The Marriage (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 3), Bethany-Kris [books for 8th graders txt] 📗

had to keep the girl if the reason for her being there in the first place was dead?

But he hadn’t killed Roman.

And his warning rang loudly.

Was the asshole just having fun?

Pavel eventually shrugged at Demyan’s lingering, questioning stare.

“Where’s Leonid?”

“Apparently he’s not in New York,” Pavel said. “Nothing’s showing up anywhere—any associates of his in the state say he’s not been in contact.”

“Then, I’ll wait until he gets here,” Demyan replied, bored, dropping the papers down with a swoosh on his desk. “I’m not sitting down with Dima without his father.”

“Kinda seems like it’s not just associates here, boss. We don’t know where he is. Nobody’s seen him recently—even people in Chicago are whispering about it.”

That made Demyan pause.

“How recently? When was the last time anyone outside the immediate circle saw him?”

It wasn’t Pavel’s fault, but Demyan had never been known for his patience, and it was starting to show.

Shoot the messenger.

There was some truth to the adage, he thought, as Pavel eyed him warily.

“What is it?”

“Well, people say different things but—”

“Pavel, I’m fucking serious. Talk.”

“A common theme seems to be that he hasn’t been seen since the fire,” Pavel replied.

Demyan sat back in his chair, spinning around slowly as he tried to think.

Was that why Dima was doing  all the work—his father had hidden away all this time, and there was no one to check the cocksucker for his behavior?

What was Leonid hiding from?

Or who?

Whatever he was—in their limited interactions through the years when Leonid served as Maxim’s second in command—Demyan had never viewed the man as weak or afraid. Not one to cower, he was like every bratva man that enjoyed using their special brand of intimidation to their benefit.

Why did he refuse to be in New York?

Why was he afraid to show his face to anyone?

“You can tell Dima to fuck off,” he finally said.

That was his final decision. It had to be, regardless of the consequences. Demyan didn’t know what game these men wanted to play with him, but he’d just made one that would force their hand either way.

Pavel’s jaw clenched at his boss’s command, knowing what the results of that choice would likely be. Dima would retaliate.

He’d have to.

A slight like Demyan’s, well, it was a personal offense—being refused a meeting with the boss.

“He wants a boss-to-boss meeting? Then the bastard better bring the boss over here first. That, or he gives me a legitimate reason why Leonid can’t be here.”

Demyan needed answers.

He wanted everything clear.

“I’ll communicate your decision through the man he sent,” Pavel said.

Demyan didn’t have the interest to go through the paperwork anymore, and the shipment of guns heading to Russia was the least of his problems. Maybe work could wait. He wanted to get to the bottom of a different kind of business.

More importantly, he wanted to know what really happened to Maxim.

“And while you’re at it,” Demyan threw at Pavel’s retreating back, his frustration making his voice gravelly, “Get in touch with the two agents from the FBI. Invite them back—tell them I wanna have a chat.”

*

Agent Packard and Agent Mahon stood with their arms crossed over their chests in silent reflection of each other. Demyan remained seated in his chair across from them.

Their hardened expressions seemed forced. Like they had a discussion before the two entered the home of the bratva boss. Perhaps about how they were going to present themselves to him, guessing by the postures?

It made him smirk.

They were still convinced they could somehow control the narrative, but Demyan knew better. The very fact these agents were willing to damn near ask how high when he said jump—or rather, let’s meet up—told him the truth.

They were looking as hard as he was.

Maybe for the same thing.

Likely for different reasons.

“I would offer you some vodka, but I’m not sure what the FBI protocol is on the matter of drinking on the job,” Demyan said, deciding to keep things light at the start.

After all, he had no beef with them. The agents, and the bureau, hadn’t laid a finger on Demyan’s business as of yet, so what would be the point in causing trouble?

He knew they were still in their feelings about the fact that Roman hadn’t given away any information they could use—but hadn’t he helped them enough? He’d given them a different and more innovative direction to look in.

That was more than another man in this life would do for a cop.

At best.

“Why don’t we get down to business,” Agent Packard began.

Once again, he was the one taking the lead here, so Demyan focused his gaze on Mahon instead when he said, “You know I don’t do business with the FBI. Let me make one thing very clear to you, the only reason you’re here is because I want some information from you.”

Honesty was the best policy, right?

Mahon had to look away, glancing at his partner for direction. Demyan’s suspicions were confirmed in that moment. Still green around the ears. Was he a new recruit? How many years had he been engaging criminals of Demyan’s caliber?

Demyan smirked again.

“I’m sure we can help each other,” Packard replied.

“It depends on what you’re giving me, actually.”

“What do you want, Mr. Avdonin?”

“All the information you have on Leonid. Everything you know about Maxim Yazov. Preferably, anything about the two together that I would find useful, do you understand?”

Even though Packard managed to stare at him blankly, the way Mahon shifted his arms behind his back to clasp his hands told Demyan everything he wanted to know.

The FBI had uncovered something about Maxim they hadn’t shared publicly yet.

“And what are you giving us in return?” Packard asked.

Demyan leaned slightly over the table, weaving his fingers together with a bored shrug. He even shook his head, half disappointed, a bit apologetic.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding, gentlemen. I was under the impression that you understood what it means to keep an open conversation going with me. Or didn’t you get the memo?”

Packard still didn’t blink. “What makes you think that, Mr. Avdonin?”

Demyan stood up.