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He turned around and bent down to look at Max through the open door. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Max asked.
“For being my friend,” Roman said. “For being my brother.”
Max met his gaze, nodded.
Roman closed the door and headed into the restaurant in Koreatown. He hadn’t picked it, but it was as good as any other place for the meeting.
A set of bells on the door rang as he entered the restaurant and he made his way past a long counter and a handful of tables, surveying the customers as he went. There were only a few, all occupied with their meals, none the man he was looking for.
Roman found him at the back of the restaurant, a surprisingly small man in his 60s with his back to the wall. Roman saw no guards, wondered where the man’s detail was stationed, then wondered if maybe he was so powerful that he didn’t need one.
There were only a handful of men in the world whose very names were a security blanket. This man was one of them.
Roman sat across from him. “Reaching into my pocket,” he said.
The man nodded. His face was angular, his bent nose and pronounced cheekbones making him appear hawkish. Roman saw the light of intelligence in the man’s dark eyes, knew he was meeting a worthy adversary.
He removed an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table. “A show of good faith. More has been wired to your account. It’s just the beginning.”
The man removed a cell phone and tapped without speaking, then set his phone down with a nod, obviously confirming the transfer.
He took the envelope and tucked it into his jacket. “Mikhail tells me you are capable.” His words were thickly accented.
“I appreciate Mikhail’s faith in me,” Roman said. “I hope you’ll come to share it.”
The man studied him. “I expect we will not have to intervene again any time soon.”
“No,” Roman said.
The man stood and straightened his jacket. “See that we don’t.”
He passed Roman on his way out of the restaurant.
Roman heard the bell on the door ring as the man left. He waited, half expecting to be shot in the back, but the restaurant was quiet except for the soft music playing from unseen speakers, the clink of cutlery on plates, an occasional murmur of conversation.
It was over.
It would take months to clean up the mess and even longer to remake the bratva.
But the war was over.
He drew in a breath, still surprised by the loss that could wash over him when he least expected it. His father might be buried, but he would never really be dead.
He lived on in Roman’s memories, in his nightmares.
It had surprised Roman at first, that his father’s death didn’t make him happy. But he was starting to understand that here was no erasing the past.
There was only making peace with it, however you could.
He glanced at his phone and saw the time, realized he’d been sitting for longer than he’d realized.
It was time to go. Ruby and Olivia were waiting.
41
RUBY
