To one of my most active reader. Happy birthday, it's just already October 13 for me, boktok_life_13. Thank you for all your comments. Love them.😉❤️

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Melissa "Night of Lanterns."

6 years later...

As I stood in front of the mirror, I found myself lost in thought. The question of whether words or actions held more significance had plagued me since we stepped out of the shower and he left for work.

Roman had always been a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes-or so I believed. He protected me from others, helped me become who I wanted to be, took care of things without me even asking, and was always there when I needed him the most. But could these actions ever compare to the power of spoken love?

And yes, maybe my body was worshiped every day, but I wasn't sure if any of that affected my soul. Did any of it mean something to him too, or was it just me overthinking everything? Stop. I desperately needed a moment to rewind. I sank into the chair that still held Roman's scent. Let's remember how it all began.

So, my beloved psychopath of a husband, at that time some crazy bastard, gave my mother an ultimatum-either me or we needed to come up with a million somehow. Of course, my mother didn't choose my side.

Then I came to him, sprawled across the table, and decided to show my stance where no one could control me. The result: I had my first orgasm from Roman. Honestly, I didn't mind.

A little later, or rather two weeks later, I got married, we had a honeymoon, and I drowned in passion. But in all these months, there wasn't anything like I'd imagined from a dangerous man like Roman Kirillov.

He protects me. He takes care of me. Oh my god, this man even learned how to make chicken soup from Natasha when I caught a cold. Tell me, who wouldn't fall in love? Yet even all this didn't make me think our marriage had changed because Roman never said anything.

Words have the power to convey deep emotions, to express what is hidden in the heart. But reflecting on it, I realized that actions often leave a stronger impression. How many times had I heard, "I love you," but felt an emptiness behind those words? It was the moments-the tender touches, the shared laughter-that filled me with warmth. In the end, maybe it wasn't about choosing between words or actions but recognizing how they intertwine, shaping relationships in their complex dance.

And even though I understand all of this so well, I still sit here knowing nothing because I so desperately want to hear those three words from him too. Yes, wonderful, now I've become one of those girls who need romance. And this is the same woman who was defending her rights just this morning. Looks like I've truly lost my mind and am in deep trouble. Or maybe, I'm just in love.

After my musings, I decided to shift my focus to the upcoming meeting with Roman. I rummaged through my wardrobe, my heart dancing in anticipation as I searched for the perfect outfit. I chose a soft, dark blue dress that highlighted my figure without being too revealing. And most importantly, it had long sleeves, as it was already the beginning of autumn.

Putting it on, I caught my reflection in the mirror again-I looked good. Nevertheless, doubt crept into my mind. Would Roman like my choice? Would he think I was trying too hard or not hard enough? I threw a light cardigan over my shoulders, hoping it would calm my nerves. Every time I glanced at the clock, my anxiety grew. This night felt different; it felt significant.

I glanced at my reflection again. What the hell is wrong with my brain? It was as if my subconscious decided to play with me again, and I actually heard two entirely different voices, one in each ear-Bad Me and Good Me.

Bad Me whispered: What are you doing? You don't need men. You're strong and can do everything on your own. Just use him for sex and move on. Throw any feelings out of your head and heart.

I was breathing heavily and tensed up even more when I heard the second voice.

Good Me: Shut up. She's in love. Find out how he feels, and if he loves you too, you'll be the happiest person on earth, and your heart will burn with passion.

Conclusion: I desperately need a psychiatrist. But then I tilted my head to the side, and it hit me. Right, I should just ask him directly tonight. Ha. I'm not afraid of anything, but I've never confessed love before... why is that?

Let's skip my parents; we all know there was nothing to love them for, except maybe for the fact that they brought a miracle like me into the world, but everything else outweighed that.

My first boyfriend? He was just for fun, so I didn't love him. What? I'm not a saint.

Then there's Alex. I love my brother, but he appeared too late. By then, I was already at rock bottom. I sighed, realizing I just needed to pull myself together and stop thinking like the heroine of some Latin soap opera.

