Chapter 106
1707words
Roman hasn't stopped shaking. He's been like this during the whole car ride. I have to half-drag and half-carry him into the large townhouse, all the way down a dark hall that Yannick shoved us through. As my mother and I huddle in the small backroom we've been stashed in, Roman continues to shake.
"I didn't want to do it. I didn't, I swear I didn't," he mutters. It's all he's been able to say.
Brushing his hair from his forehead, I push him to my chest. "You're okay. I'm here."
He whimpers, mumbling into my shirt, as if he didn't hear me. I'm worried he's gone into shock. The reality of shooting Asher, nearly killing him—because I refuse to believe Asher is dead no matter what Yannick says—has broken his little mind.
I look up, seething with hatred at the sight of Yannick. He's pacing the room, occasionally checking his phone. He seems to be ignoring us. It's a small favor, but I'll take it.
"Chyort," he hisses, crushing his phone in his fist. He arches his arm like he plans to throw it. At the last second he stops himself.
Bad news? I wonder... and hope.
Roman lets out a wretched sob. His voice is raw from crying so much. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... please."
"Enough!" Yannick whirls on us. My mother retreats into the corner, trying to hide behind a curtain of her own hair. I don't blame her for being afraid. It's not her job to stand up to this man.
But someone has to.
"Stop it!" I snap. "You did this to him."
"Did what? Turn him into a man?" Stomping over to me, he lurches down, grabbing Roman by his shirt. 'Get up, boy!"
I try to cling on but he rips him away from me. "Give him back!" I demand.
But it's useless.
Yannick hauls Roman—wide eyes rimmed with red—onto his feet. He reaches for me desperately, trying to cling to me even as Yannick gives him another hard yank. My heart leaps to my throat. Jumping forward, I swipe at his small hand. But our fingers can only graze as Yannick drags him through the door and slams it in my face.
It's my turn to shake.
"What is he going to do to him now?" I ask out loud.
"I don't know," Mom whispers. " I don't know."
I move to the door, putting my ear to it in an attempt to hear some hint of what might be happening behind it. My plan is to try and hear some hint of what's happening down the hall.
At first, there's only silence.
And then the screaming comes. I don't have to strain to hear it.
Jerking backwards, I put my hand to my mouth. "Roman?"
Mom stares at me, her silence confirming my fear. My little brother is shrieking. The awful sound careens through the air, searing itself into my brain.
"What's happening? Mom?"
"I don't know..." she's shaking harder than before, and tears are running in streams down her face. 'I don't know."
I tug at the door but the knob won't budge. I pound it with all my might as I scream. "Stop it! Stop hurting him!"
The screaming stops.
My heart sinks into my guts like an anchor on a ship. Oh no…
This can't be good.
In desperation I twist the knob over and over. But it's useless. The knob refuses to turn, and the door refuses to open.
"C'mon," I whisper, fighting back tears. "C'mon!"
Suddenly the knob shifts as the door is unlocked. Someone is opening it from the other side. Leaping backwards, I brace myself, ready to attack Yannick.
But when the door opens, only Roman is there.
He shuffles towards us, dragging his feet while his arms are wrapped around his upper body. His head is bent low, and his eyes are blank as they stare ahead.
Relief and worry war in my heart, and the strength drains from my legs as I rush towards him. "Roman?"
He doesn't lift his head.
I drop to my knees, cupping his cheeks. "You're okay. Everything is okay."
I reach for his shoulder and he screams, yanking backwards. "No!" he sniffles.
"What is it?" I ask anxiously.
He continues to dodge my gaze as he stares at his feet.
"Roman, you can talk to me." I gently take his hands. On my knees we're face to face. "Roman."
His eyes rise to lock on mine. With a great shudder, his face crumbles and he starts crying—deep choking sobs that seem to be dragged from the depth of his soul. Slowly, he turns away from me, tugs at his shirt, and lifts it up.
There! Pristine and raw, is a new tattoo on his skin.
A black crown on his shoulder.
My mouth goes dry and suddenly I can hear Layla as if she's standing here with me: Tattoos. Every man of the Bratva has some. Some signify their past deeds, terrible or great things they've done, and their ranks.
