Chapter 3 - I Walked Away From the Mafia King—Until His Enemies Came Looking for MeFor three days, I avoided Roman Vulov.
I turned my phone face down whenever it lit up, although none of the notifications came from him. I went to work, answered questions from library patrons, recommended novels, and pretended that my mind was not occupied by the same man from morning until night.
My best friend, Claire Bennett, noticed the change immediately.
Claire had known me since university. She was thirty, worked as a corporate attorney, and possessed the rare ability to identify a lie before the person telling it had finished speaking.
On Saturday morning, she arrived at my apartment carrying coffee and a bag of pastries.
“You look terrible.”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“I brought breakfast. You can thank me after you explain why you've spent three days behaving like someone who has just discovered that love is a contagious disease.”
I took the coffee she offered.
“I met someone.”
Claire smiled.
“Finally.”
“Don't celebrate yet.”
Her smile disappeared.
“What happened?”
I told her everything.
I described the evening Roman had walked me home, the dinners, the bookstore, and the conversation that had changed everything. I told her about his admission and the way he had accepted my anger without trying to silence it.
When I finished, Claire sat back on the sofa.
“So you're dating a mafia boss.”
“I was dating him.”
“Were you?”
“I don't know.”
She studied me.
“Do you think he lied about everything?”
“I think he chose not to tell me something important.”
“That's a lie by omission, Thea.”
“I know.”
“Do you think he's dangerous?”
I stared into my coffee.
“Yes.”
“Do you think he would hurt you?”
The question was more difficult.
“No,” I answered eventually. “But I don't know whether I can trust that feeling.”
Claire nodded.
“Then don't make your decision based on whether he's handsome, mysterious, or unusually good at remembering your coffee order.”
“He doesn't even drink coffee.”
“That makes it worse. He's probably emotionally manipulative and caffeinated by the suffering of others.”
I laughed despite myself.
Claire reached across the sofa and squeezed my hand.
“I'm serious. You don't have to choose between being in love with him and protecting yourself. You can care about someone and still decide that his life is not safe for yours.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked at her.
“I think that's what scares me. If I knew he was entirely bad, I could walk away. But he has been kind to me. He listens. He respects my boundaries. He makes me laugh.”
“People can be kind to you and still be dangerous.”
The words settled heavily between us.
That afternoon, I deleted the number from my recent calls, then immediately regretted it because I realized I had memorized it anyway.
I did not block Roman.
I did not call him.
I told myself that was enough.
On Monday morning, I arrived at the library early. Rain streaked the windows, and the building smelled of damp coats and old paper. I had just unlocked the staff entrance when I noticed a black sedan parked across the street.
It had been there when I arrived.
A man sat in the driver's seat.
I recognized him from the bookstore. He was one of the men who had spoken about Roman's family.
My stomach tightened.
I went inside and locked the door.
For the next two hours, I checked the windows more often than I checked the clock. At lunchtime, I called Claire and told her what I had seen.
“Have you contacted the police?”
“No. He hasn't done anything.”
“He is sitting outside your workplace, Thea.”
“Maybe he's waiting for someone.”
“Then let the police determine that.”
She was right, but fear made me hesitant. I did not want to draw attention to myself, and I did not want to involve Roman unless I had no other choice.
At three o'clock, the sedan was still there.
At four, it disappeared.
I was almost convinced I had imagined the significance of the entire thing when a man approached me near the historical-fiction shelves.
He was in his forties, neatly dressed, with a friendly smile that did not reach his eyes.
“Miss Sinclair?”
I looked up.
“Yes?”
“My name is Adrian Moretti. I believe you know Roman Vulov.”
The book in my hand suddenly felt heavier.
“I know several people named Roman.”
He smiled.
“Of course.”
He glanced around the library.
“Would you mind speaking with me for a moment?”
“I am working.”
“This will only take a minute.”
“I would prefer not to.”
His smile faded slightly.
“Roman has a habit of becoming attached to things that do not belong in his world.”
I set the book down carefully.
“I am not a thing.”
For the first time, genuine amusement appeared in his eyes.
