A Fair World

Roman didn't think he could begin to comprehend how pissed off he was. His brows furrowed so deep he could feel his eyes beginning to sting. "You must be completely out of your mind if you think for a second I'm going to work for you."

"It's funny how you think you have a choice here." Saint spoke too nonchalantly when the gravity of the situation was so high. It really bothered Roman.

"I can get your money back. Most of it. You just have to let me go out there and get it."

Saint's lips pinched as he tried keeping his amusement at bay. "We've already established you won't be leaving this place." From where Saint stood, his eyes appeared to be mostly green. The pair fitted right back at the priest unblinking. "Now you can stop throwing your temper tantrums."

Tantrums?

The idea of rearranging the bastard's face was tempting for Roman. Too tempting. Saint had some nerve accusing him of throwing tantrums after taking his freedom.

"You go around acting all high and mighty as if you wouldn't have done the same," he seethed.

"If I took 50 million euros I wouldn't have lost it in a casino the very same day I got it, that's for sure."

Roman squirmed at his gambling habits being aired out. "I meant the stealing part," he croaked. "You'd have done the same."

Saint laughed before he said, "Listen, I've allowed you to live to see another day despite everything you've done, but each time I extent my protection, you cost me money. So your debt is growing by the day. If you insist on not doing your job, do you know who's going to end up paying for it?"

Roman stayed stubbornly quiet grinding his molars together.

"Maxwell Fischer, a high school physics teacher from a small neighborhood of Port Hope near Toronto, your boyfriend, who's going to melt in a big old barrel of acid." Saint said in all seriousness. All that previous humor suddenly replaced with something menacing.

There was an uneasy feeling churning deep inside the pits of Roman's stomach. The fact that this man had all of his personal information on the get-go didn't sit quite well with him. He was clearly working at a disadvantage here.

Taking a deep breath, Roman let it out slowly and raked his strands that were every hue from buttermilk to brown.

Just one sucker punch would knock those dentist's wet dream teeth out.

"I already told you, Max and I are not together anymore." Roman looked as subdued as he sounded.

"Then it shouldn't bother you if I have Maxwell brought up here. Last time I checked he was living in a studio apartment in Brooklyn." The grin on Saint's face was almost manic. "To keep things interesting shall we get your heist partner hiding all the way up in Panama as well?"

Roman only managed to glower, trying to gauge if the other man was bluffing. He wasn't. And Big Lou in Panama? This was news to him. He thought the guy was already choking on dust. Suppose Saint hadn't killed him after all—although he had outright insinuated he did at the church.

Mind games. The psycho was good at them.

Saint arched him a brow. "Or how about we avoid these deaths by actually doing exactly as I say?"

"I'm not like you, Saint."

"Like me?" Something sparked behind the man's gaze and deepened the shadows of green in his eyes.

Pinned under that heavy, intense gaze, Roman realized he might've taken the wrong approach. It was too late to turn back now. Roman wet his dry lips with his tongue. He suddenly felt parched and too hot in his own skin.

"You know, a cold blooded killer," he swallowed hard. "And working for you means I will have to..."

"Have to do what?" His deep voice being so close made Roman back up into a wall. Saint closed in on him. "Watch someone get iced?" He exhaled, sweet boysenberry aroma from the wine earlier fanned Roman's cheeks. "Is that what you're too afraid to say?"

Roman inhaled a sharp breath. All of a sudden he lost his ability to form a sentence. To his dismay, he felt himself buckle at the contact. Roman could feel Saint's radiant warmth underneath his clothes. It was suddenly all too much.

"If you keep on crowding me into this wall you gonna get decked." He threatened through gritted teeth.

Realizing what he was doing, Saint immediately put space between them. "You think running a mafioso automatically means you're a killer?" He actually looked insulted. "It means you're part of an organization that happens to do something against the law. It may be run illegally, but it's still a business."

"I find that hard to believe considering how many times you threatened to end my life as if it was just another normal day for you."  

Saint shrugged and slipped his hands into his pockets. "There are rules for a reason. If you break the rules, yes, you might get whacked, but you can't just go, 'Hey, I don't like you' and waste someone." His voice came out drier than bone. "No one is killing everybody every day. So rest assured Father, you're not going to be doing any manual labor digging holes for bodies. And stop watching those stupid Hollywood mob films."

"In short your death threats hold no substance then." It wasn't a question. More like a jab.

"For you? Definitely not." Saint smiled without feeling much humor. "You broke the rules when you decided to take 50 million euros from that safe."

