The Marriage (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 3)

by Bethany-Kris

  If only he cared.

  “And? The organization has a problem. It trumps yours every time. As for the rat ... leave it be, feed it occasionally. Otherwise, nothing,” he growled into the phone.

  He knew the guys didn’t want the added responsibility of having to keep an eye on Masha. Tough shit—they really had nothing left to do after they removed the remaining stolen car from the garage. Work was out of the question with attention on them again, anyway.

  Reminding himself everybody was human, he unlatched the window’s lock, pushed it open, and lit a smoke. He went back to the conversation with Lincoln after the first drag of nicotine soothed his frayed nerves with a slightly better attitude.

  Not by much.

  “Listen, I get nobody wants to play babysitter, but it won’t be for long, okay?” he asked the man.

  Lincoln grumbled something too low for Roman to hear before muttering, “Whatever, man.”

  “Bill me for the food,” Roman joked dryly. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “Don’t speak so soon. Kostya just made another run about a half hour ago. That’s our fifth in—”

  Beep.

  Roman jerked the phone away from his ear to eye a number on the screen he didn’t recognize. Call-waiting. Only a select few people had the digits to his burner phone at any given time as he replaced them often and only kept in contact with people he needed to at any given moment. Everything else could wait, and for a long time, it served him well.

  Lincoln’s voice buzzed in the phone, but Roman was already answering the strange number. “Da?”

  The Russian came out smooth, and the reply was damn near as instant.

  “Roman—it’s Chet.”

  The unknown voice spoke like the two men were friends.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Not important. Listen, it’s unfortunate that your man Kostya had to die, but he was kind enough to give me your phone number. Tell his friend I left the food on the dumpster. The rats might get it, though. I digress ... I have a message for you.” Roman didn’t even have time to process what was being said before the man named Chet added, “A message for the Devil of Little Odessa—bit dumb, that name.”

  A hired gun?

  Maybe.

  He got that impression, but who knew? Dima could be working with anyone. A lot of people would do a lot of things for the right price.

  “Who’s sending the message?”

  Although, he was sure he knew. Bringing up a childhood moniker that had chased him into a wild adulthood like it was a joke screamed pettiness.

  And Dima.

  Roman wasn’t wrong.

  “Dima wants to meet with you,” Chet said on the phone as Roman checked the windows, scanning the property. He had moved into the room across the hall to survey the front of the house as the man added, “Your father has refused to sit with him, so he will settle for meeting you instead. For now as this is his last attempt at peace.”

  Peace?

  Since when had Dima shown any concern for someone’s peace?

  At the moment, Roman was fairly certainly Dima didn’t have eyes or hands on Karine. Gut instinct told him that, more than anything else. Dima might not get him closer to her, if anything, and he wasn’t going to entertain the asshole if it could be helped.

  Not if Karine wasn’t safe ...

  It was clear the guy had a sick plan for her. Roman’s mind was just creative enough to torture him with possibilities. He wouldn’t inadvertently walk his wife into a lion’s den.

  “You can tell him to go fuck himself. Nobody from the Avdonin family will ever talk to that piece of shit. He’s a dead man walk—”

  “Your best friend was just the start of it,” Chet interrupted smoothly, seemingly unbothered by Roman’s rant. “Dima wants what he wants. He has nothing to lose. You have everything, see. I hear your mother likes roses ...” Giddy laughter followed before the man said, “The choice is yours—but don’t take too long to think. I’ll call again with details.”

  The call hung up as fast as it had come in, and just like when it did, Roman was left staring at the screen.

  His messenger was gone.

  The only thing he was left with was a choice.

  *

  Demyan poured vodka in two shot glasses and walked over to his son with both in his hands. “Do it on his terms, then. If he’s made a threat on your mother—”

  “You can’t be serious,” Roman replied.

  “It’s not exactly like he can kill you in broad daylight, either. And he is looking for exactly this reaction from you and the rest of our family,” Demyan added, shrugging as he fell into chair behind his desk. He’d come home from a lunch with Roman’s mother the second his son called about the message from Dima.

  Down the hall, he could hear his mother talking to his grandmother—Viviana. Nobody liked being moved to safe places when bad stuff went down because of their association to the mob, but that was the life they had all chosen. Sometimes, the only thing they could do was bicker amongst themselves about it.

  Roman tried to ignore his mother’s conversation to deal with the one at hand with his father.

  Demyan hadn’t missed a beat. “He doesn’t like being ignored, and that’s what we’ve been doing so far. He feels like we aren’t treating him with the respect he deserves.”

  “He deserves to die.”

  “Does he?” Demyan passed his son a look. “You’ve only said some. I didn’t want to ask for more than you were willing to tell me about her ... and him.”

  Roman swallowed hard, refusing to meet his father’s gaze and instead fixing his own on the window and the view outside. “He’s mad.”

  “As in—”

  “What does it matter?”

  There were things Roman didn’t want to repeat. He knew Karine wished the same, but she’d never be released from her memories.