“No. I suppose you aren't.”
He moved closer.
“Let me offer you some advice. Whatever Roman has told you, whatever promises he has made, remember that his family has spent generations turning affection into leverage.”
I kept my voice steady.
“If you have a problem with Roman, you should discuss it with him.”
“I have tried.”
“That sounds like a problem between the two of you.”
His expression hardened.
“You are a clever woman. It would be unfortunate if your curiosity placed you in circumstances you could not control.”
The threat was subtle enough that someone passing nearby might not have noticed it.
I did.
“Please leave.”
He held my gaze for another second before inclining his head.
“As you wish, Miss Sinclair.”
He walked away.
I waited until he disappeared through the front doors before reaching for my phone.
My hands were shaking.
I called the police first. I described the encounter, provided the man's name, and asked for advice about documenting future incidents. The officer who took my statement was professional but understandably cautious. Without evidence of a specific crime, there was only so much he could do immediately.
Then I called Roman.
He answered before the second ring finished.
“Thea.”
“Adrian Moretti came to my workplace.”
The silence on the other end was immediate.
“What did he say?”
I repeated the conversation as accurately as I could.
When I finished, Roman's voice had changed.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes. I called the police, and I am still at the library.”
“Stay there. I am coming.”
“No.”
“Thea—”
“I am telling you what happened, Roman. I am not giving you permission to turn this into a war.”
Another silence followed.
Then he spoke more carefully.
“You are right. I will not come unless you want me to. But I need you to understand that Moretti is not a man who makes idle threats.”
“I understood that when he threatened me.”
“I can arrange professional security.”
“I don't want strangers following me.”
“Then let us discuss what would make you feel safe.”
The unexpected change in his approach unsettled me.
He was trying.
Perhaps not perfectly, but he was listening.
“I want to meet somewhere public,” I said. “Tonight. Somewhere I can leave whenever I choose.”
“Of course.”
“And I want the truth about Adrian Moretti and why he came to see me.”
“You will have it.”
We met at a crowded restaurant near the river at seven.
Roman arrived alone, without the intimidating entourage I had imagined might accompany him. He wore a dark sweater and a coat that looked as though it had been thrown over his shoulders in haste.
When he saw me, relief crossed his face before he could conceal it.
He did not reach for me.
Instead, he pulled out the chair opposite his own and waited until I sat down.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I haven't decided whether that was a good idea.”
“I understand.”
He ordered tea for himself and waited while I chose dinner. Only when the waiter left did he begin explaining.
“Adrian Moretti is the son of a man who built his fortune through criminal enterprises. His family and mine have been enemies for years. We have also maintained business arrangements when it suited both sides.”
“And now?”
“Now he believes I am weakening my position by refusing to continue several arrangements my father established.”
“What kind of arrangements?”
“Smuggling, extortion, and the movement of money through businesses that appear legitimate.”
I stared at him.
“You're telling me that directly?”
“You asked for the truth.”
“Why are you refusing to continue them?”
Roman looked toward the rain-darkened windows.
“Because I am tired of maintaining an empire built on obligations I did not choose. Because I have watched people become expendable whenever profit demanded it. And because I have reached an age when I no longer want to spend the rest of my life defending decisions made by dead men.”
His honesty did not make the situation less frightening.
It did, however, make it more understandable.
“You're trying to leave the criminal side of your family business.”
“I am trying to dismantle what can be dismantled without causing a bloodbath. Some legitimate companies can survive independently. Others will need to be sold or closed. There are people who will resist because their livelihoods depend on the old system.”
“And Adrian thinks I'm a weakness.”
“He thinks anyone I care about can be used against me.”
I looked down at my hands.
“Are you sorry you met me?”
Roman's answer came without hesitation.
“No.”
“You should be.”
“Perhaps. But I am not.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“I will not tell you that my feelings make your situation safer. They do not. I will not tell you that I can guarantee nothing bad will happen. I cannot. What I can tell you is that I will not use you to settle a dispute, and I will not ask you to remain close to me if you believe doing so places you in danger.”
I swallowed.
“What happens if I decide I can't do this?”
