“It was Micah,” Boris insists. “Look, everybody gets stupid when they find a hot young thing. It’s natural, Boss. You know what happened with Savin. We didn’t let him hear the end of it. But after Artyom?—”
“Mishka is not like Artyom!” I bellow. I storm over to Boris, and I grab his shirt. “You will shut the fuck up, you piece of shit, and you won’t say another fucking word about Mishka. Understood?”
Boris’s eyes widen, and he braces himself for one of my famous blows.
That temper that I’m known for, the same one my father had.
I raise my fist.
Boris closes his eyes.
I’m not even wearing gloves.
I sigh and release Boris, disgusted with myself. “I know you’re looking out for me. But Micah isn’t…” I run my hand through my beard. “He can’t be like Artyom. He can’t. Don’t suggest it.”
Boris backs away a few steps. “You’re going to risk everything for him?”
“Everything?” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m risking nothing, Boris. Don’t worry. I’m not going to be stupid like Savin. Micah works at the restaurant. He’s getting a salary. It’s a very respectable job, until we find him a real job as a musician. I’m not mixing business and pleasure here.”
Boris doesn’t look like he believes me, but at the very least, he’s smart enough not to press further. He walks toward the door, but stops with his hand on the doorhandle.
“I don’t care,” Boris says. “That you’re fucking a man. It’s not my business. I’m not going to tell anyone.” He laughs. “Just as long as I don’t have to help you nurse a broken heart when he realizes what an old man you are and leaves you.”
I scoff and flip him the bird. “Get out of here, you motherfucker.”
Boris smiles and returns the gesture, before heading out.
Well, at least I didn’t beat up the one person I’m still certain is my friend, all because of a pretty boy with sad eyes and beautiful music.
I’ve been in too deep since the day I met Micah.
I lock up my work, lock the office, then go back to the restaurant. It’s close to final call, and Micah has already finished playing for the night.
I expect to find him in the break room, but he isn’t there.
“Have you seen Micah?” I ask Taka, one of the servers, who is currently resting in the break room.
He gives me a guilty expression, because he knows he isn’t supposed to be on break yet.
“Yeah, uh, I think he went into your office to wait for you? He said he wanted to take a nap.” Taka scratches at his arm.
He’s wearing long sleeves now, but I know there are track marks underneath the fabric. I’d reprimand him if I were running a legitimate restaurant, but as long as he does his job and doesn’t cause issues with the diners, I don’t care.
It’d be hypocritical of me to fire him for taking the drugs another branch of my organization peddles.
“Thanks,” I say. “And get back to work. Don’t leave Yolanda on her own.”
“Yes, sir,” Taka answers, chastised.
I move on to the restaurant office. The door is propped open, and I peer inside to find Micah on the loveseat. The cello takes up most of the corner of the small office.
My restaurant laptop is slightly askew, and I frown at it. Did I leave it like that? But I don’t think I touched it since last night. Maybe Mandy, the assistant manager, was answering emails. The laptop itself is attached to the desk with a thin chain, to prevent any of the employees from taking it out of the room.
I shake the small sense of unease away and walk over to Micah. “Hello, Mishka,” I greet.
Micah sits up, and while he smiles at me, there’s a touch of something uncertain in his expression. “Ilya. I wasn’t expecting you this soon.”
“It’s been slow night,” I say, sitting down next to him. Micah slots himself against my side, and I wrap my arm around his shoulders. “You have fun playing?”
