Page 91 of The Marriage

“Why do I feel like the key to this is understanding how much of a sad and pathetic fuck Dima truly is,” Demyan said, although he didn’t pose it as a question.

Which was fine.

Roman didn’t really have an answer.

“When the messenger calls again with details,” Demyan said, pushing up from his chair to head for the wet bar and vodka with his empty glass, “agree to the meet.”

*

The abandoned farmhouse made of bricks on the border of the New York state line was as far from Brighton Beach as Roman could imagine. He’d suspected Dima was using a property within the state as a haven, but they hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly where. The tiny, rural communities that took them through their trip would have kept the visitor safely hidden from view as long as he came and went quietly.

They were also told to bring no more than one armed bull each—otherwise, they’d be shot on sight.

Roman tried to argue with Demyan again on the legitimacy of their plan. They would be severely outnumbered by Dima’s men if they followed through with this, but his father was quick to remind him that they had no other choice. This was it.

If they refused to meet with Dima now, their bratva would be met with more violence. How hot could the water get before it boiled them to death? His family couldn’t bear the pressure bearing down around them.

Roman gripped the steering wheel hard as he drove to the farmhouse in his car. He had one bull assigned to him, while his father drove his car behind him. Pavel was with him. He whispered Karine’s name under his breath a million times on the drive just to keep himself focused.

She was why he was here—doing this.

Simple as that.

Dima’s men guarded the front of the farmhouse. Armed and ready for an attack. They didn’t speak as the Avdonin men and their bulls were directed inside.

Dima hid his surprise at seeing Demyan there—but not well, and only for a second. It was the only upper hand Roman and Demyan really had. To bring the boss that had been consistently refusing to even grace Dima with his attention.

Until he hit the right button.

Demyan’s wife.

At their entrance, Dima didn’t move from where he sat in a tattered, old armchair in the middle of a large room which may have been a flourishing domestic scene at some point. Now, however, the walls were all broken down with holes littering each and every one. A cracked portrait lay in pieces on a dust-covered floor.

One lightbulb flickered on the ceiling, and there was a large enough hole between the second floor and in the roof that he could look straight up and see the moon overhead. He bet the place had been a cheap, fast buy. It looked like something that someone would want to just ... get off their hands. He was shocked it even had power.

Dima was a bright contrast to the mess of the room in his black, three-piece suit and shined loafers. Twisting an unlit cigar between his fingers while his gaze jumped between father and son, the rest of his men stood in a small semi-circle behind him.

A silent wall of threats.

What a greeting.

Dima was taking extra effort to command their respect—from the unknown location that was out of the way, to the quiet men eyeing them, ready for their first move. It was laughable.

“It’s been a while, Dima, and I was starting to get worried about you,” Roman said jokingly.

Dima didn’t seem to appreciate the dry humor. “Quit playing the fool. You should be fucking grateful I didn’t kill you on that highway when I had the chance.”

Roman nodded, smirking a little. “No, you just left me there to bleed or freeze to death. It was exactly the reminder I needed.”

“Reminder of what?”

“That I don’t like being told what to do. You’re right, man, you should have killed me when you had the chance.”

Dima’s face molted with his rage but despite the way he glared like he might jump out of his chair at Roman, he only muttered back, “All of this can be over very soon. You have something of mine, and I want it back. Just like that—simple. It’s all I’m asking.”

“It?” Roman asked, his tone edging dangerously low.

“You know what I’m talking about. I told you, yeah? We’re done playing stupid—and I refuse to indulge spoiled sukas. We’re here to do what we have to do, no? Let’s do that, pup.”