The Promise (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  At least, his father had managed to keep the bastards off his shoulders so far, but Roman wasn’t sure how much longer that would last. His constant paranoia about bumping into the FBI was only aided by the fact he was still waiting for someone from Chicago to turn up out of the blue, too.

  A proverbial target had been placed on his back in more ways than one—a dangerous way to feel for a man like him. Repeatedly checking over his shoulder, eyes darting everywhere when he entered any public space, the never-ending movement because a still target was far too easy to hit.

  When Leonid or Dima did eventually hit, he wanted to see it coming. Really, it was the only thing he could do.

  Work was entirely out of the question, even if Roman thought it might serve as a good distraction to the fact he fought every day not to return to Vermont. But no, a decent, worthwhile scheme wouldn’t serve the purpose of staying out of sight and on the move. He hadn’t been involved in any of the chop shop business since he left Chicago with Karine in tow.

  That shit was trash, too.

  Nothing was in Roman’s favor. Life was having a good laugh at his goddamn expense.

  He had an itch he couldn’t scratch—an ever-present desire to return to some semblance of normal, or what his normal used to be.

  That just wasn’t possible, and really ... he wouldn’t take any of it back, if he could. It meant no Karine, after all, and the idea of that bothered him more than even the fact he couldn’t be with her now.

  Roman figured that said something.

  He just wasn’t ready to say it, too.

  Eyeing Marky in the rearview mirror only to find his friend was focused on the bumper to bumper traffic, Roman pulled out his phone and dialed Karine’s number. He’d gotten a bull at the lodge to arrange a phone for her the very same day he left. Shit, he had to figure out something, didn’t he?

  From what he’d been told, the phone at least eased the impact after he was gone. Karine answered the call at the start of the second ring, like she’d been waiting for it.

  “I missed your voice,” were her first words.

  Roman grinned. “Oh?”

  “It’s kind of stupid.”

  “Or cute.”

  Even he raised a brow at the choice of word he used—cute—not at all something he would usually say. Marky didn’t hide the fact he shot a glance at Roman in the rearview mirror, either.

  His reply was a look—it said everything. Fuck off.

  “Are you having a good day?” Roman asked, going back to what mattered.

  His phone call.

  Karine.

  Sprawling deeper into the backseat, he tipped his head back to stare at the roof of the car. Like that, he could picture Karine’s face. How those pretty, perfect bow-shaped lips would form a smile when she spoke. He just wanted to see her. Every inch of her.

  Fuck, yeah.

  That’s what he was—fucked.

  He missed her, too.

  “I think so,” Karine said after a pause.

  “You think it was a good day?”

  “Well, we did a lot of walking.”

  Roman held back the snort at how her tone dipped. He’d come to learn over the course of their many phone conversations that while Karine loved the lodge, the property full of dense wilderness, and the safe space it allowed her, she also liked to just ... be. Sitting under a tree with a blanket, curled in bed watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. But she wasn’t the active type.

  A stroll was great, long walks ... not so much.

  “Anyway,” Karine said, drawing him from his thoughts. “Michelle and I, we went for a walk around the lake right after breakfast, then we kept talking and talking, and lost track of time.”

  He did chuckle at that. “So, did you really mind all the walking if you lost track of time?”

  “Listen.”

  His next laugh came out full force, and Karine quickly joined in. It made Roman happy to hear that dance in her voice, a chirpy sweetness he hoped meant that she was still taking the distance between them better than he’d expected. If he was honest, though, he got a strong impression that her sessions with the psychiatrist were making a huge difference in the ways Karine approached different things.

  “What did you talk about today?” he asked, making her scoff playfully in response.

  “You know I’m not gonna talk about that. Nice try.”

  “Ugh, straight to the heart, Karine,” he said. Then, just as fast, Roman added, “Just kidding.”

  Fact was, he didn’t push her to discuss the things she talked about with Michelle. Karine had made it clear shortly after he’d left Vermont that the woman suggested she didn’t unless she was truly ready to, and he didn’t think she was.

  That was fine.

  Mostly.

  Roman wasn’t a liar.

  Or he was trying real hard not to be.

  Karine only laughed at his joke, but that was because she hadn’t heard the slight dip in his tone. Thankfully. Just because he was letting her call the shots didn’t mean he was comfortable with every choice she made. He did wish she would tell him what was on her mind all the time—every single secret Michelle had managed to pull from the depths of her mind. Only so he could try and figure her out, understand Karine better, maybe.

  But they weren’t his secrets to know.

  And he already had enough of his own.

  As Karine chatted on, telling him about the things they’d found on a new trail, his thoughts wandered to the fact that he was hiding something crucial from her, as well. He hadn’t told Karine about the fire. No official statement of Maxim’s death had been made—sure—but that didn’t change what they believed. Her father was most likely dead.

  Most definitely dead.

  That would be a loaded statement, the very second it came out of his mouth, because he knew what would come next. It was inevitable. She would eventually ask him who had done it, and Roman would have to lie to her again.