  “Exactly the reason why we need to take his threats seriously. Before he does something that lands us all in jail for a spell. We don’t know where Karine is right now. We don’t know what Maxim is planning, either. The only thing we can do is give in to Dima’s demands. Or at least make him believe we are, and if you think about it ... we do have the upper hand.”

  “Christ. How so?”

  “We know something he doesn’t realize we know.”

  Roman fell into the chair in the corner of his father’s office with his head in his hands, trying to make sense of his current state.

  If he went in for a meeting with Dima—he wasn’t sure how he could walk away from there without ending the man; without making him suffer.

  “Why do I feel like the key to this is understanding how much of a sad and pathetic fuck Dima truly is,” Demyan said, although he didn’t pose it as a question.

  Which was fine.

  Roman didn’t really have an answer.

  “When the messenger calls again with details,” Demyan said, pushing up from his chair to head for the wet bar and vodka with his empty glass, “agree to the meet.”

  *

  The abandoned farmhouse made of bricks on the border of the New York state line was as far from Brighton Beach as Roman could imagine. He’d suspected Dima was using a property within the state as a haven, but they hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly where. The tiny, rural communities that took them through their trip would have kept the visitor safely hidden from view as long as he came and went quietly.

  They were also told to bring no more than one armed bull each—otherwise, they’d be shot on sight.

  Roman tried to argue with Demyan again on the legitimacy of their plan. They would be severely outnumbered by Dima’s men if they followed through with this, but his father was quick to remind him that they had no other choice. This was it.

  If they refused to meet with Dima now, their bratva would be met with more violence. How hot could the water get before it boiled them to death? His family couldn’t bear the pressure bearing down around them.


  Roman gripped the steering wheel hard as he drove to the farmhouse in his car. He had one bull assigned to him, while his father drove his car behind him. Pavel was with him. He whispered Karine’s name under his breath a million times on the drive just to keep himself focused.

  She was why he was here—doing this.

  Simple as that.

  Dima’s men guarded the front of the farmhouse. Armed and ready for an attack. They didn’t speak as the Avdonin men and their bulls were directed inside.

  Dima hid his surprise at seeing Demyan there—but not well, and only for a second. It was the only upper hand Roman and Demyan really had. To bring the boss that had been consistently refusing to even grace Dima with his attention.

  Until he hit the right button.

  Demyan’s wife.

  At their entrance, Dima didn’t move from where he sat in a tattered, old armchair in the middle of a large room which may have been a flourishing domestic scene at some point. Now, however, the walls were all broken down with holes littering each and every one. A cracked portrait lay in pieces on a dust-covered floor.

  One lightbulb flickered on the ceiling, and there was a large enough hole between the second floor and in the roof that he could look straight up and see the moon overhead. He bet the place had been a cheap, fast buy. It looked like something that someone would want to just ... get off their hands. He was shocked it even had power.

  Dima was a bright contrast to the mess of the room in his black, three-piece suit and shined loafers. Twisting an unlit cigar between his fingers while his gaze jumped between father and son, the rest of his men stood in a small semi-circle behind him.

  A silent wall of threats.

  What a greeting.

  Dima was taking extra effort to command their respect—from the unknown location that was out of the way, to the quiet men eyeing them, ready for their first move. It was laughable.

  “It’s been a while, Dima, and I was starting to get worried about you,” Roman said jokingly.

  Dima didn’t seem to appreciate the dry humor. “Quit playing the fool. You should be fucking grateful I didn’t kill you on that highway when I had the chance.”

  Roman nodded, smirking a little. “No, you just left me there to bleed or freeze to death. It was exactly the reminder I needed.”

  “Reminder of what?”

  “That I don’t like being told what to do. You’re right, man, you should have killed me when you had the chance.”

  Dima’s face molted with his rage but despite the way he glared like he might jump out of his chair at Roman, he only muttered back, “All of this can be over very soon. You have something of mine, and I want it back. Just like that—simple. It’s all I’m asking.”

  “It?” Roman asked, his tone edging dangerously low.

  “You know what I’m talking about. I told you, yeah? We’re done playing stupid—and I refuse to indulge spoiled sukas. We’re here to do what we have to do, no? Let’s do that, pup.”

  Roman didn’t even acknowledge the insult.

  The bastard wanted it.

  Dima leaned towards one of his men, sticking his cigar between his lips. The guy lit it without question, and the two were cloaked behind a cloud of smoke for a few passing seconds.

  “Karine isn’t an object to own,” Roman stated, wanting that to be clear. He didn’t care how his tone came off, or if he had plastered just enough fuck you in it for the other man to hear, but he figured the words did the job regardless.

  Demyan made the slightest movement beside him, likely to serve as a reminder for Roman to not lose his shit. He’d already figured that was going to be a toss up. They did need this asshole to back off a little in New York because his antics caused an already-growing pile of problems to get larger.

  Roman couldn’t forget that side of things, either. There were so many reasons this meeting needed to go well, and so many more that he had for it to end as bloody as possible.

  Dima smiled.

  It truly was a strange sight, knowing what he did about the man ... He could make his face seem so friendly, even if it was without sincerity, but one wouldn’t necessarily know it straightaway. Disarming, really, that monsters looked so much like everyday people.

