Present Day
Roman held my hand through the entire story. He didn’t interrupt or ask questions, only let me get it all out. When I finished, I release a breath that felt like I’d been holding it for years and leaned my head on his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me close.
“Thank you for sharing that,” he said softly. “Can I ask something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Was he dead?”
I nodded and closed my eyes against the tears. “I think when I ran him over, it must’ve killed him.”
“And you made it to the hospital?”
“No, I crashed a few streets over and passed out, but some guy called an ambulance. I got lucky.”
Roman kissed my hair, then my cheek, and wiped away my tears. “Not lucky, kukolka. You fight. You’re a fighter. Do you know how proud I am of you?”
I pulled back and stared at him.
Those words. Do you know how proud I am of you?
Nobody ever said that to me before.
Not my father, not any of my friends.
It wasn’t what most people said when they heard you survived a rape. There was a lot of pity, a lot of frowning and sighing and making sure you were okay, but nobody ever said they were proud.
After it happened, after the initial wave of well-wishers subsided, I was a pariah, as if getting sexually assaulted by some stranger and not getting killed for it left me bruised and worthless.
I got calls, of course. People checked up on me. But after a few days, it was like I disappeared.
All I wanted was some love and respect and help. I wanted a friend to hold my hand while I cried, or to tell me that I didn’t do anything wrong.
Or someone to say that they were proud of me.
“I killed a man,” I said softly. “I know I killed a rapist. I know he deserved it. But I ran him over with my car and left him like an animal in the street.”
“He would’ve done worse to you. Most people in your position, they freeze up, they panic. But not you, Cassie. You fought back, and that takes strength and guts. You fought and you won. You should be proud of yourself.”
I laughed, unable to help it. I laughed at the absurdity of feeling proud of what happened to me.
That night was a never-ending wound. My stomach was stitched but it never closed, not completely.
“The thing that kills me most is the way my dad acted afterwards, like I had it coming. Like it was my fault.”
Roman’s face turned sour. “Your father’s a piece of shit.”
“I know, but still. It stayed with me, the look on his face. He said I was ruined. Can you imagine that? Your daughter survived a rape attempt, and you call her ruined.”
He took my hand and kissed my fingers, one by way. “I’ll put a bullet in his head for you. I swear, I will.”
“I believe you.” I leaned over and kissed him. “You don’t need to do that. Wouldn’t it ruin your plan?”
“Fuck my plan. It’d be worth it to make the bastard suffer.”
“I don’t need that, but thank you.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. And I’m sorry your father is such a piece of trash.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t think it was anyone’s fault.” I shook my head slowly and looked up at the sky. “I don’t know who that guy was or why he chose me. Wrong place, wrong time, right?”
“Could be,” Roman said quietly. “Although I have a hard time believing in coincidences when a mafia family is involved.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You think my father had something to do with it?”
“I’m speculating and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you survived.”
“Now you understand why I went to Sea Isle. I had to get away from my dad and from all my friends and all those pitying, judgmental looks. I wanted to start over.”
“And I understand why you’re not a fan of cars.”
I smiled slightly and leaned my head on his shoulder again.
“Motorcycles aren’t so bad.”
“Only when I’m driving. Otherwise, they’re incredibly dangerous.”
We lapsed into silence. Central Park was beautiful and reminded me of my favorite places back home in Boston, though that still seemed like a lifetime ago.
I felt safe with Roman. It was a strange contradiction—he should’ve terrified me. He was everything I hated: a monster, a killer, a beast. I watched him end multiple lives in our brief time together.
And yet he’d done nothing but keep me safe.
“I just want to move on. Do you know what I mean? I feel like I’m stuck reliving that moment over and over. I keep feeling the knife cut into my stomach. I can still smell the stale cigarettes on his breath. I can taste the anger and bile in my throat. I can’t escape it.”
“I understand better than you know,” he said and his voice sounded distant, his eyes gazing out at something far behind him.
I touched his cheek.
“What are you remembering?”
“An ice pond out near a cabin with my brother and my father.” He shook his head. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
“I’d be happy to listen.”
He kissed my lips and a surge of pleasure rolled down my spine, like stretching in front of a fire on a cold winter night.
“I’ve come to accept that there’s no changing the past. What happened will never come undone, and all we can do is learn to live with it. No matter how much it haunts us, the past will win if we let it consume our present.”
“I’m not sure I’m that strong.”
“You’re strong, believe me. What happened to you would have crippled a lesser person.”
“I feel crippled.”
“But you’re not. You live and laugh and still move forward. You’re not crippled, Cassie. You’re not broken or ruined or damaged. You’re far from it.”
I ran my fingers through his hair. When did I start to feel this way? A strange tenderness for him?
This man tricked me into marrying him and was using me for some massive political game I only partly understood. I was a tool for his revenge—and a pretty pet to amuse him at night.
And yet he looked at me with so much emotion I could barely contain the choked tears that pressed at my throat.
“Leave the past behind. I’ve been trying to do that for a long time.”
“Then do it with me. You’re what’s in front of me now, little doll. And I’ll be what’s in front of you, if you’ll let me.”
“I’ll try.”
He kissed my hands and stood. “Come then. I want to make you feel good before I make you feel very bad again.”
I smiled, not sure what he meant, and let him help me up. “Where are we going?”
“Back to my apartment. I still have business in the city. Dangerous business, but that’s for tomorrow.”
“What’s for tonight?”
“You are.”