  He hated that.

  “Anyway, then Jimmy, you know, the—”

  “Mmhmm, the bull,” Roman interjected, refusing to delve into his thoughts more than he already had. Fuck it. He should just enjoy his chance to talk to Karine, and not issues that he couldn’t currently handle.

  Karine continued, “Yeah, him. He was like a kid, I swear it. Running up to us with two shotguns, looking like a madman with a smile on. You should have seen Michelle’s face, Roman. I died. She was ready to bolt—I don’t think she’s come that close to a gun before.”

  It was her soft giggle that made his grin grow wide in an instant. He loved that sound. Every time he doubted himself, or felt like he didn’t know what he was doing—that he was risking everything for the sake of a woman he couldn’t even have at the moment—he reminded himself of these conversations. How she laughed, the way she could be bubbly and sweet, despite everything.

  If that wasn’t strength, what was?

  “Why did he have two shotguns?” he asked, clearing his throat.

  “He was going to teach me how to shoot skeets.”

  She didn’t contain the excitement in her voice, and that alone was wonderful, but Roman felt a surge of petty jealousy. All the same, there it was.

  He did not wear that monster well.

  A part of him believed his parents were to blame—that from the second he was born, despite having an older sister, he might as well have been an only child. They spoiled him. Gave him things, told him they were his, and never once expected Roman to share.

  So, he didn’t.

  Ever.

  Well, apparently that shit had translated into his romantic life as well because the jealousy was real. He wasn’t given much of a choice but to share Karine’s time and attention when he couldn’t be there to fill up every second of her damn days.

  Roman knew Jimmy—the guy was decent. He trusted the man to get the job done and keep Karine safe, but he’d never discussed socializing with her. In fact, he’d told all the bulls to leav
e her alone unless she made the first step to close the bridge. The rationale behind that was she was free to do whatever she wanted, as long as she wanted to do it. If Jimmy and she were becoming friends, and she was comfortable with a particular bull, then Roman had no say in it.

  And it wasn’t a bad thing, his father had pointed out to him when he dared to bring it up to the man. If she felt more comfortable with a particular bull, it could make things better for her in many ways.

  Demyan wasn’t wrong.

  Roman just didn’t like it.

  There was that monster—again.

  Besides, the more she engaged in these things, the more distracted she was going to be from his absence. However, the alternative reality where she enjoyed shooting skeets and laughing with one of the bulls—he practically buzzed with envy.

  Not that he let it show.

  “And how’d it go?” Roman asked.

  “The lesson?”

  “Yeah, babe.”

  “Not too bad,” she replied, a smile coloring up her words brightly. He couldn’t see it, but he swore he could hear it. “I hit a couple. Jimmy said I was a natural, but I think he was just being nice.”

  “Jimmy is a lot of things but nice for the sake of being nice is not of them. And I’m not surprised. You have the potential of being good at everything—you only have to try.”

  Nothing he said was untrue, but it still stung a little to say it. He should have been in Vermont teaching Karine to shoot skeets over the lake.

  “How are you?” she asked, then, not giving him the chance to respond before she added, “I feel like whenever we talk, I just end up monopolizing the conversation. It’s always all about me.”

  Right.

  “Because you’re what matters, Karine.”

  She gave a little sigh. “You haven’t told me anything about how things are going there.”

  He preferred to keep their conversations light because he had enough on his mind already. Not that he expected her to understand.

  “I don’t want to talk about things that aren’t important,” he settled on saying. “I want to talk about you. Besides, there are some things I just ... can’t discuss. You understand, don’t you?”

  Karine was quiet for longer than he liked before finally saying, “I do understand.”

  “But it’s not easy, right?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  Roman laughed darkly, and scrubbed a hand down his neatly trimmed beard. “So you know though, just because I’m not giving you all the details of my day-to-day life right now, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you.”

  “No, I know that, too. I just ... everything sounds scary and complicated. I figured I should at least ask, you know?”

  It was complicated, but he wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

  “Why do you feel that way—has something happened there, Karine?”

  It took her a second to respond.

  A second too long.

  “I’ve just overheard some things. That’s all. Mostly the guys talking amongst themselves around here. I heard one say Leonid was acting as the boss in Chicago. I don’t understand what that means. What about ... my father? What’s happening?”

  Fuck.

  Roman quieted—he didn’t know what to say. Well, shit, he would be having a word with the bulls to make sure they were careful about what they said to each other. Especially when they thought no one was listening.

  Clearly, someone was.

  He didn’t want Karine overhearing anything else. Every piece of news she learned would come from his mouth alone. This was fucking bad enough.

  “Things sound dangerous, Roman,” Karine told him, her tone turning shy when she added, “I just want everything to be over ... so you can be here with me again.”

  “Me, too, but I can’t make the world move faster, Karine.”

  “Funny.”

  Roman arched a brow. “What is?”

  “It definitely feels like you make my world go faster.”

