The Agreement (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 1) Bethany-Kris (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📖

of her time in the background of my house, and my life, because that is where she belongs and where I want her to be,” Maxim explained, his voice dropping much lower than usual. Careful to make sure no one else might overhear. “What happened today was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

Talking about his daughter had an adverse effect on Maxim that Roman couldn’t understand. The words he used for and about her were unsettling, in a way.

Was he afraid of her, or did he just despise her?

Was he overprotective, or disinterested?

Roman couldn’t tell.

“If you’re smart, you won’t find yourself alone with her again,” he added, the threatening edge to his tone becoming unmistakable in Roman’s ear.

Maxim’s grip on his arm loosened a little, and Roman pulled away, slowly, almost too gently. He didn't want to make any sudden movements, like a hunter wouldn’t want to startle his prey as he closed in on it.

The only problem with that?

Roman didn’t know if he was the hunter ... or the prey.

“I have no intention of turning that into a habit,” Roman told the man.

“Good. That is exactly what I want to fucking hear, hmm?”

Maxim dusted his hands, and took a step away from Roman, gesturing for the door as if he was free to go now, if he wanted. The conversation about his daughter was over even though Roman couldn’t shake it off as easily as he should.

Shit.

Like he needed yet another giant red flag that something was wrong with that woman, and this entire goddamn place. Something left him with a bad taste in his mouth, and it wasn’t from the liquor he hadn’t been allowed to refuse earlier. He was quickly starting to think that this was not a man who was just being protective of a beloved daughter. A darkness clouded over Maxim’s voice when he spoke about Karine, and Roman didn’t like it.

He didn’t like it one fucking bit.

“I’m sure you’ve already been reminded of tribute coming up in a few weeks, I’m expecting big things from you, Roman. Show them you’re supposed to be here, yes?”

Roman stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks, inside which, his palms clenched into fists. He really didn’t need another fucking reminder of the upcoming tribute, or the story Josef had narrated to him earlier on the topic.

People thought he was stupid, or something.

What a joke.

Roman still didn’t have a crew set up for the chop shop gig. He didn’t have a client list that was ready to take cars from Chicago, either. He barely had the fucking resources to get it going currently. How was he going to make enough by the end of the month to make a monetary offering to the bratva?

“No worries—I’ve got it handled.”

Maxim smiled and nodded, satisfied. “And I’m sure you don’t need the reminder that you’re not here to make friends either, only money.”

“I’m just here to pay my dues.”

“Exactly. The day you stop being useful is the day you pay us some other way. Keep it in mind, young man.”

The friendly, fatherly tone that Maxim usually spoke to him with was gone. Fast. The one in its place was that of a ruthless pakhan—the boss. His seat had to be unquestioned; his authority would be crystal clear to everyone.

“I understand my position here,” he reiterated to Maxim.

He didn’t get a reply before the boss walked away.

Frankly, Roman didn’t really need one.

TEN

The relatively pleasant summer gave way to the wet weeks of end-July. Which only meant one unfortunate fucking thing—Chicago had started to remind Roman of New York. It was humid and messy, coloring the days gray and making him nostalgic for home in a way he hadn’t expected.

Given the fact that he didn’t know when he might be back in New York again, he should have been glad to be reminded of home. Hell, he might have been if today wasn’t such a crucial day.

Pacing up and down the warehouse, Roman debated whether to call Josef, and ask the man to join him inside. Even though Josef hadn’t explicitly admitted it, he waited outside in his car, watching and noting Roman’s every movement. Today was definitely the kind of day he could use some company—even if it was from a Yazov man who was being paid to spy on him, if only to keep him from talking himself crazy inside his head.

But he didn’t call.

He planned to keep as few people involved with his business in Chicago as was possible while he was forced to be here to work. Back home, he at least had a bit of a leg up where officials and cops were concerned—or he used to.

Here, though?

Here, he had shit.

Nothing.

He had to be careful. In every single aspect.

Still pacing along the bay doors inside the warehouse, Roman waited for part of the crew to return, driving the three, million-dollar cars they were supposed to hit.

The preparation and planning came together as the deadline loomed to the point where it was a now-or-never type of deal. He put together a team of people made up mostly of his old crew from back in New York, and a few new recruits directly from Chicago who came highly recommended in the car boosting scene from contacts he had in the business.

No fucking lie—Roman’s standards were high. They kind of had to be, though. He didn’t really have the time to mess around with people who needed him to hold their hand through how to follow an order, and definitely not with someone who didn’t know what to do with a wrench. The plan needed to be executed with perfection and precision. Roman was kind of banking his life on it. Literally. Considering he knew his whole future in Chicago and with the Yazovs depended on it.

Behind him—while he continued focusing on the forty steps it took him to cross from one door to the third at the other end—were neatly arranged portable car jacks, boxes