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

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 elevator 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?”

Well, if that was how they wanted to play ...

Roman could go straight to the point. “Are you charging me with something?”

The man chose to ignore that question.

“Did you associate with the Yazov family while you were in Chicago? Specifically, the boss of the organization, Maxim Yazov?”

“What do you mean by that—associate?” Roman returned just as fast, even rocking on his heels. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the way I associate myself with people may mean a different thing to me compared to you.”

“Did you meet his men, or him? Talk to any of them? Bump into each other? Conduct any business?”

Packard’s impatience showed itself, no longer interested in the game he had started, so Roman decided to use that to his advantage. If he was getting on the man’s nerves, good. Twitchy and on edge was exactly the way he wanted the agent to be. It made him more susceptible to making mistakes because the truth was simple.

The Avdonins needed information, too. They were still working blind when it came to Chicago. He would take anything he could get from these assholes, even if he had to play a few games to do it.

He shook his head, telling the agent, “Nope. Didn’t send them any greeting cards, either.”

The two agents glanced at each other briefly, and with that one look Roman knew they had nothing. No proof, and probably no leads on whatever trail they were trying to chase, either. But there was something else that didn’t sit quite right with him.

“Why are you so interested in the contacts of a dead man?” Roman asked.

“For the record, the remains from the estate have still not been positively identified,” Packard said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Another sign of frustration.

Roman decided to poke it. “You may not be sure of it, but if Leonid is running the show, he must have said something. Made an official statement through the proper channels. Speaking as a man in the life, I would.”

How else did a boss make his new position clear?

People needed to know.

“We’ll ask him when we see him,” the other agent said, finally finding his voice again.

Actually, he hadn’t even introduced himself during their conversation. Strange, that.

It was the threatening look his partner threw him that seemed to gain Roman’s father’s attention.

“So you haven’t spoken to Leonid?” Demyan asked suddenly. “Nobody from the organization?”

“Seems like he’s even harder to get a hold of than you,” Packard replied.

That made Roman smile.

Just a little.

He wasn’t sure how long the FBI would be sniffing around Avdonin business, but to him, it seemed like these fucks were going nowhere. Their frustration was palpable, and if anything, the official side of their issues might soon be gone.

Something to hope for, anyway.

However, that joy was short lived. Roman didn’t miss the fact that the agent gave him exactly what he was looking for.

Information.

Nobody knew where Leonid was.

What about Dima?

Were they hiding from the FBI, or looking for Karine?

“We’re done here,” one of the lawyers spoke up.

The agents didn’t look like they were going to agree to that. If only that would make a different, but ... no.

Roman turned away from the conversation, then, headed for the bar in the corner of the room while the lawyers did their thing. He needed a drink, and poured himself three fingers of dark rum.

“We have other questions,” Packard said.

“Our apologies, but this is as much