All Chapters of Until I Wrote Him : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Chapter 52 Roman’s POV The night has a pulse of its own. It hums against the skin like static, the kind that settles between moments when nothing is said, yet everything screams. Manhattan lies sprawled across the horizon, a portrait of glittering decay and wealth, its skyline like a cathedral of glass and sin. Out here, on Fabiano’s yacht, the city feels both close enough to touch and impossibly far away, like redemption. The deck sways softly, an expensive lullaby of wood and tide. I lean against the railing, the wind biting through the edges of my suit jacket. Fabiano’s voice floats from somewhere behind me, Italian, smooth, amused. He’s talking to one of the crew, laughing about something trivial, his tone a melody I’ve heard all my life. He has always been the same, the man who could turn ruin into poetry and poison into charm. I’ve never been able to. I glance down at the water, black, rippling, relentless. My reflection shifts and breaks with the waves. Somewhere

Chapter 54 Roman's POV The night always smells different when blood is on the horizon. It’s sharper. Metallic. Like the air already knows what’s coming. Manhattan doesn’t sleep, that’s the myth. The truth is, it just hides its nightmares better than any city in the world. They’re tucked between the steel ribs of skyscrapers, behind mirrored glass and polished marble, beneath the hum of stock tickers and champagne toasts. But I’ve walked those shadows too long not to recognize the tremor underneath it all,the rhythm of something ancient, something brutal. Power. And tonight, that rhythm beats for me. The drive down felt endless, five miles, maybe less, but every red light stretched like a noose. I didn’t bring anyone. No convoy. No guards. They were to look after and guard Guillermo while I went to reawaken old ghosts. Just the comforting cold of the two pistols holstered against my ribs, and a third piece tucked behind my back. The steel presses into my skin,

Chapter 56 Roman's POV The silence in my office feels rehearsed, like the city knows better than to intrude when my mind is this loud. Manhattan hums somewhere below, engines and horns fading into a single, restless note, but inside these walls everything is still. Too still. The scotch on my desk has gone warm. I swirl it once, watching the amber circle the glass like a slow heartbeat. I should drink it, should let it burn the memory out of me, but the moment I lift it toward my lips I hear his voice again. “I need a legitimate cover for my drug empire, and Alkali Holdings will be the perfect outlet, brotherly.” Mikhail’s accent still drips with that mock-affectionate lilt. Brotherly. As if the word could wash the blood off his hands…or mine. I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling until the light fragments into silver lines. Every word of that meeting replays with surgical precision: the flicker in his eyes, the curl of his smile, the way he made my name sound l

Chapter 58 Roman's POV I’d set the table hours before she arrived, but somehow the room still felt wrong. The light was too warm, too forgiving. Golden glow on polished wood. Silverware aligned like soldiers. I hated how gentle it made the night look. Like everything here was harmless. Like I wasn’t about to peel open something ugly and drop it between us like a bleeding heart. My chest felt tight. Irrational. I’d sat across from men who’d ordered villages burned. I’d watched them smile with teeth stained red. Still didn’t blink. But my palms sweated tonight. Over a woman. Ridiculous. If anyone else knew, I’d drown them in concrete. I adjusted my cufflinks again, a nervous tic I didn’t know existed until she came into orbit. Every time she pulled gravity, something about me twitched. I didn’t like the implication. The wine chilled in a bucket. Tiny beads of condensation dripping down glass like cold sweat. Everything meticulously arranged, plates centered, napkins f

Chapter 60 Roman's POV India’s breathing leveled in real time. A subtle thing. Not even most men in my line of work would catch it. The rise of her chest was still too fast, but no longer erratic. Her fingers uncurling from the table’s edge one knuckle at a time. Her jaw setting, tightening on a single axis. She was pulling herself back from the cliff. Good. Or maybe unfortunate. It depended on what version of her I needed tonight. She turned her gaze toward me, throat bobbing once, tiny swallow, light sheen of tension on her skin. “How… how much does he owe?” Ethan’s spine twitched. I heard the breath wheel out of him like someone had pressed a hand into his sternum. “I…It’s…India, I was going to tell you…” He wasn’t going to get there. I didn’t want him to. He'll probably keep on stammering without getting something out and though he didn't ask me for help, I would do him that little Honor. “Almost nineteen million dollars,” I said. I didn’t raise my voice. Di