Page 42 of The Marriage

Marky stood steady and calm as he delivered those words—a final blow—to Roman. He wouldn’t be able to physically stop him from going out and doing whatever the fuck he wanted if it came down to it, but he also didn’t need to.

He’d called Roman out—that was more than enough.

Rightfully so, too.

It pissed him off like nothing else, but Marky made damn good points. Roman glared at his friend for a full minute before he walked over to the coffee machine, and poured himself a cup.

NINE

Demyan found himself lost in his thoughts and unwilling to open his eyes after waking from a night of restless, non-existent sleep because it meant a new day. Of uncertainties, of exhaustion ... of worry.

He wasn’t that man—decades of position and power had allowed him an arrogance a man like him needed to be who he was. So, when he found himself worrying, well, it was hard to swallow.

There was too much to do.

Who could sleep?

With Dima and his men making their presence known in New York, Demyan moved to protect his assets and keep the business running smoothly first. He hadn’t spoken to Leonid yet, the man who was supposed to have taken over as the new Chicago boss, despite Demyan’s many efforts to reach out.

The man’s son, on the other hand, was apparently freely raging around New York—and God knew where else—like a maniac, without reprise from his father. None of this shit would have happened with Maxim as the boss of his organization.

If their two families ever encountered a problem in the past, they would have met up in person and talked it out. That came with mutual respect, but Demyan supposed they had all lost that façade a long time ago.

Maximum outcome with minimum casualty—that was how he liked to run the show, but with a flock of headless fucks running around doing whatever they wanted ... Demyan doubted this would end well.

When did it ever?

“Are you awake?”

He heard his wife’s soft voice beside him and finally opened his eyes. Other than his children, Claire was the only person in the world he’d start his day for when he didn’t particularly care to.

The effects of exhaustion in his limbs from only a few hours of sleep made them heavy and needing stretched. When he did, eyeing his wife standing beside their bed, the rushing blood made him lightheaded. It wasn’t just his body that was tired, but his mind, too.

Mental and physical.

He couldn’t fix one without fucking with the other.

“I am now,” he murmured to Claire.

“Sorry, I made you some French toast and didn’t want it to go cold. I wasn’t sure how long you’d want to sleep.”

Demyan sat up in bed, letting the soft cream-colored sheets fall down his bare chest while his wife placed a tray on the bed. With a gigantic mug of coffee in her hands, she slipped in beside him under the covers.

All it took was her side-long look tossed his way, and Demyan could tell she had something on her mind. Nearly three decades of marriage with this woman, relearning what it meant to fall in love time and time again, gave him that privilege.

He had a pretty good idea what had his wife quiet, and yearning to talk.

“You’re thinking about the girl,” he said.

Demyan picked up a triangular piece of French toast, and inhaled the scent of vanilla and cinnamon sugar. His mouth watered. Nobody cooked like his wife.

“Our daughter-in-law, you mean,” Claire corrected, arching a brow.

At least, she was amused.

“I knew he was taken with her, but I didn’t realize he would take it so far that he’d marry her,” he said.

Claire sighed, and sipped her coffee. “She’s a sweet girl who has endured a lot. If you ask me, she makes a nice addition to the family.”