Page 34

ROMAN

“ S he changed her mind, Roman. It’s done.”

Gregor’s words hit me like a bullet to the chest.

First came the shock, then the pain slammed into me all at once. My heart pounded, and my lungs refused to draw breath.

“No,” I said—less a statement, more a whispered plea.

“She gave me everything. Bank accounts. Passcodes. She’s cutting all ties, Roman.

She’s done. I had to force her to keep the house in Russia and a couple hundred grand just so she could survive on her own.

If she’s smart, she’ll live comfortably—but she’ll never have the power to be a threat again. ”

“She is not a threat,” I growled, standing and planting my hands flat on the desk.

Gregor leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed casually over his chest, a smug I-told-you-so smirk playing on his lips. “Not anymore, she’s not.”

I sank back into my chair, letting the mask of indifference fall over my features while I fought to contain the war raging inside my chest.

The only outward sign of my unraveling was the way my hands gripped the desk—so tight my knuckles went white. For a second, I thought I might actually snap the wood beneath my fingers.

I was mad enough to try. And all that rage had to go somewhere.

Gregor’s posture shifted. Something flickered in his eyes, something softer, almost like recognition. Maybe even compassion?

I hadn’t known he was capable of that. At least not for anyone but his wife. The smirk vanished, his arms dropped, and he stepped forward to stand in front of the desk.

“She asked for a flight to Russia. I’ve already arranged it. You just need to get her to the airstrip. I insisted you be the one to take her. Figured you’d want to see her off with your own two eyes.”

“She tried to fight you on that. Didn’t she?” I asked.

How could a man’s world shift so suddenly?

I had been so sure-footed. I had a plan. I knew exactly how my life was going to unfold. Then—with no warning, not even a tremble—the ground collapsed beneath me.

And I was losing everything that mattered.

“She did.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes shifting from the floor to the ceiling and back again. “Look, there’s something you should know. I think you deserve to hear it from her, but I’m pretty sure she’s not going to tell you. And… I’m worried about what you’re going to do if…”

Gregor never minced words. He never trailed off mid-sentence. He was a man who got to the point, quickly and definitively.

None of the Ivanov men had time to sugarcoat anything or protect anyone from the truth.

Whatever this was, it was big. It had to be, for Zoya to run from me when she’d been so content lying beneath me only hours ago.

“Tell me,” I demanded.

His shoulders rose, then he rolled them back and down like he was bracing for a fight or trying to center himself for the blow he was about to deliver.

The pit in my stomach hardened. Whatever this was, I didn’t want to hear it.

But I needed to.

“She’s refusing to marry you. But it’s not for the reasons you think.”

“You mean it’s not because she values her independence?

Not because she’s decided she actually doesn’t like me—let alone love me—and thinks the idea of spending her life with me is equivalent to being locked in a cage?

” I gave him a flat look. “Or does it have more to do with her being left tied to a bed and treated like a prisoner while she healed, and now she thinks she’ll never be accepted by this family? ”

Despite our brief time together, I knew Zoya.

I knew how she thought and how badly she needed some control over her life. I had every intention of giving her that control—within reason.

If she wanted to conquer the world, I wanted to be her right hand. I wouldn’t let her attack my family again, but I’d gladly start a war with someone else. I already had a few names in mind.

As soon as I proved to her that her place was by my side, we’d be unstoppable.

“No,” Gregor said, still staring at the floor.

I clenched my jaw and waited for him to finish whatever the hell he was about to say. Bracing himself was the smart move, because I was seconds away from leaping over the desk and slamming him against the wall until he gave me answers.

“The wives—they didn’t know about her medical condition. When they were all in the spa and brought up kids, they just assumed…you know. Especially with how good you are with them. They didn’t mean anything by it. But Samara said Zoya just…shut down.”

“What do you mean, shut down?” I asked, leaning forward in my seat, trying to make sense of what could have changed her mind so fast.

“Zoya didn’t say anything when they asked about her wanting children. Her face went pale. She just stared at her hands. Samara said it was like whatever shred of hope she had about staying died in that moment.”

I said nothing.

What the fuck was there to say?

A muscle ticked in Gregor’s jaw. He rolled his shoulders back again and shifted his tone. The soft edges were gone. He was back in asshole-in-charge mode.

“I told you this would happen. She’s not one of us. She was never going to be one of us. You should’ve let it go the second she stepped into our world. Women like her don’t belong here. She wasn’t made for it.”

I bit my tongue.

Not one of us?

Samara wasn’t one of us—until Gregor made her one. She was a spoiled daughter of a corrupt businessman, not a bratva princess. Yelena was barely one of us. Her father was a low-level criminal who licked boots and kissed ass while running numbers with our enemies.

Hell, Alina was a janitor and a bartender before Pavel claimed her. She wasn’t even adjacent to our world. Marina’s stepsister was a bratva princess, but Marina herself? She just knew enough not to ask questions.

Zoya was one of us.

She wasn’t an Ivanov, but she was every bit the bratva princess Nadia was and more. Her family may not have had our power, but her father was still the head of a bratva family—and a massive pain in the ass.

More than that, she’d done the same thing Gregor and Artem had done—but with far fewer resources and advantages. They had strengthened an already powerful name.

Zoya had rebuilt herself from ashes.

She took dust and rage and used them to forge an empire. And she did it without the support Gregor and Artem had—from family or allies. She did it in a world that refused to take her seriously.

