Page 51 of Only for Him (Starkov Bratva #1)

ROMAN

The blood seeps in slow motion across the plastic sheet, pooling under Russo’s corpse. The air is so thick I taste it in the back of my throat.

I study Giselle in profile. Her hands shake so hard her knuckles go white. I wait for her to speak, but the only sounds are the settling of Russo’s corpse and the faint, perpetual hum of the city outside her window.

When I step closer, she turns away, shoulders drawing in. Her breath stutters. She won’t look at me.

“Giselle,” I say. “It’s done.”

She spins. Her eyes are boiling over.

“Done? You think this is over?” The words bite. “I’m going to have to live with this for the rest of my fucking life, Roman.”

“Live with what? Satisfaction? Don’t feel guilty for getting what you wanted, little viper.”

“You think I wanted this?”

Her whole body trembles now. I can see the scream locked in her throat. I’m taken aback. I thought she might be groveling, apologizing for the moment of weakness. Instead, she’s burning.

Not with me but at me.

Ungrateful. She’s fucking ungrateful. Anger throbs at the base of my neck.

Still, I hold my temper.

For now.

“I did what you couldn’t,” I remind her. “He wasn’t the man you thought he was.”

She sucks in a breath like she’s choking on it, wipes her face with the heel of her hand.

“I didn’t want this, ” she hisses. “I never would have had to—if you hadn’t—I didn’t ask for any of this!”

“Oh, but you did,” I say, advancing on her trembling form. Wanting so badly to grab her, force her to be still until her only movements are in response to mine, writhing with the pleasure only I can give her. “You begged for it.”

“You turned me into this.” Each word lands like a fist. Heat flares up my spine and I know she’s goading me. “You made me a murderer.”

“You’ve only ever done what needed to be done,” I say, voice rising with hers. “What you wanted to do. You always had a way out. If you remember, you very nearly used it.”

She laughs. It’s ugly, jagged. “You’re poison, Roman. I will never forgive you for this. Never.”

The words slice clean through me. I’m poison? She’s the one whose been slowly fucking killing me. Not my body, but my whole fucking self and the man I’ve always known myself to be.

“Forgive?” I snarl. “The only person who needs forgiving is you. And I’ve already done that. You should be grateful I gave you the chance to finish it yourself, and you should be grateful that I stepped in when you couldn’t.”

I force my voice to steady. I should have expected this. She’s in shock. It’s understandable. She couldn’t have known who was waiting for her.

“Wasn’t this all for Serena?” I say, patient for her guilt to subside and reason to take over. “Didn’t you make her promises? I thought you’d keep those, even when you clearly couldn’t keep your promises to me.”

She’s crying now, silent tears, but her chin doesn’t drop. I can’t fucking stand her tears.

This isn’t what’s supposed to be happening right now.

She’s supposed to finally fucking see what I can do for her.

What I will do for her.

Everything and anything. More than anyone else could.

“You think this makes you innocent?” I say. “You’ve been with me every step. You can’t draw the line here. It’s too late. You’re in this as deep as I am.”

She stares at me, eyes hollow. “You think that’s comforting? That we’re the same?”

“I think you needed this.” I move closer. “I think you needed someone to break you open, so you can finally see what you are.”

“No. No.” She shakes her head, desperate. “You don’t get to make me your accomplice and then tell me it’s who I was all along. I’m still Detective Cantiano.” Her voice cracks. “I’m not you.”

I smile, tight. “You’re right about that, little viper. You aren’t me. You’re better. Smarter. More ruthless, no matter how much you want to pretend otherwise.”

I reach for her, but she backs against the wall, palms up. “Don’t. Don’t you dare touch me.”

She won’t let me touch her because she knows, as soon as I do, she’ll remember. This attraction between us was never physical. It’s always been our souls licking up against each other and braided too tightly to unwind.

And fuck it. At this point, if she doesn’t see that, it doesn’t even matter.

I’m going to keep her, whether she likes it or not.

Because she’s fucking mine. I let her in, and she doesn’t get to leave now.

I’ll chain her to my side if I need to. I’ll hold her down until she can’t fight her way out.

She pulls her phone from her pocket, brandishes it like a cross. “I could call it in right now. You murdered a cop.”

“He raped and murdered your sister. He murdered you a hundred times over with each day he stayed alive.”

“Yes,” she says, thumb hovering over the screen. “But I’m not the person you’ve imagined me to be, just so you can feel less alone. I’m not going to bury every part of myself just to survive a world that never wanted me.”

The pain is sharp, immediate. I close the distance quickly.

“You’ll do what I tell you, because you know what happens if you don’t.” My hand finds her wrist. “You’re mine. You have always been mine.”

I’m close enough to smell her clean scent. She smells like she’s been gone too long already.

She smells like she needs me to fuck her fire back into her.

She shoves me, hard, and my cock stiffens. Yes…

I want to see her fight.

When she fights, she remembers. When she remembers, she surrenders.

“I’ll put you away for this,” she says. “I’ll take you down, and then I’ll go back to my life.”

“No, you won’t,” I say, calm. “You won’t have a life without me, little viper. You won’t even be able to breathe.”

She’s panting now, wild-eyed. “Then I’ll fucking shoot you. Then no one gets what they want.”

“Maybe you should,” I say, testing her. I want to laugh. What fucking stage of denial is this? “But you won’t.”

She pulls her gun and holds it in both hands. The barrel is steady but her arms are trembling.

I remember holding that gun in her throat the first time she came for me. Back then, she grinded recklessly on my thigh while I choked her on this very same metal in this very same room. It was so fucking good and she was so fucking beautiful.

“This time the firing pin is in,” she says, teeth bared. She’s thinking of it, too. I can tell. I can almost see the memory playing in her eyes. Her pupils dilate.

I smirk, take a step toward her. “Then do it.”

She hesitates, and I see the war on her face. I want to tell her that I know how badly she needed redemption for entering my DNA into the system, and that this is it.

This is her chance to prove where her loyalties lie.

She’ll regret it if she fails. But I’ll regret it even more if she doesn’t.

“You want me dead, Giselle?” I say, calling her bluff. “Pull the fucking trigger.”

And then she actually fucking does .

The bullet punches my left shoulder, spinning me back. I slam against the wall. For a second there’s only pain, white-hot and absolute.

Then comes the fury.