I throw a smile over my shoulder and meander around, looking for anything that will give me insight into who this man is. “It’s nice.”
He snorts but doesn’t argue.
The living room has a small brown leather couch and matching chair crammed into it with an end table wedged between them. A large flat-screen television is attached to the wall across from the seating arrangement. Other than that, the space is bare. No posters or art hang on the stark white walls, and there aren’t any framed photographs scattered throughout the room.
Much like Roman, the place is minimalistic. Sparse. Blank.
I wouldn’t know this was his home if he hadn’t opened the door with a key on his chain because nothing of a personal nature suggests that Roman actually resides here.
I expected…
I don’t know what I expected.
More, I guess.
I thought I’d get a better sense of who this man was. I hoped I could gravitate toward something and, maybe, if I asked the right questions, he would open up and let me in.
But there’s nothing for me to latch onto.
Feeling desperate, I ask, “How long have you lived here?”
“Five years.”
Clearly, my plan to learn more about him has backfired. Roman isn’t going to loosen up and share anything personal, which saddens me because I don’t know what more I can do to earn his trust.
I snap out of my jumbled thoughts when Roman’s arms slip around my waist. As soon as he lays hands on me, I melt against him. He tugs me closer until his body protectively envelops mine and nuzzles my neck. A sigh of pleasure falls from my lips.
This, right here, is what I live for.
Voice deep and raspy, he says, “I didn’t get a chance to show you the bedroom.” He nips my throat with his teeth. “Any interest in checking it out?”
I know a distraction tactic when I hear it.
His hands slip under my T-shirt and delve into the cups of my bra, maneuvering my breasts from their silky confines. He strokes and kneads the softness with skilled fingers. “Are there any other questions that need immediate answering?”
Hmmm?
What?
I can’t concentrate when he toys with me like this.
And he damn well knows it.
One hand grazes my belly, gliding under the waistband of my jeans and plunging into my panties. Every thought I’d been trying to desperately hang onto scatters like leaves in a brisk wind when he strums my clit.
“Ummm…”
Roman chuckles. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
I almost whimper in protest when his hands leave my body.
Scooping me up, he carries me into the bedroom. His mouth crashes against mine as my arms twine around his neck. Tangled together, we fall onto the bed, his erection pressing against my core.
My lingering questions can wait until when I’m not so distracted by his lips cruising over my skin and his deft fingers divesting me of my shirt as if he’s unwrapping a much-anticipated Christmas gift. For the time being, I allow myself to be swept away by the tide of passion only Roman seems capable of stoking to life in me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I lay wide awake next to Roman, staring up at the ceiling. I normally find the sound of his deep, even breathing soothing, but my mind is restless and refuses to turn off. Which is odd, because I always sleep better when I’m in his arms.
Maybe it’s the continuous sound of trains rolling by the apartment building.
Or the strange bed I’m sleeping in.
Or the fact that I don’t know the man I’ve been sharing my body with.
Maybe it’s all of those reasons combined.
Unable to take another moment, I throw the covers off my naked body. I creep out of the room to use the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind me.
When I’m finished, I pause, unsure what to do. Tomorrow is Monday, and I need to be up bright and early for work. Plus, I’ll need to stop at my place to change my clothes and fix my hair. If I were smart, I’d head back to the bedroom and get a few hours of sleep.
But I can tell this fidgety feeling isn’t going to dissipate. If I were at home, I’d make a cup of tea, grab a book off the shelf, and read for a bit, distracting myself with a good story. But there are no distractions here.
And I’m not about to rifle through Roman’s cupboards looking for tea.
Instead of moving toward the bedroom, I gravitate to the unadorned window overlooking the street. I watch traffic zip and whizz past for a few minutes. It may be one in the morning, but the streets teem with energy and movement.
I turn away and glance around the apartment with more scrutiny. Moonlight filters in, illuminating the living room and adjoining kitchen. I can’t put my finger on it, but the blankness of this place bothers me.
Every surface is sparkling and fingerprint-free. The typical pile of mail most people have laying around is nowhere to be found. No personal items, such as a pair of shoes or a single photograph are strewn about.
The niggle of unease in my belly quadruples in size and grows into a painful gnaw as I look for something, anything that proves Roman really lives here.
I’ve been in hotel rooms with more personality.
That thought reverberates through me as my eyes land on the desk in the corner. Without thinking, I move in its direction.
Because I need answers.
Answers Roman refuses to give me.
The top of the desk is, like everything else in the apartment, free of debris except for a computer resting on it. Even in the shadowy darkness of the room, I can tell it’s an older model. It isn’t as sleek as the ones that are now being sold in stores.
Are the drawers inside the desk as barren as everything else?
I suck my lower lip into my mouth and bite down. There’s no doubt that I would be livid if someone invaded my privacy by going through my belongings. That alone should be enough to make me back away and retreat to the bedroom.
What I’m considering is wrong, and I damn well know it.
And yet I don’t move a muscle.
In the back of my mind, I know there are pieces of Roman’s life that don’t add up. I’ve tried everything I can think of to coax him into talking, but he refuses. He hasn’t left me a choice in the matter.
