I turn to look at them both and cock a brow. “And you’d say that to Katya like you say it to me, hmm?”
Both Andrei and Vova’s eyes go wide at my statement. “Exactly what I thought, so shut your fucking mouths about matters that don’t concern you. Katya’s business is Katya’s business, understand?”
Both of the men nod, and I glance up at the television monitor we recently added. It’s in the corner of the downstairs area we’re in and shows the cameras Kronid has up all over Pins and Needles and the few on the outside.
From the corner of my eye, I spot a well-dressed man walk into the tattoo parlor. He goes in straight past the receptionist’s desk, where I don’t see Trista sitting, which is odd . . . but I push the thought to the back of my mind and watch him. Meghan ends up stopping him and they strike up a conversation. Everything seems to be going well and she nods, points him to sit down in the waiting area, and as he walks off, she goes to Kronid’s office. Figuring things are taken care of, I get back to business and look at the cameras once again to see if Trista is at her desk. She isn’t, but it’s not odd for her to go in the back break room where we don’t have a camera set up and chat with the artists before they start their shifts. She’s probably fine. She’s probably chatting with one of them. Even though I know the likelihood she’s in danger is slim to none, worry still continues to storm through me.
The crashing sounds of the guys hitting the stone statues with hammers fills the air and I too begin to take part, pulling out some shipping material. Only a moment later, Vova curses under his breath and his angry tone is easily sensed. “The fuck, they put grenades in here? How fucking stupid is it for them to put grenades in this! We could’ve blown our fuckin’ heads off!”
Shaking my head, I’m not surprised by anything that’s done anymore. Not when we have to smuggle product in through so many hoops.
Vova and Andrei end up getting into a small tiff, like always, and of course, I break it up. By the time I’m done, I leave the room and let these two assholes have the luxury of working together by themselves. Only, as I walk in front of Kronid’s office, he calls me in.
“Michail, I need you to come here.” I do as Kronid asks of me and head into his office, shut the door behind me, and look at him. The man seems perplexed as if something’s weighing heavily on his mind.
“Something the matter?” There’s no point in beating around the bush. I need to know what’s going on.
He presses his lips together in a firm line. “Marty, the man who was set to marry Khristina, his ‘friend’ came to see me just now.”
“Oh?” Well, how interesting.
“Mhm. Seems he last heard his friend was coming here, but I explained to him we haven’t seen him in weeks. He never came to speak to Khristina again after they saw each other that day and we assumed he left to go back to America by himself.”
“Did he believe you?”
Kronid immediately shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not sure.”
“Before Marty died, he said something to me, something I can’t remember if I told you.”
“You told me. I believe he told you someone would come, correct?”
I nod. “Yes, someone would come for us.”
“He said nothing else?” Kronid’s asking me.
“No, nothing else.”
From what I could see on the video, the man who came into the parlor appeared to be in his early fifties, was clearly broad-shouldered and muscular, and he looked rich as fuck. If it means anything, it only confirms he’s trouble.
“He doesn’t believe you. If he did, he would’ve alluded to that fact.” Hell, the way I’m speaking, it sounds an awful lot like Kronid.
“I know, and Marty, he said he was American, didn’t he?”
“Yes. It’s what his application said, and he never once spoke in an accent, even near the end.” If he was faking his citizenship, he might’ve let his true identity slip before he died. A coward would let it slip, or even a man who had a vendetta, but Marty didn’t appear to be either of those things. If you ask me, he was more of a hired hand. “Why do you ask?”
“The man who came in a bit ago, he was Scottish.”
Both Kronid and I furrow our brows, even more confused than before. If he knew something about the Scots having some sort of issue with the Russians, he would’ve made it clear. But he hasn’t, and I’m sure we’re both at square one right about now.
Chapter Sixteen
Trista
Ruslan showed up not long after Sascha called. Actually, he waltzed right over to the café from Pins and Needles. I didn’t have any idea the man worked so close.
My mind gets overrun by my imagination and I inwardly snicker at the thoughts going through my mind. Imagine if Ruslan’s a hitman or something like that. Does he work at Pins and Needles or for Kronid specifically? Kronid’s the head honcho in charge, the general manager, while a woman named Katya owns the place. Michail is kind of like the assistant manager when I think about it, but all of the men who work there seem a bit scary if you ask me. Maybe they’re in the bratva.
Shaking my head, I don’t let my mind wander any longer. Shoot, in all honesty, I wouldn’t even care if they were
