Page 50 of The Agreement

He barely controlled the knee-jerk reaction of retaliating—clamping his molars down hard enough that he was sure they cracked under the pressure of his clenching jaw. It would be a mistake to pull away or even flinch. A show of weakness for Maxim to grab hold of. Roman had to show he was willing to be respectful, but at the same time—he wasn’t willing to be kicked around.

It was a difficult line to walk.

“I want you to understand that this morning was the first and the last time you will be speaking to my daughter,” Maxim explained, his smile gone entirely. His eyes, beady and blue in their intensity, nailed into Roman’s, as cold as could be.

His daughter?

Karine was Maxim’s daughter?

For fuck’s sake.

Shit started to make sense, then.

Now that Roman looked more closely, he could see the similarity in their eyes. Where Maxim’s were deep and icy, Karine’s were large and empty. However, they were the same shade of electric-blue.

Roman said nothing. He wasn’t sure yet if Maxim knew where Karine was at currently, or whether he was aware of their second encounter from just fifteen minutes ago.

“Karine spends most of her time in the background of my house, and my life, because that is where she belongs and where I want her to be,” Maxim explained, his voice dropping much lower than usual. Careful to make sure no one else might overhear. “What happened today was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

Talking about his daughter had an adverse effect on Maxim that Roman couldn’t understand. The words he used for and about her were unsettling, in a way.

Was he afraid of her, or did he just despise her?

Was he overprotective, or disinterested?

Roman couldn’t tell.

“If you’re smart, you won’t find yourself alone with her again,” he added, the threatening edge to his tone becoming unmistakable in Roman’s ear.

Maxim’s grip on his arm loosened a little, and Roman pulled away, slowly, almost too gently. He didn't want to make any sudden movements, like a hunter wouldn’t want to startle his prey as he closed in on it.

The only problem with that?

Roman didn’t know if he was the hunter ... or the prey.

“I have no intention of turning that into a habit,” Roman told the man.

“Good. That is exactly what I want to fucking hear, hmm?”

Maxim dusted his hands, and took a step away from Roman, gesturing for the door as if he was free to go now, if he wanted. The conversation about his daughter was over even though Roman couldn’t shake it off as easily as he should.

Shit.

Like he needed yet another giant red flag that something was wrong with that woman, and this entire goddamn place. Something left him with a bad taste in his mouth, and it wasn’t from the liquor he hadn’t been allowed to refuse earlier. He was quickly starting to think that this was not a man who was just being protective of a beloved daughter. A darkness clouded over Maxim’s voice when he spoke about Karine, and Roman didn’t like it.

He didn’t like it one fucking bit.

“I’m sure you’ve already been reminded of tribute coming up in a few weeks, I’m expecting big things from you, Roman. Show them you’re supposed to be here, yes?”

Roman stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks, inside which, his palms clenched into fists. He really didn’t need another fucking reminder of the upcoming tribute, or the story Josef had narrated to him earlier on the topic.

People thought he was stupid, or something.

What a joke.

Roman still didn’t have a crew set up for the chop shop gig. He didn’t have a client list that was ready to take cars from Chicago, either. He barely had the fucking resources to get it going currently. How was he going to make enough by the end of the month to make a monetary offering to the bratva?

“No worries—I’ve got it handled.”