“Then I will be heartbroken, and I will let you go.”
The simplicity of the answer hurt more than a grand declaration would have.
I had expected him to persuade me, to remind me of everything we had shared, or to promise that he could protect me from every possible consequence.
Instead, he was acknowledging that my decision belonged to me.
“Do you love me?” I asked before I could reconsider.
Roman went still.
“I am not going to use that word to make this decision easier for you.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I believe I am falling in love with you.”
My chest tightened.
“I barely know you.”
“I know.”
“You have an entire life I understand almost nothing about.”
“I know that, too.”
“And I don't know whether I can live with the things you've done.”
His expression remained steady, but pain moved through his eyes.
“You don't have to decide tonight.”
We ate dinner slowly.
For the first time, Roman told me about his childhood. His father had raised him to believe that loyalty was more important than happiness and that fear was more dependable than affection. His mother had left the country after years of living under the expectations of a family that considered her an accessory rather than a person.
“When my father died, everyone expected me to become him,” Roman said. “I was thirty-one. I thought I could change the system without destroying the people trapped inside it.”
“And could you?”
“Not yet.”
There was no self-pity in his voice.
Only exhaustion.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“A life in which I can sleep without wondering who will be dead by morning. A home where people are welcome because they are loved, not because they are useful. A future that does not require my children to inherit my enemies.”
The word children startled me.
“You think about having a family?”
“Sometimes.”
“Even with your life like this?”
“Especially because my life is like this.”
For the first time, I saw something beneath the power and the carefully controlled anger.
A man who had begun to understand that winning was not the same as living.
I reached across the table, stopping just short of his hand.
“I don't know what I can offer you.”
His gaze dropped to the small distance between our fingers.
“Nothing you don't want to give.”
I placed my hand over his.
He closed his fingers around mine gently, as though he understood that this small gesture mattered more than any promise he could make.
“I am still frightened,” I whispered.
“So am I.”
I looked up.
“You?”
“Of losing you. Of failing to change. Of discovering that the life I want is no longer possible.”
His thumb brushed the back of my hand.
“But fear does not have to make every decision for us.”
I had spent three days trying to convince myself that walking away was the only rational choice.
Perhaps it was.
But rationality did not erase the truth that I wanted to know who Roman might become if he finally had the courage to stop being the man his family expected him to be.
“I am not promising you forever,” I said.
“I would not ask you to.”
“I am not promising that I will stay if things become dangerous.”
“I understand.”
“And I will never lie to protect your reputation.”
His mouth lifted faintly.
“I would expect nothing less.”
I squeezed his hand.
“Then perhaps we can start by having another dinner.”
For the first time that evening, Roman smiled.
“I would consider that an excellent beginning.”
Outside, the rain had stopped.
He walked me to the entrance of my apartment building, keeping a respectful distance until I reached for him.
I rested my forehead briefly against his chest.
His arms came around me slowly.
The embrace was warm and careful, without demands or expectations. I could hear his heartbeat beneath his sweater, steady but not entirely calm.
“Good night, Roman.”
“Good night, Thea.”
He kissed my forehead before stepping away.
I watched him return to his car, wondering whether I had just made the most foolish decision of my life.
Then I went upstairs, locked my door, and called Claire.
“I saw him.”
“And?”
“I think I'm going to keep seeing him.”
She sighed so deeply that I could almost picture her rubbing her forehead.
“Of course you are.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like you have fallen for a complicated man with dangerous enemies and a suspiciously good wardrobe.”
I laughed.
Then her voice softened.
“Promise me something.”
“What?”
“Don't confuse being loved with being safe. Make sure he proves that he can offer you both.”
After we hung up, I sat beside my window and watched the city lights flicker against the wet pavement.
I thought about Roman's hands, his honesty, and the life he was trying to build out of the wreckage of the one he had inherited.
For the first time since the bookstore, I allowed myself to feel hopeful.
May you like
I did not know that across the city, Adrian Moretti was looking at a photograph of me.
And I did not know that the next move he made would force Roman to choose between the empire he was trying to dismantle and the woman he had finally learned how to love.
Related Stories
