Page 45 of The Marriage

“I’ll communicate your decision through the man he sent,” Pavel said.

Demyan didn’t have the interest to go through the paperwork anymore, and the shipment of guns heading to Russia was the least of his problems. Maybe work could wait. He wanted to get to the bottom of a different kind of business.

More importantly, he wanted to know what really happened to Maxim.

“And while you’re at it,” Demyan threw at Pavel’s retreating back, his frustration making his voice gravelly, “Get in touch with the two agents from the FBI. Invite them back—tell them I wanna have a chat.”

*

Agent Packard and Agent Mahon stood with their arms crossed over their chests in silent reflection of each other. Demyan remained seated in his chair across from them.

Their hardened expressions seemed forced. Like they had a discussion before the two entered the home of the bratva boss. Perhaps about how they were going to present themselves to him, guessing by the postures?

It made him smirk.

They were still convinced they could somehow control the narrative, but Demyan knew better. The very fact these agents were willing to damn near ask how high when he said jump—or rather, let’s meet up—told him the truth.

They were looking as hard as he was.

Maybe for the same thing.

Likely for different reasons.

“I would offer you some vodka, but I’m not sure what the FBI protocol is on the matter of drinking on the job,” Demyan said, deciding to keep things light at the start.

After all, he had no beef with them. The agents, and the bureau, hadn’t laid a finger on Demyan’s business as of yet, so what would be the point in causing trouble?

He knew they were still in their feelings about the fact that Roman hadn’t given away any information they could use—but hadn’t he helped them enough? He’d given them a different and more innovative direction to look in.

That was more than another man in this life would do for a cop.

At best.

“Why don’t we get down to business,” Agent Packard began.

Once again, he was the one taking the lead here, so Demyan focused his gaze on Mahon instead when he said, “You know I don’t do business with the FBI. Let me make one thing very clear to you, the only reason you’re here is because I want some information from you.”

Honesty was the best policy, right?

Mahon had to look away, glancing at his partner for direction. Demyan’s suspicions were confirmed in that moment. Still green around the ears. Was he a new recruit? How many years had he been engaging criminals of Demyan’s caliber?

Demyan smirked again.

“I’m sure we can help each other,” Packard replied.

“It depends on what you’re giving me, actually.”

“What do you want, Mr. Avdonin?”

“All the information you have on Leonid. Everything you know about Maxim Yazov. Preferably, anything about the two together that I would find useful, do you understand?”

Even though Packard managed to stare at him blankly, the way Mahon shifted his arms behind his back to clasp his hands told Demyan everything he wanted to know.

The FBI had uncovered something about Maxim they hadn’t shared publicly yet.

“And what are you giving us in return?” Packard asked.

Demyan leaned slightly over the table, weaving his fingers together with a bored shrug. He even shook his head, half disappointed, a bit apologetic.