Page 96 of The Agreement

And failing.

Marky only wanted to know what was going on. “What’s happening?”

“It’s the invitation.”

“For?” his friend asked.

Roman’s molars ached from how hard he clamped his jaws together, muttering only, “To the wedding.”

Marky’s answering silence was enough of an answer, but of course, it didn’t last long. It never did where his friend was concerned. “You haven’t seen her since that night, right?”

Yeah.

A night Roman didn’t want to remember.

Jesus.

Roman slammed the door to his apartment without a word to the man waiting in the hallway. It didn’t matter—the guy had done his job, there wasn’t anything left for him to do there.

“It’s been four days,” he said to Marky. “Fuck.”

“Roman—”

“Fuck, man. So, it’s ... it’s actually going ahead. It’s happening.”

Really happening.

Roman didn’t know how to process that. Or if he even wanted to.

He could hear Marky grinding his teeth through the phone. Back in New York for a few days on business—but apparently he had also been digging around matters concerning the Yazov Bratva—the man still wasn’t keen on Roman fucking with Karine.

Literally.

Or figuratively.

“The thing is, there’s nothing to be found,” Marky said quietly. “Not about her. Literally nobody knows anything about her—it’s like she doesn’t exist to most of them. You can’t keep asking about someone who isn't supposed to be found, Roman. Someone’s going to start to notice.”

Right.

But that also didn’t seem like a good option to him, never mind one he cared to go with. If his next statement didn’t make that clear to his friend, then nothing would.

“So, I have basically no time to figure this shit out,” Roman muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to focus his thoughts. “And nothing to go on is what you’re telling me.”

“When there’s nothing to see, it usually means someone has tried very hard to keep it out of view, bro.”

“I know that. I can feel it in my fucking bones. It’s Karine. She is at the centre of everything going on with the Yazovs.”

Whatever it is, he added silently.

Which was the biggest problem.

Marky started throwing together his own theories, none of which made sense, and Roman didn’t want to encourage it.

Then, Marky said, “For my own peace of mind, I feel like I gotta tell you to leave it alone again, anyway.”

And that was enough of that. There was no point in continuing the conversation, and besides, Roman had other things to deal with now. Like the fucking wedding invitation in his hand. He needed to think—he didn’t need someone else’s voice in his head while he did it.

“I’ve gotta go. Got a new gig lined up for tomorrow and I’m meeting the crew in fifteen,” he said quickly.