  “Is that what you think she is—human?” Dima barked out with a laugh. “She’s nothing but a bitch who’s lost her marbles. If I had a dog, yes, he would make more sense than she fucking does.”

  Roman considered ending the man—he went as far as to mentally count the steps it would take to cross the room, reach him, and strangle Dima with his bare hands. Of course, the men with the weapons would have made it impossible but nonetheless ... he considered it.

  It might have been worth it.

  “So, what will it be? Are you going to sacrifice your bratva to keep my property hidden temporarily? Because you know I will find her,” Dima continued, shrugging though his facial expressions didn’t waver from his jovial, kind smile. “I will keep coming until finally I hit the mark. What then? You’re the one whose home reeks of pig shit lately, old—”

  “We’re not friends.”

  It was Roman’s turn to chuckle, the sound of it wiping that smirk from Dima’s face as he scrubbed his palm down his own, and shot his father a quick look from the side. The man was an idiot.

  “She’s gone,” he said with a little grin.

  Dima’s façade slipped—his brows dipped low.

  Roman lifted a shoulder, not giving the prick a chance to respond before he added, “Yeah, man, I couldn’t believe it at first, either. We can’t all be perfect, though, but you made a big mistake.”

  Dima started to stand from the chair, asking in a snarl, “What do you think you know about my mistakes, huh?”

  “I know that you left someone alive, and you were trying hard to keep everyone else from finding out, too.”

  Demyan lifted a hand, as if silently saying hello, before adding quietly, “Your attempts at getting a meeting with me was for nothing after all—we don’t actually have what you want. And seeing as how Chicago hasn’t cleaned up its own mess, I’m sure you can understand why New York will take a step back from here. Unless you want word to travel about Maxim ... I mean, how long are you going to last here in the state once word gets around that you’ve been lying to gain people’s favors? Pretending to be a king ... I already sent out a few messengers to specific heads of enterprises I know you’ve worked with since arriving. You’re one big target, Dima.”

  Roman’s father flipped an indifferent wave of his hand, letting the steaming man across the room bear the brunt of more disrespect. Like he was saying he was done in a gesture because nothing more was worth the effort.

  “And the beauty of this is—even I don’t know where she is,” Roman told Dima, nodding, “but she’s not with you, and that’s all I give a damn about.”

  Dima finally lost his composure, shouting, “She’s to be married to me!”

  Yeah, about that ...

  “Too late—she already married me.”

  It took a second to register.

  A glorious second.

  “What did you just say?”

  Dima’s face mottled red.

  Time to bounce, Roman thought, already spinning around to leave with his father on his heels. He could hear Dima’s tantrum spilling over, but Demyan’s threat was clearly a real concern for the asshole because his men let them leave.

  He waved a hand high, saying, “Yeah, we got married—kept it small and private, sorry you didn’t get an invite. I have a feeling you don’t love weddings. Don’t really seem like the type, you know?”

  “It doesn’t mean shit,” Dima yelled at his back.

  “It does,” Roman murmured over his shoulder.

  Of course, it meant something.

  EIGHTEEN

  Demyan Avdonin had never been the type to believe all was well, even when things worked to his favor. So even as the scene with Dima faded into the distance, seemingly over for a moment, the
bratva boss’s mind was still making sure everything was fine elsewhere.

  Which was why as his man driving put more miles on the freeway, Demyan sent a message to his wife. He’d promised to, after all.

  Tonight was one of the most difficult of his life.

  In many ways.

  He was an old friend to loss, and a long time ago, would have welcomed death just to escape the monster of that trauma. Yet, nothing quite matched up to what it felt like to stand in a secluded, dilapidated farmhouse surrounded by men who would have killed him and his son without hesitation—if it came to that.

  Demyan had needed to be so sure of his hand walking in there, and he’d only been a little comfortable, to be honest.

  A bad ending was never out of the question. It could have happened at any moment.

  He’d done that enough in his past—rise, when nothing else was certain. Anything could have changed everything at the drop of a hat.

  This time it was different because his son was there. All too often, it felt like Roman was the one running his own show. A lifetime away from his father’s reach. Out of Demyan’s control.

  Claire would never have forgiven him had their only son not walked away from this night. She would have blamed him for encouraging their son to go to this meeting, and he would have let her do it.

  Before they left, she was sent to a safe house for the duration of the meeting. Just because he and Roman had made choices in life that placed them in dangerous situations didn’t mean his wife couldn’t be safe while they did business.

  So, he told her as much.

  Claire would understand.

  There was a lot more he wanted to tell her, but never would. He’d learned a long time ago she didn’t enjoy watching her son step into the shoes and shadows of men who came before him.

  Nonetheless, Roman had impressed him tonight. There was a lot on the line for his son, and Demyan supposed he was finally starting to show just how far he’d go for it.

  Like always, Roman did things on his own time and schedule. Sometimes, he’d fit in what others around him needed, but at the end of the day, he still took what he wanted. Did what he had to do.