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

Roman’s blood ran cold the moment the two came face to face. It wasn’t just him who stiffened with a narrowed stare. Dima matched his demeanor and posture. Vodka be damned—that grudge was alive and well.

The guy still despised Roman.

Well, shit.

The sentiment was mutual.

“Where have you been?” Leonid snapped behind Roman, interrupting the hatred swelling silently between the two men in the doorway. “Today’s not the day to be fucking off, Dima.”

Dima openly glared at his father, making Roman clear his throat and avert his own stare. Awkward was a fucking understatement. No matter what issues existed between Roman and Demyan, his father would never talk to him that way. Not in front of other people.

He was grateful for that.

Maybe, instead of the unsettling, constant irritation that accompanied him whenever the guy was within breathing distance, Roman should have felt sorry for Dima.

Or not.

“I was busy,” Dima replied shortly.

“Nothing is that important. You’re missing business.”

Leonid’s response hit its mark. Dima tore his glare away from his father, and fixed his bloodshot eyes on Roman. The two returned to their defensive postures and cold expressions without blinking.

“Don’t linger in the driveway this time.”

Dima had spoken through clenched teeth, and Roman wasn’t sure if the others even heard him.

“You should come. Shouldn't he, Maxim? You should come, Roman,” Leonid said, bringing him back to a conversation he hadn’t paid attention to in the first damn place. Roman was regretting that now.

Roman spun on his heels to face the room again. “What?”

“I’m sure the boss will agree that you’ve earned an invite,” Leonid continued.

Maxim nodded as he sucked on his cigar while his right-hand man grinned, and looked to Roman for a reply. Maybe a thank you, who the fuck knew? But for what?

Roman wasn’t exactly sure what he was agreeing to, but he mumbled a sort of non-committal response, anyway. Whatever got him out of that office. He didn’t want to stick around a moment longer. Not when Dima was around.

Nonetheless, it worked.

Satisfied with his reply, Roman was dismissed without another word. He waved a hand over his shoulder, and left the room, forcing Dima to take a step aside to let him pass. Briefly, he might catch one glimpse of Karine. He should have known she would be nowhere to be seen—Roman was starting to believe certain people didn’t want her to be.

At all.

• • •

Maybe it was because Dima told him not to linger, but Roman decided to do just that. Even though the asshole remained in Maxim’s office, he took pleasure in defying Dima’s demands.

It was the simple things.

The little stuff.

A part of him hoped Dima might be waiting at the entrance when he made his way back around, but no such luck.

Apparently, the two weren’t going to get another run-in. That was unfortunate considering with tribute done and over, Roman had a whole month to find ways to piss Dima off just because he could. As long as he could get away with it. He was sure he could find a few different ways to make that happen.

Roman milled around the foyer and lobby area of the mansion for a bit, sharing easy conversation with a few of the men waiting. The bulls were familiar with him by now, and despite the day, they didn’t mind the distraction he offered for a while.

Everybody had shit to do.

Didn’t mean they wanted to do it.

After a while, nobody seemed to care that Roman was admiring the oil paintings hanging on the walls. His mother’s appreciation for art kept him standing there admiring the brushwork that had gone into a particular painting with a plaque underneath dated only Fall, 1930. Roman tried to picture it, but he couldn’t quite imagine Maxim picking out the art himself. He had to have a collector on his payroll who made the purchases on his behalf—investments, likely. Much like the rest of the material wealth in the estate.

All of it was just to prove a point to the rest of the world—Maxim was king of Chicago. He had the most, the best. What everyone else didn’t.

Roman knew, in some ways, he was a disappointment to his father and grandfather. His less than savory habits and wild ways, to start with, left them feeling like he was constantly walking on unsteady ground. Even if they never explicitly said it, it didn’t have to be. And yet, he didn’t want it to be like that. He also didn’t want to be this, either.

The man Maxim was ...

A boss hiding in a big house, really. Trusting that just his presence and name was enough to ensure the men on the streets were all doing as they should—because his yes men said so.

What good did that do?

Useless.

The show of material-wealth and paid-for taste wasn’t something that impressed him. Instead, it annoyed him, leaving him with heaviness in his stomach that was unsettling and uncomfortable. Pretty things usually hid ugly truths, and even he was a good example of that.

What was hiding here?

The more time he spent in Chicago, the clearer it became to him that Maxim was making errors with his people. In little ways, sure, but he caught it all the same.

Roman smiled to himself as he surveyed another painting. The last thing he had any right to do was offer advice to the pakhan of a successful bratva, and yet he couldn’t help but consider how different things might be in Chicago if Maxim cared to run the streets, on the streets.

He wandered the halls until he found the guest toilets. He decided to go for a piss—even took extra long to do so, and washed his hands with a pearl-colored soap that smelled like vanilla and cream, before spending some time staring at himself in the mirror. Just to increase the chances of bumping into Dima again.

Roman was clearly bored if he was actively looking for trouble. For a man with his issues, nobody could say he