  Maybe so.

  It just wasn’t the same thing.

  Unfortunately.

  • • •

  Marky dropped him back off nearing midnight at the Astoria Hotel where he’d been staying the last two nights, and they had spent most of the day driving around doing fucking nothing. Roman was imprisoned in his own city. A place he had once felt was his kingdom had become a constant reminder that he wasn’t free to do as he wished.

  The cloud of the FBI and the Chicago bratva hung over him after he’d said goodbye to his friend and headed for the hotel’s entrance, but Karine wasn’t too far from his thoughts, either. A few more nights and he was going to move to a different, random location. That was the plan so far.

  Roman intended on heading to the bar first before he went up to his suite. He wasn’t doing much drinking in public, but he planned to bypass the wait staff bringing him up a bottle. Why not get it himself?

  Drinking himself to oblivion seemed like a good way to get his mind off things. Even if it was just another way to deflect his own feelings. Roman had come to learn he didn’t really deal well with his own pain. No matter the reason for him feeling it, he just wanted to bury it.

  However, his plan came to a screeching halt when he walked into the lobby and found his father waiting there. Demyan stood with two men whom Roman knew as lawyers the family had on retainer. Affiliated men who knew the cost, and benefits, of defending criminals. If his father had lawyered up, it could only mean one thing.

  The law was somehow involved.

  “Say as little as you can,” Demyan opened the conversation when Roman walked up.

  Trouble had arrived.

  He nodded at the stoic, sharp-dressed lawyers literally on standby next to them. “What’s going on?”

  “There are two FBI agents waiting in your suite.”

  “And you just let them go up there?”

  “I gave them the key for the room, actually,” Demyan replied.

  He started walking in the direction of the opening elevator, followed on his heels by the lawyers. So, Roman had no choice but to follow them, too, getting more pissed off with every step he took after his father.

  “Do you want to tell me what the fuck this means?” he called, barely below a shout, at his father’s back.

  Roman was done being keeping calm.

  “It means that you’re going to have to meet with the two bastards, but it doesn’t mean you’ll be talking to them.”

  Ah.

  That said a lot.

  Clearly, the agents hadn’t given his father a choice in the matter.

  “I thought you had it under control,” he said, stepping in beside a scowling Demyan on the elevator.

  “I did have it under control. For over two weeks. It’s time you met with them, and shut them up for at least another few. I don’t like it, but it was going to happen eventually.”

  Roman brushed a hand through his hair in frustration while the others packed into the elevator together. The lawyers stepped in before one of his father’s bulls followed them in, too.

  “My other man went up with them to the room,” Demyan explained.

  “Say nothing, or very little. They have nothing to make you talk, anyway. If they had any proof, they wouldn’t be demanding an informal chat.”

  The lawyer who offered that nice piece of information while the elevator climbed floors earned himself a glare from Roman. He knew how to handle officials; he’d been doing this shit—or watching other men do it—for his entire goddamn life.

  “I didn’t intend on speaking to them at all, actually,” he snapped back, “and one might think the fee we pay to keep you on retainer would keep any informal meetings off the table in the first fucking place, huh?”

  He could have delivered that insult in a softer manner, but he didn’t have the patience or care, really.

  “Well, it’s happening now, so you should be prepared,” Demyan interjected.

  The eleva
tor doors slid open, and they all stepped out to the corridor in pairs of two, except for the bull who exited first to check the hall.

  “What do they want to fucking know?” Roman asked.

  Wasn’t that what mattered here? He waited for an answer while he and his father led the way to the suite at the end.

  “About what you’d expect. If you have any connection with the Yazovs. What you know about the fire. What business we have with them.”

  “And what have you told them?”

  “Nothing,” Demyan replied.

  The two of them exchanged a quick look before Roman swiped his card through the lock and pushed the door open. Everyone else followed him inside.

  The two agents were already seated around the coffee table in the sitting room that greeted the guests upon entrance. Neither man stood up to greet Roman, or the men behind him.

  “Roman Avdonin,” the man on the left said, his badge already in his palm and facing out. “Special Agent Packard.”

  Neither man extended their hands and Roman stood back, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants. There was no need for a nice to meet you here. No doubt, these agents had seen his face plastered on their cork boards for years.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  Why waste time?

  The faster they were gone, the better. Even though nobody made a move he could sense the shiftiness and disapproval in the movement and murmurs of lawyers behind him. If only Roman gave a single shit.

  “We just wanted to talk,” the other agent said, shrugging lightly. “Like we did with your father some time ago. Maybe clarify a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Apparently, it’s very windy up there,” Roman replied dully.

  Neither agent seemed very impressed by his dry humor.

  “Specifically, we would like to discuss your recent trip to Chicago,” Packard explained, not even taking the bait.

  Roman shrugged. “I had a friend to visit, so I went up there for a few weeks. What’s the big fucking deal?”

  “I hear it was more than a couple months, right? And what is this friend’s name?”