Page 3 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

Roma

“ H ot fucking damn.” Uncle Dima struts into the garage like he owns the place. His shoulders are back for once so he must be feeling a particular type of way.

Pushing back sweaty hair, I ask, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It’s late, but my uncle makes a show of checking out the place.

It’s like most garages. Oil-stained concrete floors. One of the bay doors remains wide open. My Barracuda is on jacks and Uncle Dima nods at it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Oil change.” I wipe my hands on a stray rag before throwing into onto a workbench. “What are you doing here?”

He’s yet to meet my eye. He strokes his goatee, the facial hair now peppered with gray. He’s got on his typical tracksuit and wears a green flat cap.

“What’s that?” I ask. There’s a plastic shopping bag in his hand.

The material crinkles as he pulls out a tiny outfit. Proudly, he waves a hand at the matching hoodie and sweats, the velvet material a bright blue. There are little stripes down the edge of the pants adding to its sporty look.

“Huh,” he says, eyes bright. I can’t remember the last time my uncle appeared so jovial.

His shoulders are perpetually rounded, his face naturally sagging. He doesn’t give a fuck about his appearance and shit if I’ve ever seen him eat a fucking vegetable.

Dimitri Zimin is a good uncle. He’s quiet, but always ready to hand out advice to either of his three nephews.

He’s older than Dad but acts like his shadow. Helping the bratva any way he can. The enforcer to Dad’s businessman. While Dad boasts and tells jokes, Dima is more subtle, landing a wry quip every once and a while.

“What is that?” I ask when he continues to proudly show off the baby clothes.

“It’s for Sailor. Look it matches.” He shows off his own sweatsuit. “We’re going to be twins.”

I stare at him. “You’re out of your mind if you think Russ is gonna let Sailor wear that.”

“What do you mean?” He waves a hand down his current outfit. “It’s stylish. It’s easy to move around in, comfortable you know.”

“She’s a kid.”

“So?”

“So are you going to go play chess in the park after this, old man?” I pick up a wrench, fidgeting with the metal.

Dima frowns. “I’m not that old. Why would you say that?”

I point at his outfit. “You dress like you’re an old guy from the nineties.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to accuse me of going to go feed pigeons in the park next? ”

“I can’t believe Dad lets you show up to meetings dressed like that.”

From a young age, Dad put us in button-downs. The habit stuck with Elijah and Max. I might prefer T-shirts, but at least I know what a pair of dress shoes are. Dima wears the same outfit seven days a week. He showed up to Max’s wedding in a zip-up hoodie.

Dima scowls, though, it barely takes over his face. Dad’s anger is palpable, changing the atmosphere. Dima’s way too laid back for that.

“You know I expect this from your brothers, but not from you,” he says.

I twirl the wrench between my fingers. “Why are you here again?”

He stuffs the baby outfit back in the bag. “Well, little nephew, I was in the area. Thought, I’d show off my goods. I didn’t realize this new shop of yours would be such a hostile environment.”

“Hardly.” The wrench clatters onto the workbench. I wipe sweat off my brow.

Dima casts an appraising eye around the place again. “This is nice, Roman. Really nice.”

My brothers and I have owned property since we turned eighteen. The small garage with an apartment above is hardly a penthouse or a giant warehouse like my brothers own.

But it’s in the middle of the city and I love living here. The moment I saw it go on the market, I snapped it up. My own personal space to fix up cars in the middle of New York City? Seemed like fate finally beckoned me with something good.

“Thanks,” I tell my uncle. As small as the compliment seems, Uncle Dima doesn’t say such things lightly.

“Everything moved in like you want?” He eyes a pair of stairs leading to the apartment above.

“Yeah, it’s all good.” Elijah showed up with a moving crew a month ago. He proceeded to sit on the couch supervising the workers. But I took his appearance as a sign of affection.

“Russ and Len been around to help you spruce up the place?” Dima asks.

“I don’t need anything.” I’ve had the same brown leather couch since I turned twenty. I know how to keep my items well cared for.

“You’re not interested in getting a dog?” Dima asks.

I shake my head.

“No woman or?” He scratches his beard.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, frowning. My uncle is always welcome, but I’ll be damned if I’ve ever seen this side of him. Awkward and caring, yes. But digging for information about my dating life?

He laughs and his grin reminds me of Dad’s. “Nah. I’m an old man. I like my space just the way it is.” He shrugs, though. “But you know I watched your dad fall in love and. . .”

Dima shrugs again.

“Are you trying to ask me if I’m sad about my brothers falling in love while I remain single?”

His bushy brows lift. “I mean you don’t have to stay single.”

“You’re shit with love advice. You know that, so I’m not sure where the fuck this is coming from.”

Except I do. Dima would never come here on his own. At least not to discuss relationships.

“Dad send you?” He had to have pressured him, because there’s no way he’d go along with it.

Dima scratches his cheek. “Your mom’s calling you.”