It doesn't take a genius to know what the crown means.
I'd suspected Yannick planned to kill me, but now I know for sure.
And yet, I'm unable to feel pity for myself, not when this little boy is pale from the horrific trauma his own father has imposed on him.
"Roman?" Mom's voice rises up, trembling, behind us.
"It hurts," he whimpers.
"Oh, my sweet boy," Mom opens her arms and Roman falls into them like he belongs there. It's strange to think that, not long ago, I was jealous of him trying to steal her away. But he was never doing that. He's just a boy who never knew what real love was.
Until now, when it might be too late.
Roman sobs as my mother pets the back of his head. "You're okay, malchik," she shushes. 'I have you now."
"Why did Daddy do this?" he cries. "What did I do wrong?"
'Nothing." God, my heart can't fracture anymore. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why? Why me?"
My mother and I share a look over his head. Her eyebrows crawl higher, her stare more pointed.
Yannick ruins everything he touches! He hurt you, too, Mom. I try to tell her with only my eyes. Remember that? There's no good in that man. Running my hand lightly over Roman's back, I take a breath. When I stray too close to his tattooed shoulder he recoils away from my touch.
"Your father..." I start. 'Do you understand what he does? What he really does?"
'He never tells me." Roman wrinkles his brow. "He's just says that he's going to protect me."
I swallow down the hard lump forming in my throat. "He's a liar. He is the bad man that he's always warning you about." I take a breath. "He's a killer. He hurts people"
"He says he only hurts people who want to hurt me," Roman argues weakly.
I shake my head. "He hurts anyone he feels like." Without meaning to I look at my mother. She flinches.
Roman notices, staring between us. "Did he hurt you, Mom?"
"I—." Mom starts. But she's having a hard time saying it.
"Yes," I cut in, giving my mom a glare that says he needs to know, stop sheltering him. 'He has."
"Did he hurt you too?" Roman asks quietly, burying his hands in his shirt, and twisting the material over and over.
'Not yet," I tell him. 'But he will. I'm sure of it."
I unconsciously cover my belly with my hands. He's going to kill me. But I don't say it out loud. Because if I say it out loud, it'll be real.
Roman opens his fingers, staring at his palms, squeezing them at the air. He's holding something I can't see. "Because of that other man?"
The vision of Asher splayed out, blood staining everything like syrup on a snow cone, makes me ill.
'Yes, because of that other man."
Roman tugs at his shirt near his shoulder. "I don't want to be like him."
Hugging Roman to her chest, my mother rubs her cheek in his hair. She fixes her solemn gaze on me. "You won't. I promise you that you won't"
"How?" I whisper to my mother, low enough that Roman can't hear. "That tattoo means he's chosen Roman as his heir. There's no going back now."
"Is that man really dead?" Roman asks urgently. "Did I kill him? I didn't mean to, I promise I didn't!" His breathing picks up again, and I'm afraid he'll start crying again.
"I don't know," I whisper, my voice coming apart as I admit it. "I want to believe he's alive."
"I... I don't want to be here anymore." With eyes shining from fresh tears, he looks up at me, chin shaking. "Get me out of here, Camila. Please. I'm afraid."
Me, too. My baby punches inside of my belly. I don't know if that was a fist or a foot; I picture a minuscule array of toes, a pair of footprints on the birth certificate, and bite back a hot swell of tears.
You can't cry right now. You have to be strong for all four of us.
I don't have the luxury of letting myself be consumed by my own misery.
With an indulgent smile I cup Roman's cheek. My thumb makes streaks over the tears that have dried on his skin. "We're all going to get out of this. I swear. But I need you to stay strong and brave and fearless. Can you do that?"
He bites down until his chin stops wobbling. "Yes," he says, with all the confidence of a child who doesn't know how unfair the world can really be.
I tug at my prayer beds nervously. I've tried whispering into them multiple times, hoping Asher can hear me. If he's listening, I want him to know that I'm alive. I wish I can tell him something more useful than that.
I don't know where I am... but if the beads are doing their job, that won't matter.
He'll track me down.
He'll find me.
He'll bring us all home.
