Roman and Julienne's heart desire
Chapter 39: It a promise

Chapter 39: It a promise

"I’m not just a mere CEO, Julie. I believe every place needs a head... a king or a queen," Roman said, his deep voice a velvety murmur that wrapped around the space between them like a warm shawl.

His eyes held a gentleness that contrasted the weight of his words—eyes that flickered like flames restrained within an iron lantern.

Julie sat still on his lap, her fingers trembling slightly in her lap. Roman reached out slowly, deliberately, and took her delicate hands into his own.

His touch was both firm and careful, the heat of his palms seeping into her skin like sun on chilled glass.

Their fingers interlaced, a symbol of connection more ancient than words.

He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne—woody with hints of bergamot and leather—surrounding her. "Julie," he continued.

His tone steady and low, as though he were whispering secrets to the stars, "I’m not just the CEO of a company. I’m a king in the mafia world."

Julie, who had been fixated on the subtle rise and fall of his Adam’s apple, her breath caught in her throat.

Her gaze shot up to his face, eyes wide like twin moons startled by thunder.

Her whole body tensed. A shudder passed through her like a jolt of electricity, awakening every nerve.

Fire danced along her spine, and with sudden urgency, she pushed herself up from his lap.

Her movements were sharp, her breath shallow. Roman stood immediately too, instinctively, as though tethered to her soul.

"So that’s why..." she whispered, her brows drawing together so tightly they nearly touched, forming a knot of confusion and pain between her eyes.

Roman nodded slowly, a calm gesture that failed to mask the storm brewing within.

His exterior was composed, regal even, but inside, his heart thudded like a prisoner against the bars of its cage.

The fear of losing her—it was the one thing he could never rule over.

"So now you understand," he said, stepping closer, his voice threaded with unspoken pleas. "You’re not just a normal girl. You’re not just my wife—you’re a queen to the underworld, Julie."

Julie’s lips parted, her eyes searching his as if hoping this was a cruel joke, something to laugh away later.

But what she found in his gaze was truth—solid, immovable, and ancient as mountains.

"I don’t want that," she said, and this time her voice cracked like fragile glass.

Her expression held a betrayed softness, as if a tender part of her had just been torn away.

Roman’s heart sank, but he didn’t reach for her again. Not yet.

"What do you want, then?" he asked gently, his voice no longer that of a king, but a man.

A man who was willing to give everything up for the woman who stood like a storm before him.

Julie looked down, collecting her thoughts like fallen petals in a storm.

Then she took a deep breath, grounding herself in the moment.

The air shifted around her as she lifted her chin and spoke from the core of her being.

"I want a life of peace," she began. "A life that’s just you and me.

A life full of love, full of care—without guns, without blood, without constant fear.

A life where I can love you without holding my breath, where you can love me without watching your back.

No threats, no enemies lurking in shadows."

Her voice trembled as she spoke, yet it gained strength with each word.

"A life where we build a home with our own hands.

Not a mansion guarded by bodyguards, but a house where laughter echoes in the hallways, where our children can sleep peacefully at night.

A life made not from fear, but from honesty and hard-earned joy."

Roman stood still, absorbing each syllable like a confession from heaven.

"I know," she continued, eyes shimmering now, "that many women would kill to have what I have—wealth, luxury, a husband who could buy the world.

They’d die for a man who owns mansions, who collects cars like trophies."

She paused, her gaze locking with his, and her tone softened—so soft it trembled against the silence.

"But not me. To me, it’s not the money, It’s you."

Roman’s breath caught. Something ancient and unbreakable shifted in him.

"It’s the way you look at me like I’m the only woman alive.

It’s your hands—the way they hold me like I’m made of stars. It’s how you listen, how you protect, how you make me feel like I matter beyond anything you own. It’s your heart. Your soul. The way you love."

Her voice rose like a wave—strong and unstoppable. "It’s your presence, Roman! Your strength, your gentleness... your body, yes, it drives me wild, but it’s your spirit that holds me.

