Page 58 of The Promise

“I wouldn’t say we were good friends, but yes, word has made its way through the circles about his death.”

“We are just trying to interview people connected with him to see if they have any insight on what took place in Chicago when his estate was burned—”

“I’m sorry?” Demyan asked, cocking one eyebrow high.

“The fire. Come on, Mr. Avdonin, you know about the fire. If you know of his death, then you know of the fire,” Packard replied, tossing his partner a smirk.

Nice try.

“I’m sorry,” Demyan repeated, “that you thought you should come all this way to ask me about a fire that happened while I was in New York. Yes, I did hear about the fire, too. Terrible thing. The Yazov family has my condolences.”

The agents stared at him, hoping he’d offer them something more, let a little extra slip, but he didn’t think so. A few seconds passed before the agents decided to throw another question Demyan’s way.

“Yes, terrible business. They’re still investigating the incident,” Packard continued.

“The scene, you mean?” Demyan asked, weaving his fingers together on his desk. “The estate—there’s a reason to be there this long? Mustn’t have been an accident, then.”

Mahon shifted in his chair again, while Packard’s jaw twitched with his irritation at using the wrong word—letting Demyan flip the script. The agent certainly wouldn’t want to come out of the meeting needing to admit that he said more than he should have.

He didn’t. Demyan knew exactly what he was saying. He’d planned every word.

“Do you have reason to believe a crime has been committed, Mr. Avdonin?” Mahon asked, leaning forward a bit in the chair with his hands clasped over his knees as he regarded Demyan. “I’m sure you know the reason we’re here in the first place is only because your son was recently in Chicago, and affiliated to work with the Yazov organization. See, we thought the fact he disappeared shortly before the fire might have been ... related. Do you have some information you can share with us?”

Demyan hoped that the fact he smiled coldly back at the man, entirely unconcerned and unbothered, told the agent nothing he said was surprising. That he knew exactly why the two were there, and they would leave with much the same information they came with—none. He had to smile. Whatever else he felt about them, his disdain mostly born from the fact they were the law and he was lawless, they didn’t appear to be idiots. Did they really think he would just tell them what he knew?

Because they asked?

“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how many miles separates New York and Chicago,” Demyan returned. “How could I know anything that happened there?”

“You were connected to the man. We have the intel to prove it, Demyan, and the fact your son was doing business in the Yazov territory confirms it. Try again.”

“What, you want me to say that I met Maxim Yazov a few times over the years? Fine, what difference does a friendship make?”

“And you were never in business together?”

This time, the question came from Mahon.

“Never,” Demyan said, never breaking eye contact with the man. “We don’t share the same ideals on business, to be frank. And no, I don’t need you to confirm the fire was intentionally set to know it. The little that I did understand about Maxim Yazov was enough for me to know he would never set fire to his own house, just to kill himself in the process. A king doesn’t just burn his castle.”

Not one like Maxim.

The staring contest between the men stretched on, as did the resounding silence. Demyan simply followed the agents with his gaze when the two stood up from their chairs after passing one another a quick glance. He no longer bothered to hide the contempt in his stare, either.

“If you have ever been in business with Mr. Yazov, now would be the time to tell us all about it,” Packard said. “Otherwise, if we find something, we might have to come chat again. It might not be like this, then, Demyan. Think about it.”

Demyan was unmoving. “Are you threatening me?”

“Warning you,” the taller agent replied.

“Consider it unheard.”

The men gave a respectful goodbye and thanked him for his time before they quickly took their leave, and showed out by the bull in much the same way he’d shown them in. Only this time, he didn’t come back because he would be walking them to their car. Demyan hoped he’d given them exactly what they needed to shut them up for a while, and keep them off his case.

Once the door closed, and he was alone after the only other man in the room took his leave, Demyan sipped on the vodka again, and turned to the screen on his computer. The glass was nearly empty by the time the agents’ sedan rolled up to the gate once more. The vehicle stopped while they waited to be let through. The passenger window had been rolled down, and there, he saw Packard look up straight at the camera.

Demyan mashed his teeth to hold back the rage when the man waved, and the car pulled beyond the opening iron. For now, they were gone, but it wouldn’t be the last time he saw them.

That much was clear.