Page 53 of Unwritten Vows

He looks at me like I’m insane and puts his hand on his gun.

The men behind him do the same. “Stop! No, Bolyar, please. I can give you information. I have papers.” I take out the messenger bag I’ve brought with me and open it quickly.

The Bolyar leans back and takes his gun out of the holster, which of course leads the men behind him to do the same.

“Oh, shit, yeah sorry. Look I’m not going to put my hands in.

I’m showing you.” I take a step back from him and hold the bag down and away from his face.

“Just showing you that it’s papers. Nothing but papers.

I don’t even have my gun on me.” That’s true.

I decided it might be a show of sincerity not to bring it.

“I’m not putting this gun down. Get your friends out of here, go into the room with me, and then we’ll talk. But I’m not sure it’ll be what you want to talk about.”

I nod for Marco and the Baltimore guys to leave. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, kid,” Marco whispers as he walks past me. The thing is, I think he might actually mean it this time. He’s never been a big fan of my stunts, even if it was just for social media. The stakes today are way higher.

I say nothing as they pass, just stay still and hope the Bolyar doesn’t shoot me where I stand. They finally leave and I’m left standing frozen, my bag out in front of me, until the Bolyar speaks again. “Let’s go to the bar.”

I look over to the bartender and see him idly wiping a glass, uninterested in the violent business we’re doing here. I’m sure he sees it routinely; this place does have a reputation.

“Two Rum Mules,” Yaroslav yells over his shoulder. “You know the way I like them.”

“Comin’ right up,” says the bartender, as he takes down the correct glasses.

“You have until I finish one last drink before I shoot you in the head or allow you to leave alive one last time. You will not be warned again.”

“Yes, sir,” I agree as I take a seat. I resist the urge to fidget, instead taking a generous sip of the drink put before me.

I’ve never had a Rum Mule, and now I know why.

As soon as the bitter liquid hits my tongue, I get the urge to wince deeply, and once I feel the burn a second later, I do.

I swallow as the liquid scorches my throat, and I can’t help but cough, which I try to turn into clearing my throat.

It’s too drawn out though—it’s obvious that I’m just choking on this disgusting concoction.

Yaroslav gives one short, condescending chuckle before taking a tiny, smooth sip of his own drink. “Some things are meant to be savored slowly, Derrick Stepinov. Not thrown back and used carelessly. But then, a man like you wouldn’t know much about that.”

I nod in understanding, but still have a small disagreement. “True. But impulsivity has its advantages too. You can’t plan everything. It’s important to be able to improvise.”

He puts his gun down on the bar, still facing me, before picking up his drink again and raising it to his lips. “You better have a good reason for coming here. What do you have that you must show me in person?”

I lay down the stack of papers, all in file folders.

“Here. All the men my father was doing business with, all of his business dealings. They’re yours.

” I swallow and breathe deep, then continue.

“I went through these files for weeks, every day I’ve been away from Li—every day I’ve been home.

I knew you wouldn’t listen to me if I told you on the phone. ”

Yaroslav looks at me with great skepticism. “You’re telling me this is every hand you have to play? Why would you give me everything? Is this some kind of trick?”

I take a sip of the Rum Mule and realize that Yaroslav is incorrect—even tiny sips can’t make this gut-burning venom taste good.

Luckily, I’ve braced myself for the taste, and I show no wince in my expression.

“No, sir. I’m giving it to you to show you that I’m fully invested in being transparent.

I think we will be stronger as allies than whatever we are right now.

If I give you every bit of information I know about those who my father was working with, then maybe you’ll at least be able to trust that I won’t fuck you over like he would. ”

Yaroslav stares hard at me, trying to gauge my sincerity. He then opens the folder on the three men from Baltimore he was just meeting with and starts poring over it.

“We knew they shared the Baltimore ports, but we weren’t aware that your father allowed them to bring women through in exchange.

” He speaks almost to himself. “You transcribed conversations?” He reads through one of the longer conversations.

I had to transcribe these myself, since I didn’t trust anyone else to do so.

“I wanted you to get a full picture of the conversations. Most of them look like benign business transactions to me, but if you can use them for more, I’m happy to help.”

His face grows hard as he opens the next folder.

“Maxim Whitney. Of course, he has as little to do with the contract as possible and can feign ignorance if implicated, even though he has the most to gain from such a transaction,” he mumbles angrily.

I let him read through until he speaks again.