Roman looked up in time to catch his captor's smirk.

"Now I own you." 

The implication of being owned by a psycho mob boss had Roman reeling. It seemed almost mocking, a power play move and Roman felt a bolt of pure cold hatred rushing into his veins.

What he hated the most, there was nothing he could do about it.

Dropping his head back against the wall, Roman closed his eyes for a minute. He needed to think. "What am I supposed to be doing?"

Perhaps it won't be that bad.

"I want you on my brother's tail. Keep your nose in the ground and sniff around for some information." Saint stated completely undeterred. "I want to know who's been whispering to the FBI behind my back."

Roman's eyes flew wide open. "So let me see if I got this right." He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, staring at Saint like he was some suspect he was about to interrogate. "You want me to spy on your brother?"

"Is that too much for your morals?"

"Why can't you just talk to him like a normal person?"

"People lie, Roman. It's their nature."

Roman blinked. Once then twice.

"Word of advice, I'd be a little subtle about our side quest if I were you because..." Saint paused, searching for the right words. "Nico is the type to shoot first then asks questions later if he senses you're a threat to him."

"How will you look at yourself in the mirror when you discover you're wrong about your brother?"

"I asked you to do this for a reason," Saint stated, running a hand through his dark hair. "If I'm wrong..." his voice drifted off before his eyes snapped right back to Roman. "Then that's on me. I can't afford to take any chances."

It gets quiet between them for a moment until Saint took it upon himself to continue. "That vault you stole from has motion sensors and 360 degrees rotating cameras inside."

"I still don't see a concrete reason to spy on him." Roman wasn't backing down.

"Do you know who was responsible for having those cameras and sensors installed?"

"Well, I'm guessing your brother."

"The robbery, it was just too convenient. None of those security measures came into play when the vault was being wiped clean," Saint said, though he was mostly thinking out loud. "Makes me wonder if my little brother wants me focused on the vault while he's playing the long game."

"The long game to what, Saint?" Roman had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. "My heist partner and I studied for three months to break into that vault. Three months of learning every security measure and how to bypass each one of them, even the goddamn floor plan down the vents. Trust me, your brother had nothing to do with any of this."

This was absolutely ridiculous.

Saint stared at Roman intensely. "You report to me everything he does. If he goes to the toilet to take a shit. What he eats for lunch, who he talks to. I want to know everything."

Roman made a face and grumbled. "If I agree to this insanity you'll have to let me go." He had the decency to look imploring. "I'm literally putting my life on the line here. You said it yourself that I could die."

"You're hilarious." Saint said with a haughty laugh.

Roman didn't like the sound of that. He pursed his lips holding back his tongue, but his tongue did have a mind of its own. "Just because you can get away with most things doesn't make any of this fair." He hated the tightness in his throat.

"The world is fair. You need to get your act together and stop blaming everyone around you for your poor choices in life."

Roman's nostrils flared, anger written all over his features.

Saint's words had landed a bull's-eye.

Interrupted by the elevator that led into Saint's suite loudly announcing a visitor's presence, both Saint and Roman remained in stalemate.

"Santino, a moment?" Adriano Moretti's muffled voice came through the security system.

At Saint's approval, the elevator doors cracked open. When he entered, Adriano didn't bother hiding his curiosity. He threw his confused look to Saint and then bounced back to Roman. It was clear he'd walked into some sort of fight judging by how the two were just glaring at each other in the hallway.

Saint looked up at the accountant. "What is it, Moretti?"

Despite his better judgment, Saint's eyes flickered at the length of the priest's body, again. He was still clad in that damn towel. It was driving Saint nuts. Saint took a deep breath, somehow resisting the urge to really look at the guy. He couldn't remember the last time someone had tested his self-control this much.

Adriano stepped toward the boss's direction, iPad with an opened excel spreadsheet leading the way. "I think you may want to see this."

A muscle in Saint's jaw twitched as he stared at the random digits. None of it made any sense to him. "What am I looking at here?"

Adriano didn't immediately speak, eyes pin ponging over at Roman as if to send an indirect message to the boss. The priest was smart enough to know when his presence wasn't welcomed anymore. With that, Roman turned on his heel toward his assigned room ignoring the way a certain pair of hazel eyes were blatantly undressing him.

"By the way Roman," Saint's gruff voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "Do me a favor and put on some damn clothes while you're at it."

Defiance suddenly flared those mismatched eyes. "And if I don't?"

Trouble. The priest was going to be fucking trouble.