"The way you say my name, the way you get angry when someone hurts me, the way you make me laugh. It’s all of it, and more!"

Tears glimmered at the edge of her eyes, but her smile—oh, that smile—was like dawn breaking after an endless night.

"I like you, Roman. The real you. Not the mafia king. Not the CEO. Just you. And the more you show me the man beneath the crown, the more I fall in love with you."

Roman felt something within him melt. The armor he had worn for years—the emotional steel that had protected him through war, betrayal, and bloodshed—crumbled like ash in the wind.

He took a slow, measured step forward. Julie didn’t flinch. She stood tall, strong in her truth.

He came closer, until her breath danced against his collarbone. Gently, reverently, he took her hand again.

The way their fingers found each other again felt like poetry, like the return of something sacred.

"One day," Roman said softly, his voice thick with emotion, "I will fulfill that wish."

Julie stared up at him, her face a painting of hope and hesitation. Roman smiled—a real, warm smile, not the calculated smirk he wore in boardrooms or the intimidating calm he showed to rivals. This smile was hers. Only hers.

He raised his hands and cupped her cheeks, thumbs gently brushing away the faintest traces of her tears. The skin beneath his touch was soft, vulnerable, alive.

"It’s a promise," he whispered, voice trembling slightly but steady in its truth.

Then, slowly—carefully—he lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry or desperate. It was deep, intentional, and soul-stirring.

Julie’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath catching as her hands instinctively found his chest, feeling the thundering beat of his heart.

Their lips molded together in quiet perfection. Time ceased. The room faded.

There was no mafia, no underworld, no fortune, no danger.

Just two people, heart to heart, soul to soul, rewriting their fate with a single kiss.

Julie’s knees weakened, but Roman held her close.

The world spun slower. The kiss deepened, tasted of promises and fear and yearning.

Of love that dared to hope in a world that tried to crush it.

When they finally parted, Julie’s eyes were hazy with wonder, her lips tingling with the memory of his.

She leaned her forehead against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calm her.

Roman wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was his entire world. And in that moment, she was.

"I’ll start today," he murmured, his voice against her hair like a vow. "I’ll start finding a way out. For us."

Julie didn’t answer with words. She just held him tighter.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees. The world didn’t stop. But inside that room, a new beginning was born.

In another part of the city far away from the quiet kiss of Roman and Julie, the sound of laughter echoed through a richly decorated hallway.

Inside a cozy lounge lit with gold lights and soft music, Samantha was curled on a plush velvet couch, her legs tossed carelessly across Lazarus’s lap.

"You’re staring at me again," she said, smirking, tilting her head playfully as her fingers trailed up his chest.

"And you’re pretending like you don’t like it," Lazarus replied, his voice low and thick with teasing.

Samantha rolled her eyes and sat up slightly, her black silk robe slipping off her shoulder.

She didn’t fix it. Lazarus’s eyes dropped to her bare skin, and she noticed it—because she wanted him to notice.

"You gonna just look, or you gonna kiss me like you mean it?" she challenged, arching a brow.

Lazarus let out a low laugh, leaning in. His hand slid behind her neck, and he pulled her close—not roughly, but like he owned the air between them.

"Woman, you’ll be the end of me."

"And you’ll die happy," she said, and kissed him hard, full of heat and mischief.

Their lips crashed like thunder and melted like fire.

Samantha straddled him now, fingers in his hair, laughter caught in her throat.

Lazarus grinned against her mouth, letting her take control—because he knew he could always take it back.

Their kisses were not slow like Roman and Julie’s.

No—they were messy, wild, filled with heat and teasing bites. It was like watching two storms collide.

"You taste like wine," Samantha whispered.

"And you taste like trouble," he replied, sliding his hands down her waist.

She gasped and slapped his arm, pretending to be scandalized.

They both laughed, their love burning bright, bold, and unapologetic.