“All right, Derrick, I’ve seen enough. What do you want me to do with all of this? ”

I shrug. “Keep it. Sic The Three Brothers from Baltimore on someone in it. Donate it to the Goodwill, I don’t care. I have a copy of it all. It’s yours.”

He blinks and I can tell he’s conflicted about whether to believe me. “You could be trying to trick me with this. Throw me off someone’s scent.”

I shake my head. “Our families were about to be bound by marriage. I would have taken your place one day. I’m just hoping this brings me one step closer to having that back.”

I’ve never cared to be sincere before in my life, but I strain for it now. I urge him to believe me, like I can force him into trusting me again.

But he simply shakes his head. “You will never have it back, Derrick Stepinov.

I try to keep my exhale steady. “Maybe just her, then.”

“You have a better chance of gaining my power and influence than you have of gaining her.”

My stomach drops, but I fight to maintain my composure. “With all due respect sir, I think she might disagree with you.”

“With all due respect,” the Bolyar spits back, “she is the one who said it. Have a good day.”

*****

I stay in the bar to finish the drink that the Bolyar had made for me, out of sheer stubbornness. I even consider getting another one. I had my driver bring me here, and tonight seems to be as good as any to get wasted. Maybe I’d actually get some sleep, in that case.

I’m only a few sips through the drink, however, when I see the lights. The blue and red lights that every mafia boss knows. The cops, right outside this club.

I stride over to the floor-to-ceiling windows to look out and see that Yaroslav is being guided into one of the unmarked cars. He’s going willingly, because it’s the only way to do it with grace. But why? How?

I barge in on the owner, who sits puffing on a cigarette and counting money at his desk. “Nick, what the fuck is going on?”

“What? He a friend ‘a yours or something?”

I narrow my eyes and reach for my gun, realizing after a second that I didn’t bring one in. But I’m pissed and want to teach this idiot a lesson. “What the fuck did you do?”

“The cops asked some questions. They were very fuckin’ persuasive.” He nods to the money laid out before him.

“You fucking moron. You sold out the Bolyar? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? And what the fuck did you even say?”

He blinks at me. “What? He was using my establishment to talk business with his mafia buddies. Plus, they had shit on him already.”

I squeeze my sinuses. “My God, you’re an idiot. If you get out of this alive, I’ll be shocked. Scratch that—if your family gets out of this alive I’ll be shocked. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Calm the fuck down, Derrick. Like I said, they just asked me some fuckin’ questions. Said I’d never need to testify if I gave probable cause. So I gave it to ‘em. They’re taking him in for questioning.”

I honestly don’t give a shit about this moron, but I want to try and get as much information from him as possible, so I keep talking. “What did they say to you? What did they ask? Did they tell you anything they wanted?”

He shrugs. “Just to detain him. They got 24 hours. That guy? He’ll probably get out in an hour.”

This just reeks of bad news to me, and I can’t help but think the war has finally hit in full throttle.

Someone is causing trouble, although I have no idea who it is.

“All right, man. Well, have fun getting your fucking head run over and splattered across the sidewalk like a fucking watermelon. Try to spend some of that money before it happens.”

I start heading out of the building, grabbing my phone from my pocket as I go.

I know Yaroslav said his daughter wanted nothing to do with me, but she’s going to need someone right now if her father is taken into prison.

I want to be that person. I need to comfort her and reassure her that she’ll be taken care of.

No matter what, I’ll take care of her. No matter what, I’ll always help her.

I don’t even fucking care if she’s engaged to some book club nerd—I’ll be there in a second.

The phone rings and rings, but she doesn’t pick up. “Fuck,” I mutter. She must still be pissed at me.

I text her that I’m coming as I hop into the car. “Head to the Bolyar’s place in New York,” I tell the driver as I call again. I hear the beep from my phone, and I hastily open the text message.

My heart drops into my stomach as I read the text.

I’m fine. I’m in great hands.

I just know it’s not her. Something is very wrong. I try calling one of the guards that accompanied us when we went out together for the weeks we dated.

He answers the phone on the first ring. “I don’t have time to talk right now, Mr. Stepinov.”

“Where is Liza?”

“We’re having a fucking emergency here, man. The boss has been taken into custody!”

“Go check on Liza!”

He hesitates before finally acquiescing. “I’ll call the guards with her and get right back to you.”

He hangs up, but I know what he’s about to tell me as soon as he calls again. And I’m right. Her car has been run off the road, her guards shot and killed, and she is nowhere to be found.

And I know exactly who has her.