and charming when I had to be, but inside, I was that scared little college girl that he had manipulated and hurt.
Only Gavril had coaxed out this stronger side of me, and I liked it.
Roman moved aside and let his wife lead the way, motioning for me to follow her so that he could bring up the rear. The inside of the house was just as lovely as the outside, with terracotta floors and whitewashed walls that shone in the natural lighting. Windows were everywhere, giving the house a light, airy feel that I thought were completely different from what a Mafia don would prefer.
Ilsa whispered something to a passing woman before leading us into the living room, where inviting furniture and a huge TV dominated most of the room. “Sit,” she said, pointing to the leather sofa. “I have drinks and food coming.”
I wearily did as she asked, kicking off my shoes and rubbing my aching feet. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I wanted nothing more than to have a hot shower and a comfortable bed for a few hours.
“You need to tell us what you are involved in,” Ilsa said after a minute, settling in next to her husband who immediately put his arm around her shoulders and hauled her half into his lap. “So we can help.”
I curled my legs underneath me, resting a hand on my stomach. “Gavril is not what you think,” I started out. “The situation is complicated.”
“He’s a fucking bastard,” Roman growled. “Russian scum.”
“He’s the father of my child,” I pointed out. “Besides, your hands aren’t all squeaky clean, are they, Roman?”
“Are you defending him because you are scared of him?” Ilsa suggested softly, shooting a look at her husband. “Did he take you captive? Did he hurt you?”
I glared at my best friend. “Are you suggesting that I have Stockholm Syndrome?” It meant that I was defending Gavril because he was abusive to me. “That’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?”
Ilsa hadn’t told me everything that had happened to her at the hands of her husband, but I knew that the relationship hadn’t always been this loving and devoted.