Page 26 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

Roma

M y frustration at Ren comes in two waves.

The first is when Nat texts me to say she spotted Ren with my mother at lunch today. When I messaged Ren what did I get? Left on read.

I gave her hours to reply and I heard nothing.

Naturally, that wouldn’t do so I headed to her place. The doorman stopped me.

“You’re not on the list.”

My teeth ground together. I’d have headed up anyway if it weren’t for Trevino stepping off the elevators.

“You’ve been taken off the guest list,” he said without an ounce of apology. He did, though, eye up my closed fists.

The seething, whirling fury of the beast inside demanded a fight. But then the image of Ren, standing in her living room in a robe, her eyes red, gave me pause.

I’ll give her space. Tonight at least. Then she’ll find out what Trevino’s body will look like after I dump him in the harbor if she tries to keep me out again.

That doesn’t mean I’m not ready for a fight tonight, though.

A highlight reel of the Yankees plays in the kitchen. Dad wipes mustard off his mouth. “Roman, my dear son. This is three times I’ve seen you in my house in a two week time period. What an honor.”

“Where’s Mom?” One foot is already on the bottom stair when she appears.

It’s nearly ten o’clock at night and she’s still got a pair of heels on. I can’t remember the last time I saw her with her hair down. The blonde strands curl slightly and her blue eyes remain unblinking as she comes down the stairs, holding onto the railing.

“I thought you were in bed,” Dad says in Russian.

She cuts in front of the small TV and reaches over to hand Dad a napkin.

He wipes off his lips while holding his sandwich in one hand.

She brushes a hand over my cheek, but I duck. Her hand remains hanging in the air before she slowly lowers it.

“You went to lunch today with Ren.”

“Huh?” Dad chokes on his sandwich. A glob of mayonnaise splatters onto his plate. “What?”

“What happened?” I asked. I don’t think as a little kid I even followed her around asking questions. Here I am twenty-seven and pestering her in the kitchen. “Why did you go to lunch?”

“She asked me.” She frowns slightly like she doesn’t understand my urgent questioning.

“But why’d you go?”

“It’d be rude not to accept after I already agreed.”

“Why, Yelena?” Dad asks. He doesn’t admonish Mom in front of others. Not really. His brow is wrinkled, though, as he wipes the table up. “Ren is. . .”

“Normally too busy to take a lunch?” Mom finishes for him.

He smooths his shirt down, the gray material somehow lucky not to end up with a food stain. “I’ve never lectured you about who you dine with, but you know Ren and what she does. And you know. . .”

I’ve hardly seen Dad search for words and yet here is.

“That we screwed her over and now she hates us,” I say for him.

“People know she came to Sailor’s birthday.” Mom stands by the island, looking out of place in the kitchen. The backsplash is made out of earth-toned tiles. Pots and pans are hung up and the brick wall arches over the huge gas stove.

She’s once again in her clothes of choice—a gray satin skirt and gray sweater. There’s a purplish undertone to it that drags her down instead of brightening her. Or maybe it’s the yellow lights of the kitchen making her appear like one giant walking bruise.

“Which in itself was weird,” Dad says of the party invitation. “People asked questions.”

“Like what?” Mom asks.

“Like why she was there.”

“Did you tell them she helped Russet adopt Sailor.”

Dad grabs his whiskey. “We have lawyers. Adopting Sailor was never an issue.”

“I think it took great courage,” Mom says, “of that Trevino to bring the will to Ren. I’m quite pleased he came along.”

“She brought a bodyguard to my house!”

Dad didn’t seem so aggrieved yesterday. He’s held it in and maybe because we interrupted his meal, but he looks like he’s going to need another glass of whiskey.

“She suggested we add more guards to Roma for protection.” Mom straightens a crystal bowl of fruit on the island. “I think she is worried about you.”

“Did you talk about me?” I ask slightly horrified but also curious.

“Of course. What else would we talk about,” she says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Mom. . . you can’t just. . .”

Her blue eyes are clear. Go to lunch with your girlfriend she silently tells me. I fall onto a barstool.

“She eats like a pig.”

“Mom!”

“It is so unfair.” She turns the crystal bowl. “To be able to eat anything she wants and not gain weight. Though, I fear she is a bit too skinny. Roma, you must feed her.”

For a second it feels like there’s too much to unpack there. Even Dad stands there, his lips parted in surprise.

Mom isn’t one to soften her tone yet here she is saying the closest thing to a compliment she’ll ever say. And then topping it off with a not-so-subtle hint that it’s my responsibility to keep her fed.

“Why would Roma be feeding Ren?” Dad asks, hands on his hips. I get a flashback to my high school days when I came home after mouthing off to a teacher. Dad struck up this same pose. And it’s the toned-down version, not the one he uses as the mafia king.

I rub my face. “Dad?—”

“Is that why you were over at her place the other day?” he asks. “Wait, you’re telling me you two rekindled the flame.”

“Something like that,” I mutter.

“It’s not going to work, Roma.”

He’s confident. Factual. Almost pityingly as he stares at me.

“Roma,” he sighs. “I’m not saying this to be an asshole. But you don’t want to mix business and pleasure.”

“Have. . . have you met yourself?” I ask, standing again. “You forced your son into a marriage! You’ve got a granddaughter because Max married the woman you told him to.”

“Fortunately it worked out. ”

“And if it hadn’t!” The yell bursts from me. “That’d just be too bad, huh. Guess he’d have to suck it up living with someone he hates for the rest of his life.”

The words snap back at me at the same time my dad blinks.

Mom doesn’t look wounded, though. You can’t, when you’ve looked like it your whole life.

I force air into my lungs, trying to steady my pulse when Mom’s hand lands on my shoulder.

“Tell him about the shop, Roma.”

Her words make Dad go on alert, waiting for me to explain.

“It’s not. . .” I try to tell her. But Dad is waiting. “I’m thinking about opening my own mechanic shop. Working on classics.”

Dad frowns. “You want to work on cars? You’re thinking about turning your hobby into a living?”

“I’ve got the space,” I explain. “And Sam gave up his business. Morozov needs help with his Impala. And considering he buys a new car once a month I think I could make a loyal customer out of him.”

“One customer doesn’t float a business.”

“I know. It could be a slow start, but people trust me.”

“People?” Dad cuts in. “You mean my friends. My associates.”

I stand quietly in the kitchen.

“I’m not being a hard ass, son. I’m not one to stand in the way of a man’s goals, but you’re coming to me without a business plan in a tough economic climate. It needs work. A lot of it.”

“I know.”

“And why am I hearing about this just now?”

I don’t think Dad’s ever been on this side. Where his sons use their mother as a sounding board instead of him .

“It’s new,” I admit. As in it’s an idea that came up a week ago. I dismissed it, but Ren’s words from last night come to me. I’d offered to quit my job. To step away from the family business if that’s what it took.

She didn’t take me seriously, but I’m not about to lose her again.

Dad must see the colossal shift in me. We stand there not saying anything, but we don’t need to.

“A serious decision like that,”—he means leaving the family business—“can’t be made because of a girl.”

He takes his plate and it clatters into the sink.

“Think about it more and come to me with a business plan.”

I see it in the way his shoulders remain tight. He’s stopping himself from telling me my dreams are stupid. Because he knows even without Ren, I don’t want to work for him anymore.

Protecting my family isn’t mutually exclusive with working for them.

And I’m mad it took me so long to figure it out.