I expel a long, slow breath.
No. That’s not right. There are always choices to make. And I’m choosing this one of my own free will. With butterflies winging to life in my belly, I glance toward the closed bedroom door and release a shaky breath.
If I’m going to do this, it needs to happen now.
My fingers tremble as I grip the handle on the middle drawer and slide it open. If Roman finds me rummaging through his desk, this fledgling relationship will die as quickly as it flared to life.
But a voice in my head insists that something is amiss. And if the last couple of weeks have taught me anything, it’s that I need to pay attention to my instincts. I ignored the warning bells that rang right after Victor Dmitriyev sauntered into my office. That had been a mistake.
When I’m with Roman, I don’t feel as though I’m in danger. But my instincts are still trying to warn me that something isn’t right and this time, I refuse to push them aside. With nothing more than moonlight, I look down at pens, pencils, paperclips and a blank notepad.
My heart thumps as a mixture of disappointment and relief rushes through my veins. As much as I want to uncover evidence that justifies what I’m doing, I don’t want to discover that Roman has been deceiving me. That knowledge would crush me.
Part of me wants to shove the drawer closed and hightail it back to bed. I had a peek inside the desk and found nothing of interest. I should leave it alone. Let it go. Unfortunately, my mind demands I finish this in order to be completely satisfied. I shift to the left side of the desk and open the first drawer. Finding a thin stack of papers, I pick them up and leaf through them.
Utility bills.
The name on them reads Roman Santori with this address. I move to the next drawer. My brows slide together in confusion as I stare down at emptiness. I have a desk at home, and it’s jam-packed with paper because I don’t have a filing cabinet. Roman doesn’t have one either.
I go to the right side and tug open the top drawer. Other than a handful of receipts, there isn’t anything worthwhile inside. Certainly nothing that validates my snooping. I haven’t come across a single thing to rationalize my continued search through his belongings. I should stop this madness. Instead, I finger the handle of the bottom drawer and jerk it open since I’ve looked through all the others.
At this point, I don’t expect to find anything incriminating.
My gaze settles on another sheaf of paper. A cursory glance reveals nothing of importance. But I’ve combed through the rest of the desk. If I come up empty-handed, I can just accept that Roman is a minimalist who doesn’t care about aesthetics.
I have no idea how much time he spends here.
Maybe none at all.
Maybe this apartment is just a place to crash at night and nothing more.
I pick up the papers and thumb through them. As with the previous drawers, there’s nothing noteworthy. Nothing to prove that Roman isn’t exactly who he claims to be.
How exactly did I get to this point?
Where did the paranoia come from?
Sitting back on my heels, I rub my temples and sigh. I allowed Roman’s silence to snowball into something it’s not, which makes me feel like a jackass. Did I ever consider that he told me there was no future for us because he didn’t want to be tied down in a long-term relationship?
The more I think about it, the more that possibility makes sense. He said one little thing and I spun it out of control, thinking there was an actual reason for him not wanting to get involved with me.
God, I’m an idiot.
As I’m about to return the papers to the drawer, I notice a small white square on the bottom of the flat wooden surface. I tug it free. One of the corners sticks and the edge rips off. Flipping it over, I see that it’s a photograph. The first one I’ve seen in this apartment. In the darkness, I make out the faint image of a person. Maybe two. I walk over to the window and tilt the picture until light hits it.
It’s a graduation photo.
I squint, realizing with a start that it’s a picture of Roman. Only younger. He’s shaking a man’s hand who is dressed in a uniform. The American flag is prominently displayed in the background.
I frown as a fresh wave of shock crashes over me. What I’m seeing doesn’t make sense.
Why—
The light snaps on, and my head jerks up.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Sofia?” Roman’s gaze drops from mine to the photo in my hand.
I moisten my lips, at a loss for what to say.
“What are you doing?”
“I found a picture of you.”
He closes the distance between us in five long strides. Plucking it from my shaking fingers, he gives the photograph a cursory glance. My heart pounds under my breast, the sound echoing in my ears.
“Where?” he asks in something that resembles a growl.
I cringe and consider lying but decide there isn’t a point because he’ll figure out the truth in a matter of moments if he hasn’t already. “In your desk, stuck to the bottom of a drawer.”
He doesn’t ask why I was rummaging through his belongings at one in the morning. We’re way past that now.
Through stiff lips, I force out a question of my own. “You were a cop?”
Squaring his shoulders, Roman runs a hand through his hair. “Still am.”
My mind flips, trying to make sense out of what he just confirmed. “But you work for my father,” I say stupidly.
His gaze turns steely. “Yes.”
“You’re working undercover,” I whisper as understanding dawns.
In that moment, my suspicions—the little things that didn’t add up—now make sense. My instincts were correct. Roman has been keeping a secret from me. I just never imagined it would be something of this magnitude.
“You’ve been lying to all of us.” My voice strengthens as his deceit comes into focus. “You’ve been using me.”
He makes a grab for me, but I shrink back and scrabble away. He looks torn as to whether he should come after me.