I don’t reach for my phone, lying on the worktable. After a second it darkens. It’s fifty/fifty on whether Mom will leave a voicemail. She doesn’t like leaving them. She says why bother begging someone to call you back when they so clearly didn’t want to talk to you in the first place.

Guess, it’s not like I’ve been leaving her a lot of messages lately either.

Max is the mama’s boy of the family. At least until this shit went down with Russ.

“So it’s both your parent’s you’re icing out?” Dima asks.

The sigh rips out of me before I can stop it. “Why’d you come here?”

“I’m worried about you.” His tired face reflects how I feel.

“Because I don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Because for five years you’ve walked around like a wounded animal.”

His words are a shot to my already battered heart. I curl my fingers into the waistband of my stained jeans, stopping my hand from clapping over the vital organ.

“I’m not a wounded animal,” I murmur, raking a hand through my hair. My clothes stick to me thanks to the sweat. This week’s rain makes the city into a sweltering pit of humidity.

“No?” Dima prods. “Oh, so you’re just a caged one.”

I should’ve kept the bay door closed while I changed the oil in my car. It’d have been easier to keep Dima away.

“You loved that girl,” my uncle says.

“Yeah,” I admit.

Ren Callahan is fucking imprinted on my God damn soul. And fuck if everyone in my family doesn’t know it.

But I’m taken aback when my uncle says, “You either have to get over it or get her back.”

A bitter laugh catches in my throat. Ren’s more likely to hire her best friend to put a hit out on me than ever take me back. The only reason she hasn’t is because her business means more to her. She can’t be an impartial party to various transactions if she starts a war by offing a Zimin.

“I did get over it.”

Dima raises an eyebrow. “If you were over it you’d start talking to your dad again.”

“It’s called boundaries.” I fight the urge to pick up another tool off the workbench. Elijah swaggers about and Max stays eerily still. I fidget. Dad tried his best to beat it out of me.

Don’t give yourself away. That's what he used to tell us.

Funny, how he never mentioned it was fine so long as he wanted us to give ourselves away.

Dima, his perception on point, follows my thoughts.

“Being angry at your father is one thing, but at some point you gotta own up to the choices you made.”

I frown at his emphasis.

“We all do things in this line of work. Things we may or may not be proud of. Things that test us,” Dima explains. “For the better of our family, we make sacrifices. We fuck shit up as your dear brother Elijah tends to say.”

That’s what I did. I fucked Ren’s life up.

I took the girl in sneakers and jeans, the one newly arrived from the Midwest. I made sure she fell in love with me because that’s what Dad wanted. Except she got under my skin in a way I’d never experienced before.

I know everything about Ren. Or at least I did. I know she drinks a dangerous amount of soda. That without her planner she’d be scatterbrained.

I helped her learn the ins and outs of Aunt Macy’s business. She didn’t know what the fuck a triggerman was before she took over for Aunt Macy. Now there’s not a fucking hired gun she doesn’t know in this city.

“You can keep blaming your dad.” Dima levels me with a look, crooking his neck so he can try to catch my eye.

I steadily look at my shoe. “Fuck knows he’s not the greatest father.

But guess what, kid? You agreed to the plan.

And when you got in there and started going a little sweet on the girl, guess what? ”

Something chafes in my chest .

“You dug in deeper,” Dima says. “You made the decision to keep going. Keep acting like your dad fucked you over. You know the truth—you did that all on your own.”

It takes an inordinate amount of effort to keep from flying off the handle.

“You come all the way here just to say that?” I ask after a moment.

Dima’s face softens into the old, tired-looking man that he is. “I’m a concerned uncle. But maybe it’s time you get some tough love.”

“Or maybe you’re just tired of hearing my dad bitching about all of this.”

He doesn’t deny it. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Then maybe it’s time you learn some boundaries.” Dima can tell his brother to shut the fuck up whenever he wants.

Dima smirks. “Even when you hate him, you sound like your father.”

I rear back like I’ve been slapped.

“I love you, kid.” Uncle Dima raises his hands in surrender. “This sad ghostly thing you’re becoming. You’re better than that.”

“Shitting on a depressed guy,” I reply grimly. “Not exactly supportive.”

“I’ll fucking drive you to therapy if that’s what you want.”

The shop creaks and I shake my head after a second. “No, it’s fine.”

I move toward my car, taking comfort in one of the few things I’ve got going for me. For two years it’s been my pride and joy despite its need for a lot of pampering.

“I’m real proud of you, Roma.”

I can’t help wrapping a dirty rag around my fingers as I study my car.

“Your mom’s calling again,” he says, nodding at my lit-up phone .

“I’ll call her back.”

“I love you kid, you know that?”

“I hate this mopey shit,” I sigh. It’s creeping me the fuck out how Uncle Dima is acting.

But my uncle is also a practical man. I’m not surprised he’s the one leading this conversation.

He squeezes my shoulder before heading out the open bay. Without looking back, he lifts the shopping bag. “I’ll send you a photo of Sailor and me in our matching outfits.”