Page 19 of The Agreement

“I can’t exactly picture him crying for me, let’s be real.”

Anton’s eyes flickered with fleeting amusement, and the edges of his lips twitched like they might break into a grin. “I meant, the position you’ve put him in here. The Yazovs consider this as a mark of disrespect, and I don’t blame them. Had this been done to me when I was a boss, I would have strung you from the telephone wires by your intestines. You tried to steal from them. The son of the Avdonin Pakhan—you blatantly stole from them. The balls on you, Roman. Jesus Christ.”

“An opportunity presented itself to me. Tell me, in my position, you wouldn’t have at least considered doing the same.”

“But it’s not me sweating out my coke habit in this cell, is it?” his grandfather returned just as swiftly. “And you fucked one of their whores. One of Dima’s whores, no less. The good news for her is that information came from your friend—Marky—and it doesn’t appear as though they’re interested in chasing her through the system.”

Roman wished he cared.

Irritation flickered in Anton’s eyes at his grandson’s obvious disregard for the mistakes he had made. “But who the fuck cares, Roman, right? Are you even listening to what I’m saying to you? That position you put your father in—the Yazovs suddenly have demands.”

Wouldn’t it be just his shit luck in that moment for another wild wave of shaking and chills to overtake Roman. It was intense enough to knock him back, and he had to turn away from his grandfather. Just so he wouldn’t see the way his face twisted from the intensity.

“You think you’re going to be able to hide this from me? What this is doing to you?” Anton asked.

“I have nothing to hide.”

“No. No, you don’t.” When Roman faced his grandfather again, the man was clenching and unclenching his fists. “We let you go on for too long like you did. We’re just as much to blame.”

“You know they set me up, right? The whole thing was a setup.”

“Which you fell for,” Anton deadpanned.

“What do they want from us now?”

“You’ll see when you get out. I only came here to offer your mother some sort of comfort because your father absolutely refused.”

Right.

Demyan and his lines.

Roman didn’t want to give his grandfather the impression that he was desperate to get out, but he stifled the urge to ask when he would be released, or even ... when a lawyer would show up on his behalf. He opted to keep his damn mouth shut. This was turning out to be the perfect place for him to ride out the storm of withdrawal.

Considering everything.

Anton was already moving to the cell door, tapping on it lightly with his wedding ring before he looked over his shoulder at his grandson again.

“Good talk, Grandpapa.” Roman managed a sardonic smile through the sweat dripping down the sides of his face, and the muscles screaming in pain. “Tell my ma I’m fine. Nothing else.”

Anton nodded once, and he knew his grandfather would keep his word on the news he delivered to Claire. As he strolled out of the cell, he called over his shoulder, “But someone should have told you to get your shit together a long time ago, Roman.”

The cell door closed behind him, and he was alone.

Again.

Yeah.

“Yeah, someone should have given a shit,” he murmured to himself.

• • •

His stay didn’t even last a week. Two days after his grandfather’s visit, and Roman was led out of his cell, and freed to the streets. No explanation, and he knew better than to ask questions. The forces of the Avdonin Bratva, connections constantly working behind the scenes, had undoubtedly made it happen. There were a few perks to being who he was.

Even if he sacrificed for it.

A black car with the dark tinted windows, and a bull with a door already held open for him to slip into the backseat waited outside the jail for him. Roman squinted up at the sun, letting the warmth spread over on his face. At least, the shaking was gone. He still felt a gut-deep shudder from time to time, a clawing, irresistible urge to make a run for it.

To go find Marky.