บท 4: Chapter 4
Katie's Wedding Day
This is my redemption.
Her happiness was in his hands. She wanted a normal life with a normal man. And though Katerina Pullman was anything but normal, Roman would give her the fucking Pope's head on a platter if that's what she demanded. A task that would've been easier than knowing his woman was being claimed by another. Allowing the woman he loved to marry another man would be his redemption for all the blood on his hands.
But if this was his redemption, then why did is hurt so fucking bad? More than watching his entire family slaughtered. More than bullet or knife wounds. Knowing Katie was willingly tying herself irrevocably to another man ripped his guts out like nothing else could. He felt cold from sitting alone in the dark warehouse, wearing only a pair of unzipped jeans, but his insides were being eaten up by fire. He was surrounded by the busted shards of his life. Rather than fly up to Seattle and kill her groom, Roman had taken out his rage on the few items he'd collected over the years.
The only thing he hadn't been able to tear apart were the books. Her books. He picked up the one he liked best, her favourite, and flipped to Woman with Folded Arms. He loved and hated the replica of Picasso's famous blue period painting. He loved it because Katie loved it. But he despised it because he knew it called to her, sucked her deep into an abyss where he wasn't able to follow.
That was why he had to let her go. Be normal. Maybe Colin Schell, a laid-back West Coast painter, could pull her out of the hellish depression she kept getting sucked into. It was impossible to imagine a killer like Roman, Mexican cartel royalty, exiled from his homeland, would be the man to help her. He wasn't good. He wasn't light. He would be more darkness to her dark. He would suck her further into the abyss until she could never hope to claw her way out. Katie was too fucking amazing for that. She was a goddess. She was everything.
He would let her be free, without the spectre of him. Her freedom would be his redemption, even as he sunk further into the darkness without the hope of her. He would not be free of her though. He didn't want to be. She had wrapped herself steadily around his heart, her nails piercing right through what was left of the fucker since the moment they met. He hadn't touched a woman since she was sixteen and he'd decided to just wait her out. Now he was doomed to a lifetime of celibacy. No woman could replace his Katerina. If she didn't eventually come to him, then he would live the life of a murderous monk. Sleeping, eating and killing until he died.
Redemption was going to be a bleak and blue balls kind of place to live.
Roman glared at the textbook and set it aside before he did something unforgivable. Fuck, he needed something to kill before he went back on his hours old vow to himself and took the next flight to Seattle. Katie wouldn't forgive him if he sank a blade into her brand-new husband. Maybe Roman could just stab him a little? Make it look like a tragic accident. No one would even have to know.
Fuck, she would know. She was razor sharp and had a sixth sense for when her long-time stalker was near. Dammit. He would just have to wait. Bide his time and watch from a distance. Hide in the shadows until the fucker slipped up. One wrong move, one bad decision with his woman and Roman would be right there, ready to take him down.
Yes, that was the new plan. Fuck redemption. He was killing her culero husband the second he did something to make Katie cry. Knowing there was no way anyone could love Katerina the way Roman did, he didn't think he'd have long to wait. She could have her "normal" and her "happy" for now. As soon as she was tired of it, Roman would be right there, ready to swoop in and save her from her own folly.
He reached for his phone and hit the contact for his boss, Soloman Hart. The man picked up right away.
"Roman," he acknowledged coldly.
Roman didn't speak for a minute, then he stood and reached for his leather vest, letting the coldness seep into his soul. "Give me a job," he demanded.
Give me something to kill.
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