I let out a small chuckle. “I will go call lawyer. You will see this is waste of time,” In Russian, I add, “You fucking sad, pathetic little worm.”
Adam scowls, but he doesn’t react. He must not speak any Russian.
Micah’s voice is desperate as he says, “I didn’t tell him what you said, about… I didn’t.”
He could mean all sorts of things.
I’d told him so much.
I clutch my cell phone and walk toward the back door. As soon as I open it, I spot Boris waiting on the other side.
“Boss?” he asks. “Somebody said the pigs are here?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “It’s Micah’s ex-boyfriend. Or current boyfriend. I don’t know.”
“I told you so,” Boris mumbles. “What do you want to do?”
I shrug. “Nothing. There’s nothing for them to find at the restaurant. I might even have grounds for suing the city, if I can argue that they’re costing me business.”
Boris laughs loudly about that. “Yeah, if you want them to take a closer look at everything.” He sighs and leans against the concrete wall. “I cleaned up a bit downstairs. I didn’t want to kick everyone out though, because it’d be too obvious if everybody leaves at once.”
“Good thinking.” I wish I was a smoker now, so I could have something to do while I wait for the whole commotion to be over.
The back door opens, and I glance over my shoulder.
Adam is there, dragging Micah along by the arm.
“Thought you would run?” Adam growls at me. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I didn’t run,” I point out. “I’m here still.”
Adam looks around the small courtyard. I grimace internally when his eyes land on the door leading to the gambling den.
Adam approaches the door, still dragging Micah.
I grip Adam’s arm as he passes me. “Let go of Micah. He’s not part of this.”
Micah glances at me, his eyes still glassy with tears. He seems like he’s about to say something, but one look at Adam has him falling silent.
I can see the way he’s shrinking in on himself, the way he’s losing himself more and more with each passing second.
I don’t want to be erased, he’d said.
“Not part of this?” Adam sneers. “You hired him, didn’t you? Paying him with your illegal funds. Fucking foreigners, coming here, ruining our cities. Go back to your country and pull this shit there.”
It’s such a familiar argument that I burst out laughing. Adam is clearly taken aback by my reaction.
“This shit? New Bristol doesn’t want good Russian food?” I give Adam a nasty smile. “I am restaurant owner. Nothing else.”
“Save it for the judge.” Adam glances at Boris. “You, Ivan. What the fuck’s behind that door?”
Boris pretends not to understand. “What’s he saying, Ilya?” he asks in Russian.
“He wants to know what’s behind that door,” I answer, suppressing a smile.
Boris looks at Adam, then says, still in Russian, “I don’t know. Some defunct restaurant?”
Adam is clearly frustrated by not understanding us. He growls and shoves at the door.
