Chapter Four

Roman’s POV

“ Ебать.” I muttered, striding down the hallway towards the study.

(“Fuck.”)

How could this happen now of all times? I wasn't ready to take over the empire and now I had the weight of the entire empire resting on my shoulders.

I slammed the door shut behind me as I walked into the study. The desk before me was covered in files, reports, and ledgers, each one screaming for attention. Men had been waiting for my return. Meetings had been postponed, decisions left hanging, alliances trembling in the wind. The death of the head always left cracks, and cracks invited vultures.

And that head who died was my father. As much as I hated to admit it, now I was head. Whether I wanted the title or not.

The morning light streamed through tall windows, falling across the oak table where Sergei, my father’s long-time assistant, laid out documents in careful stacks. He was older, graying at the temples, his face lined with decades of service. He had been there through wars, betrayals, victories, losses. I had always known he would serve the family after my father since he had been serving since my grandfather's rule and his father befor him.

“Roman,” Sergei said quietly, pushing a file toward me. “These are the immediate matters. The Turkish shipment needs confirmation. The Italians request a meeting for territory discussion. And…” His voice faltered as he picked up another folder, “…your father’s pending accounts must be—”

“Stop.”

My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. The sound of the word “отец” (“father”) cut through me like a blade. I leaned back in the chair, jaw tight, the pulse in my temple pounding. I wasn’t close to the man because we never had a close relationship to begin with. Viktor was our bridge.

I paused. Even the bridge had collapsed with father's death.

Sergei blinked, lowering the folder. “Roman, it is necessary…”

“I said stop.” I pushed back from the desk, the chair scraping against the polished floor. “Do not speak of him. Ever. Not in my presence. Do you understand?”

The older man’s lips pressed together in a thin line, but he bowed his head. “Da.” He knew I wasn't the type to snap but who cares?

I turned away, pacing toward the tall windows. My reflection glared back at me in the glass. I couldn't point to the specific reason why I was angry but I knew one thing. I was angry.

At my father, for what he had left me to clean. At Viktor, for leaving her. For leaving me. I could not do this alone. They knew I couldn't.

My fists clenched at my sides. Trying hard not to break down and tremble now. I had to stay strong no matter what. And never show weakness.

I couldn’t sit in that study anymore. The walls pressed in, squeezing and suffocating my insides.

Without a word, I left Sergei standing in silence and walked down the hall, my boots echoing against the marble.

I didn’t need to think where I was going. My feet carried me on their own, past gilded doors and long corridors lined with paintings of men who came before me, all staring down with cold, judgmental eyes. Just because I'm the head of the empire now doesn't make me less human does it?

Finally, I stopped at her door.

The wood was dark oak, simple compared to the others. But behind it was Anya.

I leaned against the frame, resting one hand above my head. For a long moment, I said nothing. I just listened to the limited sound from the other side of the door. I didn't even move any muscles.

Her sobs were muffled, but they pierced through the door and the heaviness of my body into my heart. Short, broken gasps of breath between soft cries. She tried to silence them, to bury them in the pillow or something, but I heard every sound.

My chest tightened.

I closed my eyes, jaw clenching as I forced myself to breathe slowly.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Viktor wasn't supposed to die and father wasn't supposed to die either. Not yet.

Every sob cracked something inside me I didn’t know was still breakable. I hated seeing her cry. Right from the first time I saw her sob in Viktor’s tears for being bullied in school, I made sure I broke the fingers of each and every one of those who ever laid their hands on her to bully.

I made sure I protected her from the shadows. Like that little sister I never had or was it more? I couldn't tell or even admit. I didn't tell anyone about it but I dealt with everything that dared to stand in the way of her smile. But now, she was in there crying and I couldn't protect the one person she cared about.

I pressed my forehead against the door, swallowing the storm that rose in me. Why am I so weak? Why couldn't I protect Viktor the way you wanted him to be protected?

My mind drifted back to the sad smile Viktor had on his face as I grabbed his bloody hand. My hands trembling. Like he knew he would die, I heard him calling and scolding her not up to one house before he died.

“Promise me you'll protect Anya, Roman.” His voice drifted deeper and deeper into my head. “Protect her and make sure they don't get to her.”

I had sworn I would protect her. I had carved the oath into my very bones. She's the only one I have left to protect now.

“Я клянусь, я защищу тебя любой ценой,” I whispered into the wood.

(I swear, I will protect you at any cost.)

I would protect her from this world, even if I had to destroy it piece by piece. Even if I had to lock her up and make her hate me for life.