Page 168 of Hate to Love You

Roman is in the Mafia.

And not just in the Mafia, but according to Pasha’s text, he’s the head of it. What’s more, the monsters in that meeting that day in his conference room, were all in the Mafia too.

“How did you kill my best enforcer…”

Roman’s words ring in my ears.

Fuck…I killed a mafia enforcer!

No wonder Igor always had fucking men with him. He was just like Roman, who always had even bigger men with him. Big, scary, grandma-killing monsters who do his dirty work.

Well done, Abby, you wanted monsters. And you found them.

My brain feels fuzzy, the synapses now flawlessly connecting all the dots I’ve missed.

Roman has access to whatever he wants, however he wants, and his business is clearly more than just corporate investments. He carries a gun, as do all of his men. Even his SUV is outfitted like a tank going into an active war zone.

His demons make more sense now, as does the darkness I see in him.

I’ve read plenty of books on the mafia, most of them detailing how men in his position are usually born into this life, raised to be ruthless, merciless, savage.

Born to be monsters.

The power this man commands isn’t because he’s rich and successful. It’s because he’s dark and dangerous, maybe even deadly. And everyone knows it.

Everyone but me apparently.

And I realize now that if he finds out I killed his men, I’m dead.

I need to get out of this car and regroup.

My brain is overloaded and bursting with all this new information that I know that if I stay round Roman much longer, I’ll fuck up.

He’s always been five steps ahead of me, and I had no idea.

And while yes, I may have thought I was getting in bed with the devil, it turns out I didn’t fully know that devil at all.

Smiling up at him, I pass him back his phone.

“You know what, I just remembered they’ll be heading to lunch soon.” I say, my eyes looking past him and out the window, seeing that we have pulled up to my street. “I’ll just call them later, and get it rescheduled.”

“Okay,” he shrugs.

The car rolls to a stop outside of my house and I gulp.

“Thanks for the ride.” I say, gripping the handle of the door as I push it open. “And the clothes and, um, art stuff.”

“Foxy.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me, one last time, that you didn’t kill Igor.”

I do my very best to hide the fact that once again my heart stops, and my stomach twists, realizing that I’m going to have to lie to Roman Antonov, head of the fucking mafia, once again.

“I didn’t kill Igor, Roman,” I say, shaking my head. “Honestly, I don’t even know why you’re asking me that? It’s kind of disturbing.”

He says nothing, his eyes scanning me like a hawk.