Page 14 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

Roma

I t’s been two days since my fingers were inside Ren’s cunt. Two days of thinking about her chest leaning into mine. About the way she took me by the shoulders and forced me closer.

Two days of fucking pain because every time I think about it my cock hardens. Two days ago, she left me desperate and high. She slammed the car door in my face.

But I wasn’t left desolate. Something sparked between us in that cab and she texted me back on Sunday. Flirty, silly texts.

Maybe I should be ashamed of coming in my pants like I did last night.

I walked out through the lobby, my pants wet and uncomfortable. But I did exactly as she asked because Ren owns my fucking soul. I understand that clearly.

But what I don’t understand is the fucking photo she sends me.

She’s in her living room. I can tell by how messy it is and because of the couch. And on that couch is another man. He sits there, in jeans and a T-shirt. Some stupid sheet mask on his face which does nothing to hide his muscles .

Why the fuck does Ren have someone over?

My hand wraps around the phone tight, squeezing. In a blur, the phone pounds into the ground. I don’t hear a sound or take in the chipped pieces scattered on the ground where I suddenly find myself.

“Kid. Hey, kid.” I shake my head not understanding. Uncle Dima comes into view and places a hand on my shoulder. “I need to ask you something.”

I don’t know when he got to my place or how he opened the door to the garage. It doesn’t matter. He’s here now, worry swimming in his dark eyes as he crouches beside me and asks, “Have you killed anyone lately?”

It takes over an hour to get to my dad’s house. The place is dark in the night, but when I enter through the garage it’s not hard to find him.

He’s making a sandwich. A small TV in the corner plays a baseball game. He takes a look at me and then glances over my shoulder. Uncle Dima silently follows behind.

“You thought I turned into a serial killer?” I ask.

Dad continues to spread mayonnaise on a slice of bread. I’m surprised Mom lets the stuff inside the house.

“Can you blame me?” he calmly asks. Much too calm. I’m vibrating while Dima pulls his cap further over his eyes.

“I’m not a serial killer!”

Dad adds tomato to his sandwich. “Five men, Roma. With one very obvious connection.”

“You and Dima”—I fling a hand in his direction—“seriously thought I killed five men.”

Dad places his sandwich together and cuts it into diagonals. Good lord, how is this man one of the bratva’s most feared ?

“That’s why you sent Uncle Dima to check in on me. You seriously thought I’d been off killing people.”

Dad takes a bite. “In all fairness, he also meant to check in on you, make sure you know, you didn’t end up one of the victims.”

“How do you even know about the men?” Dima only gave me the basics. Five of Ren’s ex-boyfriends have turned up.

“Ren called,” he admits, his face blank as he focuses on his food.

It’s not enough to fool me. “Ren called. She actually called you. Why would she call you?”

I don’t miss the look between Dad and Uncle Dima.

“I thought,” Dad says, taking another bite, “she seemed rather concerned.”

My insides twist. The fire I’ve seen the last few days in Ren—she still cares about me.

“What exactly did she say?” I ask them.

They share another look.

“I’m not the fucking killer!” I repeat. “This information shouldn’t be classified.”

Dima scoops up the other half of Dad’s sandwich, making him frown at his brother. But Dad asks as he chews, “You really want to know about the ex-lovers?”

“I want to know how they died,” I clarify. However, I’ll take all the information I can get. “Gunshot?”

“Overdose, one gunshot, but mainly knife wounds. Though, they all come out looking like different MO’s,” Dima says.

“Knife wounds?” I frown.

“Why’d your head go to guns?” Dad asks.

“Because someone tried to shoot Ren last night.”

It’s hard to surprise Dad. He got to where he is by being five steps forward. It’s where Elijah got all his obsessive thinking from. But my words cause him to lift his brows and he pauses his eating.

“You want to share why you were with Ren last night?”

“I wasn’t.” I run a hand through my hair. I rushed out of my place so fast, I’m not sure what I look like. My phone barely works. Bits of the shattered glass are still on my garage floor.

“So this is second hand information?” Dad questions.

“No.” I sigh. “I went to her place last night. She and the British triggerman were accosted by someone right outside her apartment door.”

Dima makes a face. “Outside? Sounds shit at his job.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “He got overwhelmed quickly, fled the scene.”

Dad and Dima share another look.

“What?” I ask.

“Beyond the obvious—”Dima tears into his sandwich—“concern that you went to see Ren last night? I’m slightly suspicious as to why Callahan is suddenly finding herself under attack.”

“Did Aunt Macy ever?—”

“No one fucked with Aunt Macy,” Dad cuts me off. He’s finished his sandwich and tucks his hands into his pockets. He’s still wearing a tie and looks ten times more put together than Dima and me.

“Then what do you think is going on?” I ask.

Dima shrugs. “I’m not sure, but it’d be a good time for one to put their ear to the ground.”

“Is this you?” I ask my father and uncle.

They have the audacity to appear hurt I’d ask.

“You’ve fucked with Ren before,” I tell my dad.

