The Promise (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 2) by Bethany-Kris (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

Demyan stood like a statue, glaring at his son. The silence coated the room until he reached for the bottle of vodka again, the liquor sloshing against the glass. He tipped two shot glasses on the silver tray where the bottle had also been sitting over and poured them both a drink.

Roman took the shot and drank it, never once breaking his father’s heavy stare. Demyan did the same, but he thought that was more so his father could consider his next words. He was good at doing that—making sure not a single word was wasted when he wanted every one of them heard.

“So, to be clear, you fucked the young woman who has been promised to Dima?”

Roman didn’t bother defending himself, knowing he didn’t have one for that. His actions against Dima were always selfish, and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise. Those were the facts.

He did, however, correct his father with, “Was promised.”

“Is, Roman,” Demyan countered swiftly. “Until all parties agree otherwise in one way or another. When an arrangement is made for a marriage, it is not over until it’s over.”

Well, those were semantics.

Right?

Roman never did well with those.

Demyan started filling in the blanks all on his own which made things easier for Roman. “Let me guess, Maxim was about to make you answer for sleeping with his spoken-for daughter—that’s how you earned your proper beating. And then, you told him about the plot, so he let you live.”

“Essentially.”

“But,” Demyan said, wagging a finger his son’s way, “somehow you ended up bringing the girl back here with you. That ... I’m lost.”

Sadly, that was the clearest part for Roman.

“He wanted to get rid of his daughter. Made it known he never wanted to see her again—to me. Besides that, I don’t know what is going on in Chicago now that I’m gone, and he’s aware of what his man was planning. You want to know why she’s here, but I don’t have a specific reason beyond what was put in my hands. I just did what I thought was the only option.”

Demyan let out a noise that voiced his irritation. If it wasn’t his son in front of him—chances were, things might have taken a more violent turn in the room. “And here she is, right?”

“Well—”

“I told you to keep your fucking head down. To mind your business!”

“You also sent me to Chicago to get me off your hands—let’s not forget that, Papa. I certainly haven’t.”

“That’s not what I did.”

“Bullshit. You wanted to teach me a lesson. Let me assume responsibility, whatever the fuck that even means.”

“Wrong, Roman,” Demyan snarled with enough venom to quiet his son. For a second, anyway. “You assume I wanted the Yazovs to do anything—the only thing I did was remain ignorant. If someone interferes with your affairs, what problem is it of mine? I didn’t plan anything, and I didn’t stop it, either. Make sure you understand that the next time you decide one of your stupid decisions is my fault.”

Demyan’s fists hit the desk with a bang making a pain shoot down Roman’s torso again when he flinched. “It doesn’t fucking matter now, son. You’ve brought home a girl who is promised to a bratva man. Do you realize what that means?”

“That this could cost me my life? Yeah, I’m aware. Trust, it’s crossed my mind a few times.”

It was only as Demyan scrubbed a palm down his jaw as he tried to make sense of the mess in front of him that Roman felt the pangs of guilt tugging at him once more—the ones he experienced when disappointing his father. A familiar feeling as it happened more often than he cared to admit, but he’d never found a reason to do anything different. He knew this probably wasn’t the same.

“If a marriage is fixed, it has to happen, those are the rules,” Demyan said, repeating his earlier sentiment like it made a difference.

Roman shrugged, murmuring, “It’s not going to happen. It’s impossible since the bride-to-be is missing and the only people who know where she is are the ones in this apartment, and the dead man walking in Chicago.”

Demyan eyed his son, the silence stretching on the longer he assessed Roman. He could feel his father trying to get into his head, to pry the secrets he kept there right out of his fucking skull.

“But for how long, Roman?”

He didn’t reply.

His father continued on, saying, “I’m not sure if you sound happy about all of this, or ... not. Is there something else in this equation you’re not telling me about—what am I missing?”

Roman almost wished they continued to silently glare at each other. Anything except that damn question. Thinking it might give him a bit of time to gather his thoughts, he said, “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

Demyan lifted his brow high. “Are you in love with her?”

That was not the question Roman expected. The words hung between them, filling the room with their weight and girth. It sounded ridiculous coming from his father’s mouth—even Demyan couldn’t hide his incredulous tone.

Roman, in love.

That was ...

That was crazy.

Still, Roman didn’t reply. Love was a strong word for something he didn’t understand; an experience he’d never had, really. He also didn’t think it would be fair to say he had no emotional attachment to Karine, even if that was also something he didn’t comprehend. None of those things really mattered, either.

Too much time passed between them without either of them speaking, and Demyan quickly lost patience for it when he said, “That’s the only possible reason for you to act this way—do something as stupid as this. And not just yourself, no, you’re risking everyone. Everything, Roman. Your life, your family, and the rest of your own bratva, because don’t be mistaken about that, son. They’re going to come after all of us. Until they get to the one they want.”

Roman still refused to speak.

His father tipped his chin up, then,