Page 44 of The Marriage

Was the asshole just having fun?

Pavel eventually shrugged at Demyan’s lingering, questioning stare.

“Where’s Leonid?”

“Apparently he’s not in New York,” Pavel said. “Nothing’s showing up anywhere—any associates of his in the state say he’s not been in contact.”

“Then, I’ll wait until he gets here,” Demyan replied, bored, dropping the papers down with a swoosh on his desk. “I’m not sitting down with Dima without his father.”

“Kinda seems like it’s not just associates here, boss. We don’t know where he is. Nobody’s seen him recently—even people in Chicago are whispering about it.”

That made Demyan pause.

“How recently? When was the last time anyone outside the immediate circle saw him?”

It wasn’t Pavel’s fault, but Demyan had never been known for his patience, and it was starting to show.

Shoot the messenger.

There was some truth to the adage, he thought, as Pavel eyed him warily.

“What is it?”

“Well, people say different things but—”

“Pavel, I’m fucking serious. Talk.”

“A common theme seems to be that he hasn’t been seen since the fire,” Pavel replied.

Demyan sat back in his chair, spinning around slowly as he tried to think.

Was that why Dima was doing all the work—his father had hidden away all this time, and there was no one to check the cocksucker for his behavior?

What was Leonid hiding from?

Or who?

Whatever he was—in their limited interactions through the years when Leonid served as Maxim’s second in command—Demyan had never viewed the man as weak or afraid. Not one to cower, he was like every bratva man that enjoyed using their special brand of intimidation to their benefit.

Why did he refuse to be in New York?

Why was he afraid to show his face to anyone?

“You can tell Dima to fuck off,” he finally said.

That was his final decision. It had to be, regardless of the consequences. Demyan didn’t know what game these men wanted to play with him, but he’d just made one that would force their hand either way.

Pavel’s jaw clenched at his boss’s command, knowing what the results of that choice would likely be. Dima would retaliate.

He’d have to.

A slight like Demyan’s, well, it was a personal offense—being refused a meeting with the boss.

“He wants a boss-to-boss meeting? Then the bastard better bring the boss over here first. That, or he gives me a legitimate reason why Leonid can’t be here.”

Demyan needed answers.

He wanted everything clear.