Page 49 of The Agreement

As Roman walked, he thought about Karine’s kiss. He could still feel her lips on his thumb, the soft imprint had yet to leave. He brushed his thumb against the palm of his hand, and it still felt warm from her touch.

He needed to dash her from his mind and move on with the rest of the night—he had enough shit to deal with already. Yet, something told him he wasn’t getting rid of Karine anytime soon. At least not from within the confines of his mind.

That place was a prison.

He planned to keep her captive in there just a little bit longer.

• • •

He would have liked to just slip away without being noticed. Too much had happened today, and he wanted to be alone to process it.

The loft he managed to procure in the city wasn’t nearly as big as the one he had in New York, but at least he had his own space and some sense of privacy. Although, with Josef hanging about to watch his every move, he wasn’t ever really by himself.

However, even though Roman wanted to get back to the loft, knock back a few shots of vodka and fall into a dreamless sleep, hoping he wouldn’t be dreaming of Karine—he knew he couldn’t just disappear. Not without taking his leave from Maxim who would be expecting it as a mark of respect.

These fucking guys.

All their pomp and circumstance had a way of pissing Roman off like nobody knew. He just didn’t see the point—or maybe he hadn’t grown up loving the same bratva they had, in a way. The men around him seemed to respect one's ability to make their own way—and mark on a city. He didn’t see how decades of mob tradition played in to how much money he could make in any given year.

He came from a different generation—or that’s what Demyan preached whenever Roman tried to explain that he just didn’t care to go through the same motions as every other man in their business. It just was what it was, he supposed. Did they want his dirty fucking money, or not? That’s always what it came down to.

Nobody ever said no, either.

It wouldn’t be the same for him in Chicago. In Maxim’s mind, he had taken the trouble of giving a fuck about Roman today by inviting him to the party in the first place. Roman was expected to return the gesture.

Once he made his way to the front of the house, he gathered himself enough to go back in and seek out the boss. Karine was still heavy on his mind. A part of him had to wonder if she was truly going to be okay in the hands of the older woman; a nagging thought pricked at the back of his mind, refusing to let go—she didn’t seem surprised at Karine’s state. It wasn’t the first time.

More concerning—did that mean it wouldn’t be the last?

Roman didn’t have a chance to consider it longer—the boss had noticed he had come to linger in the entry of the sitting room. He simply intended to wave a polite goodbye, but that didn’t seem like it was going to do.

“I’ll walk you out,” Maxim declared, jumping up from his seat in the middle of the room.

Instantly, all eyes turned to him as they walked out together.

This was definitely going to get people talking. Nothing good came from that shit. The bastards would bitch and moan about how their pakhan was giving the Avdonin suka undue attention.

They walked in silence together to the front foyer of the mansion where two great winding staircases grandly climbed the walls. Identical chandeliers hung all over the ceiling, casting the space in a glittering glow. Oil paintings hung in gold gilded frames. None of it really impressed Roman.

Disposable wealth being strewn around by a rich criminal boss who didn’t know what to do with all the money he had. Exactly the kind of lifestyle his mother was so adamant against leading. He could still remember the day his father learned Claire regularly donated hundreds of thousands of dollars every month to any charity she felt was worthy—she dared Demyan to order her to stop.

His father never did.

Maxim came to a stop at the front door, and turned to Roman with a small smile. “You did good by drinking with Dima earlier today, and I appreciate the effort, yes? I know the two of you had a rough start.”

Roman nearly laughed out loud at that.

A rough start was one way to put it.

He shrugged in response—what else could he do? He didn’t give a fuck about Dima and frankly, didn’t give a single shit about Maxim, either. He just needed to return to New York in one piece, get back to his life, and this was the only way to do it.

Maxim continued watching him with narrowed eyes, like he was waiting to see if Roman would slip up. So, he met the older man’s gaze and remained calm. Let him look—there was nothing there to see.

“Anyway, it’s been a good night, but I’m going to call it for now,” Roman said, making his intention clear.

He wasn’t interested in another chat—certainly not one of Maxim’s lessons like the one earlier with Dima and the drinks. He could do without that business again.

Maxim grunted under his breath and as Roman was about to head for the door, he grabbed his arm. Thick fingers dug into the bands of muscles that made up Roman’s forearm, yanking him closer to the boss.