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Roman’s hand had been like an iron vise around Adam’s throat, his body as immoveable as a wall of granite, but that hadn’t been the only thing that had freaked him the fuck out. It had been the deadness in Roman’s eyes, the total lack of emotion, like Adam was a fly who’d been buzzing around Roman’s head a minute too long, a nuisance Roman was finally ready to eliminate.
It had been enough to scare Adam into compliance. Whatever he decided to do next, it had to put enough space between him and Roman Kalashnik — assuming the fucker made it out of the bratva turf war alive — that Adam wouldn’t be looking over his shoulder the rest of his life.
The old bat behind the McDonald’s counter called his number and he dropped Olivia’s hand to grab the tray.
“Did you get me a Happy Meal?” she asked as he made their way to one of the tables.
He forced a smile. “I said I would, didn’t I? You think your dad doesn’t know that’s your favorite?”
Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, like he was the Big Bad Wolf poorly disguised as a granny.
It was the same way Ruby had looked at him after a fight, when he’d have to grovel, promise to be better to keep her from leaving. Like she knew it was a lie.
Like she knewheknew it was a lie.
Until the day she’d finally left him for good.
“Sit down,” Adam told Olivia, trying to keep his voice pleasant. He handed her the Happy Meal. “Eat.”
Olivia wasn’t like her mother. Olivia was achild.
She would stay with Adam. He would make sure of it.
15
ROMAN
They walked along Bourbon Street, Ruby’s hand in his, Max a few paces behind them. Jazz and laughter spilled out from the surrounding bars and restaurants, groups of people wearing strands of colorful beads staggering down the street, some of them holding cocktails.
A young woman bumped into him, then staggered, clearly drunk, to regain her footing. The contact jostled Ruby’s hand from his and the woman laughed and looked up at him.“Sorry!”
“No worries.” He steadied her with his arm and spotted the white banner reading BRIDE TO BE draped across her body. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks!” she said before being pulled away by a friend.
Ruby laughed, clearly delighted by the scene. He took her hand again and looked down at her, happy to be walking through the city with her on his arm even with Max trailing them.
To someone who didn’t know better, they were just like everyone else on the street.
It was an alluring thought, that he and Ruby could be like any of the other couples walking hand in hand on Bourbon Street, that this was just a vacation, a weekend away before they resumed their normal lives together, one where they watched TV after work and made plans with friends on the weekend.
It was a dangerous thought too. They weren’t like everyone else.
Would never be like everyone else.
“Where are we going now?” Ruby asked as he guided her off Bourbon Street.
“To our meeting,” he said.
“At this time of night?”
“Normal in our business,” Roman said.
“Right.”
He thought maybe she was a little tipsy from the wine they’d had with dinner at Galatoire’s, a French-Creole restaurant that had been in the same location since 1905.
It had felt like a luxury to take Ruby out properly, to wine and dine her in the safety of Rykov’s city. The restaurant maintained a strict dress code, and Roman had felt like the luckiest man in the world entering the high-ceilinged restaurant with Ruby’s hand tucked into his jacketed arm.