“It isn’t like that, Sofia,” he insists, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “You asked why I treated you the way I did, remember? This was the reason. From the beginning, I wanted you. Keeping you at a distance was the only recourse I had. It was the only way I could remain detached and get the job done.” He inches closer and reaches for me.
I slap his hands away before he can trap me and bolt for the bedroom, sickened by how he’s been collecting proof for the City of Chicago to bring down my family and indict my father. I need to get dressed and get the hell out of here. I can’t bear to be in the same room with him.
The entire time I’ve known Roman, all I ever wanted was to be close to him.
Now, the only thing I can think about is getting away from him as quickly as possible.
As I dart past, he snags me around the waist and drags me toward his still-naked body. I scream and swing wildly, trying to land a punch. The sobs building inside me pour out in a deluge. My fists pummel his chest, but it does no good. His strength—a quality I once admired—now works against me.
Roman picks me up and carries me kicking and screaming into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind us. He tosses me on the bed and climbs on top of me, yanking my arms above my head and pinning me in place with his lower body.
“Get off me!” I scream, not interested in listening to any more lies. I try bucking him off, but he doesn’t budge. Tears of frustration, sadness, and fear prick at the backs of my eyelids.
Roman shakes his head. “This is what you wanted, right? The truth. Well, now you’re going to hear me out.”
Narrowing my eyes, I hiss, “There’s nothing you can say that will make what you’ve done to my family okay. I won’t let you twist things around.” Inhaling a ragged breath, I force it out and try to calm down. “This is nothing more than an assignment to you. Me. My family. The Valentinis. You’re working to bring charges against us. That’s what this has been about all along. Are you going to deny it?”
When he doesn’t respond to the accusations I’ve hurtled at him, I shriek, “That’s why you sought my father out in the first place! So you could work your way up through the organization and worm your way into our lives! You’ve been gathering evidence this entire time!”
Rage crashes through me, renewing my urge to fight him off. I grit my teeth and lift my elbows off the mattress while twisting my torso from side to side.
Roman tightens his grip on my wrists. “Yes,” he bites out harshly, “that’s exactly what I was doing. I’m an undercover detective working organized crime. I was tasked with the responsibility of gathering evidence to help bring down Enzo and the Valentini crime family.”
My eyes widen with shock. Hearing him make such a bold statement without a hint of remorse makes me want to lash out. To cause pain. I shake my head as tears slip from the corners of my eyes.
How could he do this to us?
If I weren’t hearing the words from his own lips, I would never believe them. I’d defend Roman as if he were family. That’s the way he’s been treated by us—like family. He’s one of my father’s most trusted men.
Except… he’s not.
He’s a traitor who wants to betray us.
That thought slices through my heart like a dagger.
I gather my remaining strength and struggle to free myself, but it’s no use. His tight grip doesn’t loosen at all. Fresh tears leak from my eyes. I want him to leave me alone so I can lick my wounds in peace.
He brings his face close to mine. “Just hear me out. Give me a chance to explain.”
The high-pitch
ed sound that falls from my lips verges on hysteria. “You’re kidding, right? All you’ve done is lie from day one. Your whole life, as far as I know, is a lie. Why should I believe anything you have to say?”
He rests his forehead against mine and stares into my eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. I never set out to fall in love with you, but that’s what happened.”
That admission feels like crushed glass ground into an open wound. Our entire relationship has been built on deception. I don’t know who Roman Santori is.
I turn away so that I don’t have to look into his dark eyes. Eyes that seem so earnest. Genuine. Eyes that still manage to pull at my heartstrings even though I don’t want them to. “Don’t say that,” I snap. “Just don’t.”
I bitterly recall all the times he told me to stay away. I should have heeded his warnings. They were probably the only times Roman was honest with me.
“Sofia, please, just give me a chance to explain,” he pleads, his voice low and raw.
I keep my eyes averted and use my only bargaining chip. “If I listen, will you release me?”
“After you hear me out, then yes, I’ll let you go.” He sighs. “If that’s what you still want.”
I turn my head to look at him with the most vicious glare I can summon. “It will be,” I say calmly. After a moment of silence, I snap, “Can we get on with it? I want to get this over with.”
Disappointment seeps into his eyes.
Good.
Roman needs to understand that there’s nothing he can say to thaw my frigid heart.
“From the time I was a kid, there was nothing I wanted to be other than a cop. Both my father and uncle were on the Chicago police force for about thirty-five years, just like their old man was before them. It was like the family occupation. After I finished college, I applied to CPD and was accepted. I never bothered to put in an application with any other department because I wanted to work in Chicago. Once I completed my training at the academy, I worked the streets for two years as a patrolman before making detective. My lieutenant pulled me into his office a year later and asked if I had any interest in transferring to the organized crime unit. I jumped at the chance since I’d grown up listening to stories about the Valentini family. Your father is like a modern-day Al Capone. Within a year of switching squads, I started working undercover. I spent months researching the Valentinis by digging through old articles and records investigating your family in Italy and chronicling the inception of the mafia and your familial ties to it. I created a timeline of events that shaped who your family is today. I can tell you obscure facts about your ancestors that you probably don’t even know.”
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