Page 103 of Twisted Little Game

I start to talk.

“It was the first thing that led to my mother being killed,” I admit. “She didn’t die until many, many years later. But when my father slaughtered that boy’s parents, the Malettis knew it was my father’s doing. They were close with the parents. It started a war, and I was still too young to understand why my father was even concerned about the Maletti family. We were Petrovs. We were stronger than them, and our Bratva so much older and more powerful than this Italian mafia.”

“Did anything more happen with your friend?”

I push my forehead harder onto the tile, feeling the spray of the shower run down my back between Tate’s strokes.

“He tried to kill me, eventually. Three separate times. Maletti money pays very well, and they were willing to give him millions.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Eventually Maks had to eliminate him, and I… I don’t know. I couldn’t do it. He had been my friend, before I knew his connections.”

“Right.”

Tate’s hand slides up and down my back, and I feel his lips come down on my shoulder in a kiss.

“When they captured my mother I blamed only myself. I was supposed to be with her that night. I was going to be there an hour earlier, to meet her at the park. We were going to feed the birds, and I… I was late. I was late, and so she was already in the back of their fucking truck…”

“Roman, you don’t have to talk about it if it’s too much,” he murmurs.

“She was in the back of their big fucking stolen Mack truck. It was meant to haul butchered meat. Behind her, there were frozen stacks of lamb, and beef and that’s where they killed her, right in front of my face. The moment I saw her, she was gone. They just wanted me to see her. To get there, know that she was in danger, then take her life away right when they knew I would witness it. I stumbled out of the fucking truck and fell to my knees, heaving, fuck, I thought all of my insides would come out, and they drove away, Tate. I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t stop any of it. I thought it was my fault for so long⁠—”

My words break off as he pulls my body close against his and holds me.

I feel like I just gave Tate every shred of my soul.

It’s not a story I tell anyone.

It’s not a box I ever want to touch.

“It was never your fault,” he murmurs against me, tucking his head against my chest. “None of it. Ever.”

“The Bratva is a disease. All of the criminal families are. We take care of criminals, yes, but we bring new ones into the world every day. I want it gone. I never wanted any of this. She died for nothing, Tate. She died for nothing.”

Tate just holds me, for minutes and minutes, and this time he’s the one protecting me… from myself. I can’t handle these feelings alone. It’s why I pretend they aren’t there.

But he deserves to know me.

My ugliest feelings.

And he still isn’t running away.

“You are a good person, Roman,” he says against me. “You might never believe it, but I will. Always.”

I meant it when I told Tate that he is a miracle. Making me want things I never wanted, so badly, and making me forget that my life feels like a prison made of gold.

It doesn’t feel like I’m trapped when I’m with him. It feels like what I’m doing actually is my own choice, my own desire, for the first time in my life. And I don’t know what to do with that feeling, either.

The envelope on my pillow is the first thing I see when we walk into my room.

It’s probably only been an hour since we first got into the house, but it feels like I was in the shower with Tate for an eternity.

I don’t feel good, but I feel better.

Better.

Like I remembered who I am for the first time in years.