If it seems like I managed to do it, the truth was far from my plans. I always thought if you kept yourself busy, you wouldn't damn well think. Problem. There's a problem when it turns out that obsessive thoughts don't leave you alone anywhere.

My fingers trembled as I applied makeup, the eyeliner pencil shaking slightly in my hand. What was it about Roman that made me feel so unsure, yet so excited at the same time? Was it the way he looked at me, as if I was the only person in the room? Or the fear of vulnerability, the weight of potential heartbreak hanging over me?

I took a deep breath and tried to calm my thoughts. Why was I so nervous? Wasn't this what I wanted? To explore the depth of our connection? And yet the thought of opening my heart to someone seemed both thrilling and terrifying. Would I be able to convey how much he meant to me? Or would I retreat into silence again, letting fear dictate my actions?

At that moment, the best woman in the world, Natasha, burst into the room, and her presence instantly lifted the atmosphere. "I just heard rumors that you stormed into the office during the meeting?" she asked with concern, scanning me from head to toe. "And where are you going?"

I forced myself to smile, trying to hide my anxiety. I put the pencil down on the table and turned to her. "Yes, I did it to break into the darkest depths of the mafia world, and now I'm about to go on a date with my husband."

Natasha tilted her head, her expression softening. "What's going on in that beautiful head of yours? You've been pretty quiet about Roman lately. Is it because you've been plotting a plan on 'How to bring all mafia men to their knees?'"

"It's because I'm just trying to figure out my feelings," I replied, my voice barely audible. "I mean, do words even matter? Actions seem so much... more meaningful."

Natasha chuckled softly, crossing her arms. "You know, words can be just as powerful. It all depends on how you use them. Sometimes saying 'I love you' can be a turning point."

"True," I agreed, my thoughts drifting back to moments spent with Roman. "But what if he never says it? What if I'm the only one who feels this way?"

"Then make him see it," Natasha encouraged. "Show him how you feel through your actions, and who knows? Maybe he's just waiting for the right moment."

"You think so?" I felt a strange spark of hope.

"Definitely! You're amazing, and if he doesn't see that, then he doesn't deserve you," she confidently reassured me.

I took a deep breath, feeling the support from Natasha. "You're right. I need to stop overthinking and just be myself." I lazily flopped onto the bed nearby.

"And you? Have you ever loved anyone?" My question made her walk over to the table with interest and lean against it. "Yes, I have loved," and suddenly her face seemed to darken with a shadow. "I was young then. He was my fiancé. He made me laugh whenever I was sad, watched movies he hated but I loved. All those little things made my heart seem to dance when he was around. That was love."

"And where is he now?" I asked with a smile. "He died a month before our wedding." "Natasha, I'm sorry, I didn't know..." My smile disappeared in an instant. "It's alright," she shrugged. "It was a long time ago, but you know how I truly realized I loved him? When no one else ever made me feel like he did." I furrowed my brows in confusion.

"I..." But my words hung in the air when someone knocked on the door. "Yes?" Misha's head appeared in the doorway. "Miss Kirillova, Mr. Kirillov has ordered me to escort you. He's already waiting for you." "Oh... I see." Disappointment washed over me again. "Go on, Misha, I'll be out soon." He simply nodded and left. I slowly stood up and hugged Natasha.

"Don't get sentimental, my girl," she patted my back. "Go and find out how your story ends or begins." I pulled back and nodded.

With newfound determination, I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. "I'm ready to do this," I declared more to myself than to Natasha, as my blood burned with anticipation and excitement. I had decided: tonight was the night to clarify everything. Absolutely everything. I'd be open with Roman about my feelings, despite the fear. And if he wasn't entirely open with me, well, I'd just punch him in the balls. The perfect plan.

"Good luck, dear." "Thanks, Natasha." I opened the door and smiled. "See you later." I took a step, but now it didn't feel like I was stepping into a void. The void would be Roman's if he rejected me.

***

As we drove to an unknown location, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. But truthfully, the fear was gone. The conversation with Natasha replayed in my mind, fueling my determination. If tonight was a step forward, I had to fully embrace it.