“And you’ve fucked Ren,” he cooly replies. White heat simmers within me. “Why did you go to see her, son?”

I shake my head .

“Roma.” His voice is softer but demanding.

“It’s nothing, Dad.”

“It’s something,” he argues. “You two don’t go near one another for years and all of a sudden you show up at her place?”

“I’m not talking about this.” I’m not talking to my dad about my love life ever again. It’s how it got so fucked up in the first place.

“Talking about what?” Despite wearing heels, it’s only when she’s at the bottom of the stairs that we realize Mom is right there.

She, like my father, abhors casual clothes. She’s wearing a satin skirt and a cashmere sweater. Nude heels ensure she comes up to my father’s shoulders. She’s holding a large potted plant. A tall, blooming, white orchid.

“What is that?” Dad asks just as I tell her, “Dad, thought I’d turned into a serial killer.”

Naturally, she latches on to my statement.

She walks to the kitchen island, setting down the pot. The housemaid might set out florals, but my mom doesn’t have a green thumb. Yet, she studiously gazes at the potted plant, the white blooms matching her clothes.

“Why does your father think you’re a serial killer?” she quietly asks.

It’s then I realize, I’m not sure I want to talk to my mom about this either. “Ren’s. . . boyfriends have all been disappearing.”

Ice-blue eyes blink at me. Then she turns toward her husband. “And your father believes you are the one who killed all these other men in Ren’s life?”

Dad clears his throat.

“Yes,” I answer for him.

She sighs tiredly. I don’t know why she keeps staring at the orchid. “And Ren? Does she believe it’s you. ”

If she did would she have rubbed me off like she did last night?

Mom’s not looking for my answer, though. “No, she would know,” she says.

“What?” I ask.

Dima frowns at the orchid like he can’t understand what it’s doing here either.

“You are your father’s son,” Mom says in her accented voice. It’s soft, but even after almost thirty years in the States, she’s never lost it. “If you wanted to kill Ren’s boyfriends, you would not do so in the shadows.”

“I. . . wouldn’t?”

“No.” She’s sure of it. “You would kill them in front of Ren.”

“That’s a bit brutal.” Yet, Mom didn’t blink as she said it. “You really think I’d do that?”

Until two days ago, I never thought I’d touch Ren again.

And while it’s a start, I know the beast inside me isn’t satisfied.

It’s why the photo of her with the other man pissed me the fuck off.

She thought she’d done something cute. What if I slammed into her apartment and killed the motherfucker? If I dragged her away and kept her.

The beast demands her.

I’m the beast.

Knowing blue eyes peer at me again. “Your father’s done it.”

Dad rubs the back of his neck. My parents aren’t close and I’ve only noticed it more now that I’m an adult.

He doesn’t want to ask her to leave, but it’s clear he feels she interrupted something.

And it is unusual for Mom to come down to the kitchen.

This is where most of the staff works and she doesn’t eat a whole lot.

A fact that’s clear as I take in her bony figure.

Dad had a late meeting. She probably didn’t eat dinner with him away.

“Dad?” I question.

But Mom answers, turning back to the orchid. “Your father had a rival, vying for Emma’s affections.”

Emma.

Elijah’s mom. She came to New York on a scholarship. The British woman had no idea she’d fall in love with a mafia prince destined to rule the bratva one day.

Dad met her in a shitty dive bar close to her university. She didn’t give him the time of day. He went home and learned everything he could about the Premier League.

She died just days after Elijah’s third birthday. Cancer took her swiftly. So swiftly that sometimes I wonder if Dad ever found his stability again.

It’s another thing I only began recognizing as an adult. After I lost Ren’s love.

Dad’s love for Mom. . . let’s just say we all know she’s the second wife.

“I’ve never heard this story.” And Dad has a lot of Emma stories.

He rubs the back of his neck again. “It was. . .”

“John Hope,” Dima helpfully supplies. “He pissed his pants before you dropped him into the Hudson.”

“You didn’t really kill him?” I ask.

“Oh, he killed him,” Dima confirms. I think I might understand now why he so willingly thought I might be a serial killer.

“Love does strange things to us sometimes.” Dad shrugs.

“You killed John Hope, Dad.”

He picks lint off his shirt. “In my defense he was a little bitch.”

“And how. . . did Emma take that?”

“Wouldn’t speak to him for weeks,” Dima says. Dad’s jaw clenches. “Almost left the country.”

“Okay. . . well, good thing I didn’t kill anyone. ”

I relay an important message to the beast inside me—don’t become a serial killer. It freaks girls out.

“We’re all clear on the fact that I didn’t kill any of Ren’s ex’s?” I ask the room. It’s silent. “We’re all clear?” I ask a little louder.

Dima fidgets with his hat. “Sure, yeah.”

“Of course, son.”

Mom keeps staring at her orchid.

My curiosity wins out. “Where did you get that?”

“I bought it for myself.” There’s a little garden shop nearby. I assume she went there, but I can’t picture her there in her heels.

“You hate plants,” Dad points out. She doesn’t reply.