She wasn’t like the other wives—fierce in their own right but happy to let their men handle the things they’d rather not know about.

Zoya was like us. Direct. Fierce. Strong.

I kept my mouth shut. Telling Gregor how powerful and resourceful my little warrior really was wouldn’t help anyone. And I didn’t want to insult his wife. I liked Samara. But she wasn’t Zoya.

“I’ll handle it,” I said, rising to my feet.

“Cousin, let her go. She doesn’t belong here.” Gregor reached out to put a hand on my arm.

“Zoya is mine. She belongs wherever I am. I’ll handle it.” With that, I turned toward the door. Just before stepping out, I paused, planting a hand on the doorframe but not looking back.

“And Gregor—when this is done, you’re returning every penny.”

The second I stepped into the room, she was already moving. Pacing the small space like a caged tigress, tension rolling off her in waves.

Every one of her movements was sharp, defensive. Her muscles were coiled tight. She was a predator backed into a corner.

Zoya wanted to fight.

She’d changed into something practical and perfect for travel. Black jeans. A fitted sweater. Her hair pulled back. She looked ready for anything. A fifteen-hour flight or a fight to the death.

Her gaze snapped to mine the second I entered.

“Don’t,” she said. Her tone was low—a warning and a plea wrapped into one.

Zoya was pretending she didn’t want to fight. But she was spoiling for one. She didn’t even want to win. She wanted the fight itself. To claw and rage and lose.

She expected me to force her hand. To make the choice for her so she wouldn’t have to.

Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t in the habit of giving in to anyone’s desires, especially not when it came to something like this.

I swung the door shut behind me slowly. Casually. I took my time, revealing no emotion. No tells.

“Don’t do what?”

Something flashed in her eyes too quickly for me to catch. But her fists clenched at her sides, her shoulders squared, and her chin lifted in defiance.

“Don’t try to stop me. Don’t pretend you care. And don’t you dare feed me some line about how I could stay if I wanted to.”

I stepped forward, using my size to take up space. Crowding her. Suffocating her. I didn’t stop until I was close enough to see the emotions she was so desperately trying to hide.

Or maybe she was trying to hide them from herself.

“I’m not here to stop you,” I said, my voice low and rough.

She stilled.

Froze. Like she couldn’t believe those words had just come out of my mouth.

I shrugged, slipping my hands into my pockets. “I’m driving you to the hangar. Gregor arranged the flight. You’re on our jet within the hour.”

Her breath caught. For the first time, uncertainty crept across her face.

She wanted a fight. She expected it.

That was exactly why I wouldn’t give her one.

She was prepared for the version of me I’d shown her over and over. The relentless, unforgiving tyrant who refused to let her go.

So that was the last thing I was going to be.

Instead, I pretended I was ready to let her walk away.

To her credit, she recovered quickly. She masked her hesitation with biting defiance.

“Good. Then let’s go.”

I didn’t move.

For a moment, neither did she. She stood there, eyes wide, staring up at me, so close I could feel her heat through our clothes.

Her fingers twitched. Like she wanted to throw something. Hit something. Hit me.

“I mean it, Roman. I’m leaving.”

She looked at me. Said my name. But she was really talking to herself, trying to convince herself she was doing the right thing.

There was nothing I could say to change her mind. Not with words. My little warrior was far too stubborn to be swayed by anyone. She had to come to the truth on her own.

“I know,” I said, keeping my voice calm.

Her eyes twitched. Her fingers remained curled into tight fists.

That wasn’t the response she expected. And deep down, it wasn’t the one she wanted.

She let out a sharp breath and turned away, bracing her hands on the dresser. “God, you’re such an asshole.”

My lips twitched, but I kept my expression neutral. “And yet, you still look like you’re waiting for me to stop you. Why is that, Zoya?”

She spun around, rage blazing in her eyes. She knew I was calling her out and she hated it. “I’m not. I don’t want you to stop me.”

I tilted my head, leaning in like I was going to kiss her.

God, I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to taste that defiance. That sweet, bitter fury.

But not yet.

She flinched, but she didn’t pull away.

Instead, I traced my thumb across her lips, gently, deliberately. When I spoke again, my words were like a blade—silent, seductive destruction.

“I don’t give a damn about your bank accounts, your escape plan, or how many times you tell yourself you don’t belong here,” I murmured. “But don’t stand there and lie to me. Don’t pretend you don’t feel this. I know you do.”

Her breath hitched.

I smirked. “You want to run? Fine. Run. But don’t act like you’re not already mine.”

Her pulse pounded, the vein fluttering in her neck, her lips parting on a gasp.

“Screw you, Roman.”

My hands slid up to her jaw, fingers firm as I tilted her face toward mine.

“Give it a few hours,” I whispered darkly against her ear, her heartbeat jolting beneath my fingertips. “And you’ll wish you had.”

Her hands pressed against my chest. And for a second—a brief, fleeting second—I thought she was going to give in.

Instead, she shoved me.

Hard enough that I had to take a step back to keep my balance.

“Let’s go,” she snapped. “The sooner I get out of here, the better.”

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders before grabbing her suitcase. Without another word, I turned toward the door and held it open.

“Then let’s go.” I repeated her words when she didn’t immediately follow.

She hesitated.

Just for a moment.

Like she didn’t actually want to leave.

Like she couldn’t believe I was giving in.

Part of me couldn’t believe it either.

But I seemed to do a lot of things I wouldn’t normally do—for her.