"Misha?" I turned my head to the driver. "Yes, miss?" "How's your wife? I heard she recently gave birth." My question softened the cold man. "She's well. Thank you, Miss Kirillova." There was a pause between us. "Actually... I've been wanting to thank you." "Me? For what?" "I know what you did on your first day here. And for defending me to Roman." "Stop it. No one has the right to take a father away from his child or a husband from his wife." I laughed. "And I was at fault too. You know my temper sometimes gets the better of me." "Yes, that happens sometimes, Miss Kirillova." "Misha... but call me Miss Kirillova again, and I'll kill you." I stopped laughing. "Just Melissa." "Order received, Melissa."

***

When the car stopped, and I got out, I realized we were in Central Park, and my heart sank. It was completely empty, with no familiar hustle and bustle of couples or families. The silence felt overwhelming, and my excitement briefly dimmed. "Is this the right place?" I asked myself, trying to spot Roman as I walked further in.

"Yes," he confirmed as he appeared from the shadows of the trees, though he looked a bit off. I mean, he looked slightly unsure. But then I noticed something magical behind him and around me-a sea of lanterns lit up the park, casting a warm, soft glow. Hundreds of delicate lights hung from the trees, creating beautiful shadows and an enchanting atmosphere.

"Wow," I breathed, taking a step towards him. The scene was breathtaking, turning the deserted park into a magical dream.

As I took the final step toward him, the nervousness returned slightly, but the lights seemed to lift my spirits. Roman wrapped his arm around my waist, his eyes serious but gentle.

"What have you done?" I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Are you becoming a romantic, or am I imagining things?" "You tell me." His fingers ran through my hair. "You make me this way." "Well, you're in big trouble because serious, cold men don't do things like this." He leaned in and kissed me, a soft but not too long kiss. "No. I don't think it's bad if it's about you." "Why?" I suddenly felt short of breath.

"Melissa, I need to tell you something." His voice was firm. And that's when I truly felt the weight of his words pressing down on me. "What exactly?"

He took a deep breath, stepping even closer. "I've been thinking a lot about us lately. And even though I forced you to marry me, you need to know. You make me happier than I ever thought possible. I can't imagine my life without you. Not anymore. You drive me crazy, and it seems like I could live without everything-until you. You're the one I can't live without." He exhaled. "You know, today, when you stabbed me, I realized I wouldn't even mind dying because of you or for you, because it's easier to die than to live in a world without you. That would kill me every day."

My breath caught. This was the moment I had been hoping for. But even in my wildest dreams, I never imagined he could speak such words or make such grand gestures.

"Roman." I began, but he interrupted me, taking my hands. "Wait. Let me finish." He knelt on one knee, pulling out a small velvet box. "Melissa, will you marry me? I know you're already my wife, but will you allow me to be your husband? I want our love to be real, to mean something. I want to build a life together, full of laughter, support, and love. And even though there will be blood, bad things, and darkness around us, I want our feelings to light up our bedroom when we're alone. Because I love you."

"Roman... you're the strangest man I've ever met." I tried to hold back tears. "An obsessive, possessive psychopath and jerk." "I know, but..." "Wait." Now I interrupted him. "But maybe there's something wrong with me too, because that's exactly what I love about you." He blinked a few times, and the tears welled up in my eyes again as the lights softly flickered around us. "I allow you to become my husband again, but know that I will never be obedient or good." "That's exactly what I damn want from you. All of you, as I've said. Just as you are." Roman stood abruptly and kissed me, cupping my cheeks in his hands.

I gasped and deepened the kiss, feeling like, for the first time in my life, I wanted to stay in one moment forever. In this moment. Our moment. The world around us faded, leaving only the warmth of our love and the gentle glow of the lanterns as we paved the path of our future together. A real future.

***

The present...

I chuckled bitterly as I rinsed Kate's blood from the bathtub. "And why didn't anyone tell me at that moment that happiness doesn't last forever? That 18-year-old me would end up heartbroken in six months, and four years later, that bastard would throw the shards of my heart out the window?"