Page 8 of The Agreement

Roman grinned right back. “That all?”

Those were the first words he had spoken in a while. It startled both his companions at the table.

“Did you say something to me?” Dima hissed.

Ah.

Hit a nerve?

It made Roman’s grin grow wider.

“That’s how much I made from three chop shops in New York alone,” he told Dima.

A vein had popped up in the middle of the other man’s forehead, his eyes turning bloodshot-red. Dima wasn’t pleased with that statement.

So?

“Anyone can steal cars and make a few bucks,” Dima shot back.

A little too late for the impact to hurt, though.

“Then, why haven’t you done it yet?”

Anastasia’s stare whipped Roman’s way, her painted-red lips widening like her eyes, but he didn’t care about her.

Roman’s easy counter matched the unwavering stare he leveled on the man. He silently dared Dima to have enough balls to admit he couldn’t make the kind of money Roman did in front of the woman he had paid to stroke his ego and cock. Even in his shame, Roman would have the decency then to offer the man an ounce of respect.

Surprise.

Dima doubled down.

“Because the thrill doesn’t last long enough, yes?” Dima added a short, dark laugh, and turned to Anastasia again when he said, “You steal a car and that’s done. It’s a single payment, one transaction. A girl, well, she can be used again and again. You break a girl, and she’s broken forever. So, what does it matter?”

Anastasia had to force herself to smile with Dima’s gaze still firmly locked on her, but only weakly. It was only her discomfort with the conversation that urged him to stop provoking Dima in to giving even more information about his business that would really unsettle the female at the table.

This shit didn’t get better.

Just bad.

The meeting was still going well. Roman tried to pay attention to what was being said, but he could barely hear them anymore. It sounded like the formalities were over at least. Things had gone smoothly, which meant that nobody would be looking for him anytime soon. He could make a smooth exit ... if he wanted.

He returned Anastasia’s smile when she glanced at him again. Boredom stared back at him. She wished she was somewhere else—anywhere other than within Dima’s breathing distance. Roman wished the same.

Being the Chicago Pakhan’s right-hand man, alongside his own father, Dima was called away for a private conversation with his boss.

Perfect timing.

Dima reluctantly headed away from the table, momentarily glancing back with a narrowed, icy stare loaded for Roman. He stared right back, unchallenged. Anastasia took the opportunity to immediately lean toward him once her companion had been distracted with more important men.

“I heard a rumor about your nickname,” she began.

Oh?

“What did you hear?”

“You’re called Little Odessa’s Devil.”

Roman stubbed the cigarette into a smoky ashtray between them, and met Anastasia’s eyes, smirking all the while. “Do you want to find out why?”