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But she was here now, in Roman’s world without Olivia. What was the harm in letting it play out? They’d probably drive each other crazy, be more than happy to move on once they got each other out of their respective systems.
She sighed and sat up, then walked into the living room. Roman was at a funeral — some Russian businessman and his daughter, the woman who’d been killed. He’d said he wouldn’t be long, but funerals and weddings always lasted longer than you thought they would, so she picked up the remote and turned on the TV.
She would find a movie to watch, something light. Then she would call Olivia and Brooke while she waited for Roman to get home.
37
Roman
He stood across from his father and Kon, the two rose-draped coffins between them. Igor glanced through and past him, like he was nothing.
Some things never changed.
It was a nice place to be buried, nestled in a little valley between two hills, the one they’d walked to reach the site now at Igor’s back, another one behind Roman that led to the rest of the cemetery.
He scanned the crowd as the priest droned, taking inventory: the local head of the Irish Mob was present along with two body men, representatives from two of the cartels, an assortment of brutish men Roman took to be low-level criminals, a handful of women Roman didn’t recognize, even Damian Cavallo and his body man.
Vladimir had been a busy man, his fingers in a lot of pots. Roman was surprised he’d stayed alive as long as he had, that it was his daughter who’d ultimately been the agent of his death.
What was the old saying: lay down with dogs, get up with fleas?
Everyone at the funeral was a dog, Roman included. Vladimir had been playing with fire while Valeriya stood next to him in a flammable gown.
Which didn’t absolve Roman of his part in Valeriya’s death. That she might have met it anyway didn’t change the fact that Roman had been the agent of it.
The priest was nearing the end of the graveside service. Roman joined the others in the recitation of the 23rd Psalm. He wasn’t remotely religious, but when in Rome...
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters…”
Igor’s head was bowed, his lips moving, expression impassive. Kon, on the other hand, wasn’t paying attention. His gaze was on something beyond Roman’s shoulder.
“He restores my soul. He leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake…”
Roman felt an itch to look over his shoulder, to see what Kon was looking at, but the mourners on that side of the coffins didn’t seem alarmed so Roman continued to recite the psalm.
“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”
And then, one of the men Roman didn’t recognize raised his gaze, alarm registering in his eyes as he homed in on something behind Roman.
“I will fear no evil…”
Roman turned, saw the army of men descending the hill behind him toward the Orlovs’ gravesite. The men were purposeful, removing weapons from their jackets and waistbands as they walked toward the mourners, most of whom were still focused on the psalm.
Roman looked at Max, planning to warn him, but Max was already aware, was reaching for his weapon as the first shots rang out.
Roman did the same, but not before the scene exploded into a riot of gunfire, the previously peaceful scene erupting into chaos: people screaming, shouting, diving for the ground next to the coffins.
Roman felt something hit his chest, the wound from the shot in Ruby’s apartment turning to fire as Max hit him like a freight train, knocking him to the ground before he could even get his weapon out.
The gunfire was deafening, the coffins splintering as bullets embedded themselves in the wood, rose petals raining down on the scene, which had become a deadly ceremony.
Roman fumbled for his gun, but his hands weren’t working. His brain said it should be right there, under his fingers, but his grasp was ineffectual.
It was because of Max, who was on top of him, as still as a lead weight.
He pushed his friend off and saw that Max’s eyes were closed, a wet stain spreading across his back.
Fuck.
