Page 53 of Beautifully Damned (Sinful Fates #2)

Roman

Warm touches. The faint trace of flowers. Kisses that taste of heaven. An angel came to me last night. Or maybe I dreamed her, the way fever breeds illusions. I don’t know anymore. My body aches with every breath.

A cool weight presses to my forehead. Hope claws at my chest, and I force my eyes open.

Elena.

The disappointment cuts like knives. Was it all in my head? Ayla whispering that she loved me. Ayla begging me to eat, saying it gutted her when I didn’t. Ayla pressing her lips to mine, soft and trembling.

I choke on the memory. I never knew what love was.

But I watched. I saw Bratva men with their wives.

I saw my brother with Lola. Always from a distance, disgust curdling in my throat.

And as punishment, fate gave me a need so violent it stripped me bare—a need for her that no word—not even love—can hold.

I grip Elena’s wrist before she can press another cloth to my skin. My voice scrapes raw. “Was she here?”

Elena falters, fingers twisting together. “ Da .”

I lurch upright, the room swaying. Black spots dance in my vision. I collapse back, breath snarling out of me. “Where is she?”

Her face tightens into a scowl. She dips the cloth into water, wringing it out. “She left.”

She left.

But she came back for me. She touched me. She told me she loved me. She begged me to live. So let her run. Let her try to tear herself away. She’s mine to chase.

I was supposed to give her space, to let her breathe free of me. But the second she confessed what I have bled for—what I have torn myself apart for—that promise turned to ash. If she loves me, she believes I am worthy. And if she believes it, I will crawl, kneel, and bleed until it is true.

I will grovel, but I will never lose her.

The door closes behind a sniffing Elena. Ayla’s grip is deeper than anyone realizes. She has the entire Bratva under her thumb.

The door opens again. Mikhail steps in, eyes swollen. He carries a tray of food that steams in the dim light. He sets it down, drags a chair across the floor, and sits opposite me.

“Eat,” he says, voice cracking. “Please.”

I want to refuse, to sink further into my punishment, but her voice slices through the negative thoughts: It guts me when you don’t eat.

I grab the food and shove it in. Mikhail stares like I’ve sprouted horns. “We’ve been begging you for days. Threats, bribes—nothing worked. And all it took was one visit from her?”

I ignore him, chewing. His words don’t need an answer. He leans back, chair groaning. “You’re in love with her.”

I swallow, throat raw. “I can’t breathe without her. I’ll do anything to prove I deserve her. If it means starving, bleeding, burning myself alive—I’ll do it. As long as she never doubts she is sacred to me.” I wipe my mouth, meeting his eyes. “Is that love, brother? Or something worse?”

Mikhail laughs once. “Love? No, Roman. You’re not just in love. You’re obsessed.”

“Does she love you?” he asks carefully after a long silence.

“She does.” She told me so herself yesterday; she doesn’t get to take it back.

Mikhail exhales, shoulders slumping. “Then go get her.”

If only. I stare at the empty tray. “I’m not worthy.

Not after what I’ve done. I only understood what I felt after I almost lost her.

What woman wants a man who feels nothing for anyone else?

Who can’t even promise to love their future children?

She’s the only one I’ve ever felt this ‘love’ for.

And I already broke her once. She won’t hand me her pieces again. ”

Mikhail slams his fist against the chair arm. “You’re blind. You carried this Bratva when father died. You fed men, kept us alive, made us stronger. Any woman would be lucky to have you, rough edges or not.”

“I am the lucky one. Without her, I am only surviving. With her, I live.”

He narrows his eyes. “Then stop killing yourself. Starving won’t bring her back. It’ll only leave you too weak to fight when another man tries to take her.”

A red haze spills over my vision. “No one will take her.” My voice is a growl. “No one.”

“Look at you,” he spits. “A shell. Rotting. That’s how men lose what matters. Is that what you want?”

I roar, chest heaving. “It’s all I know! When I fail, I starve. When I’m unworthy, I bleed. That’s what I was taught.”

Mikhail pales. Chest rising and falling like he’s choking. “Taught by who?”

I drain the cup of water with shaking hands. “Father.”

Mikhail’s face twists into something savage. “That bastard.”

Memories crawl up my spine. Dark rooms. Fists. Hunger so deep it chews at my bones. Days without food until the weakness itself became a lesson. Discipline through suffering. Always failing. Never enough.

Mikhail’s eyes burn, wet with tears he refuses to let fall. “I was jealous once. Jealous that father gave you all his attention. I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t meant to know,” I mutter. “You weren’t the future Pakhan. I was.”

“No. That’s not why. He knew exactly who you’d become. And he hated it. He hated that you were stronger than him.” He mutters, not looking at me.

I never thought of it the way Mikhail put it. Truth is, I don’t want to think of the past anymore. All I’m thinking about is, what if I let myself rot long enough for someone else—someone stronger—to step in and take Ayla from me?

No.

I may not be worthy of her, but that doesn’t mean she gets a choice in who owns her. She doesn’t get to belong to another man in this lifetime, or any other.

That’s why I stand. My body aches, but the fire is back in my chest. I’ll bulk up again. I’ll beg for her forgiveness.

Mikhail senses that no part of me wants to talk about the past anymore, and he lets out a small, forced chuckle. “You’ve got a mountain of groveling ahead of you, brother.”

“You’re right.”

I turn toward the bathroom, but his hand clamps around my wrist. His grip is firm, reluctant to let go.

“Roman,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry. I never saw it. I never noticed. If I had…” His jaw tightens. “If I had, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Even if you had noticed—what then? What could you have possibly done?”

He doesn’t answer. He lets go, exhaling. “Thank you for everything, brother. And I do love you.”

My lip curls faintly. “I’m fond of you, too, Mikhail.” But the word “love” is only reserved for one person in my book. He doesn’t take offense, patting my shoulder and leaving me to my thoughts.

I strip, shower, and let the water sting me back to life. Slick my hair back. Dress sharp. A man preparing for war.

Downstairs, Elena exhales in relief when she sees me, as though she’s been holding her breath for days. Then Lola rushes to me, colliding against my chest. I place a hand on her back, patting awkwardly. When she pulls away, her palm smacks hard against my arm.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she snaps, teeth bared.

A ghost of a smile plays at my lips. I have grown fond of my sister-in-law, even if she pisses me off sometimes. “I won’t.”

She smooths a stray strand of hair from my forehead and mutters, “Go get your girl.”

I don’t need more than that.

I drive through the night, until the city melts into quiet roads, until I reach the house I bought for Ayla. Away from the Bratva, close to her university.

I park outside. Step out. Sit in front of her door. She’s just beyond these walls, breathing the same air. So close my chest aches.

For the first time in days, I close my eyes and sleep without nightmares.