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

“Shit can go wrong at the last minute.,” Demyan interjected frankly. “Maxim is expecting results. Monetary results.”

“You don’t have to remind me. I know tribute is coming up. I’ve spent the whole month preparing for it.”

“Maxim doesn’t take disappointment well, and I heard he prefers—”

“Cash.”

Demyan stayed quiet.

Roman continued, unfazed. “I have it—seventy percent owed to the Yazovs from what I expect to make from the cars boosted today. He wanted it in cash, and that is what I have. In cash. Mine is still wired to an offshore account.”

“Yeah?” Demyan asked, sounding a little surprised at first. “Maxim is a traditionalist—I’m sure you did your research on the man. Forgive me for making sure.”

Roman remained silent while his father continued to speak, although Demyan muttered more to himself rather than his son.

“He likes to feel the paper between his fingers. Physically feeling it ... seeing the cash holds value for him. If he can’t smell the ink, it means nothing.”

Well, damn.

Roman wished he cared.

That shit all spent the same.

Still, he told his father, “I know. I think I’ve gotten a bit of an understanding about Maxim by now.”

His father remained silent, which urged Roman to continue speaking. If only because he hated the stretching silence, and the unanswered questions that kept poking at the back of his mind like invisible insecurities that only he knew existed. Something he would tell no one.

“I know what you’re trying to do here,” Roman said, still keeping an eye on the bay doors and the view he had outside. “You’re testing me with this—waiting to see how I perform under this kind of pressure in Chicago, making sure I’ve cleaned up my act enough to be stable for you. Maybe then, you can decide whether I’ll be worthy of taking over. You have to justify it, don’t you?”

He waited for his father to say something—a part of him really wanted an answer. Even if it was one he wouldn’t like. At the same time, Roman wanted Demyan to know that he’d figured out this little pact—or whatever bullshit they’d conspired—between him and Maxim. His father had as much of a role to play in his new circumstances as Maxim did. He just didn’t have the details as to what extent.

“You’re wrong about that, son. Partly. I can’t give you any more than what I already have—and if you ask anyone, they’ll all happily say I gave you too much. You’ve had free reign over everything here. Little Odessa is your kingdom. Still, and I think you know that. I think you still wouldn’t appreciate what it means, though. Either way, you are my son, and this is not a test.”

“Then, what is it?”

“Time,” Demyan said simply.

That told him little. There were a dozen other questions Roman had in mind, but the returning silence on his father’s end kept him quiet. Moreover, he already seemed to have issues believing that Roman could actually succeed at this job, so why bother.

He decided to change the subject. The topic of going home and making changes—well, that would have to wait.

“I met Maxim’s daughter. Karine, she’s ... strange,” he settled on saying. Although, his mind was quick to add and interesting. Except he couldn’t say it was for an innocent reason. Roman added to his father, “I mean, they’re all a little fucking different here as far as that goes.”

Demyan’s reply took longer than his son expected. “Met her where—he introduced you to his daughter?”

“Not exactly. I bumped into her accidentally.” Sort of. “She lives with him, I think.”

When his father grew quiet again, Roman was growing tired with the lack of conversation happening from Demyan’s end of the call. He considered cutting it and going back to obsessively checking the time.

Demyan spoke before he could. “I heard he had a daughter, but that is all I know about the situation. That isn’t the sort of question you ask a man like Maxim Yazov.”

“Why wouldn’t you ask him about his family?”

Had he missed something?

Probably.

Roman should have paid attention every time his father or grandfather tried to educate him on the bratvas ways outside of their own organization. Except he really hadn’t cared to learn because those traditions made no difference to what he was capable of. Not to mention, the amount of influence he had inside his own family that wasn’t culturally Russian—like his grandmother and ma—kept him from being too attached to the same kind of pride other men around him had about their heritage.

It just didn’t matter to him.

Never had.

“Men like Maxim Yazov—traditionalists in this ... life—are stuck in a different world. They don’t believe in family because they don’t want to be saddled with the liability. They rarely lay a public claim to their children unless it serves them some purpose to do so. I guess the fact that he has a daughter who lives in his house, well, knowing the way his mind works like I do, sounds a bit like a target on his back to me.”

That was a lot to unpack.

Roman didn’t have the time.

The roar of an engine outside the warehouse, the echo growing down the road leading to his location, took his mind off the information his father had just given him.

He had business to do.

“I gotta go,” he said abruptly, and ended the call.

Without warning.

Maybe he’d apologize later.

Roman checked the time again—they were early. By only two minutes, but still ... that only meant one thing.

A good thing.

Everything went exactly as planned.

Roman pressed the button attached to a steel pillar, and held his breath at what waited for him when the south side bay doors of the warehouse lifted up.

Yeah.

There was nothing quite like stealing a beautiful car.

ELEVEN

Hide and Go Seek isn’t a game for girls your age, Maria liked to tell nine-year old Katee Yazov, but she disagreed. She may have been a little tall for her age, which made it difficult for her to hide well sometimes, but it was still her