“Indeed.” He crosses his arms and leans on the hood of his car again. “I heard you married his sister.” He studies me through squinted eyes. “And that she had your kid.”
I stiffen. “You heard right, but I’m not here to discuss my family.” I take my phone from my pocket and show him the photo of Gavril Dmitriev. “Care to tell me why this man tried to kill me?”
He raises on the balls of his feet to peer at the photo and then goes back to slouching on the hood. “He’s not one of my men.”
“He moved drugs for one of your middlemen.”
He shrugs. “As I said, not one of mine.”
“What about Naomi Foster?” I flick over the screen, pulling up her photo. “Does she ring a bell?”
“Pretty.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “In a cheap kind of way.” Meeting my gaze, he says in a level tone, “She never rang any bell of mine.”
I swipe to the photos of the mercenaries. “These men?”
“Common thugs.” He narrows his eyes. “What do they have to do with me?”
“I don’t know, Viktor. Nothing?”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Naomi Foster and these mercenaries were involved in my wife’s kidnapping. When Naomi offered to sell me information, someone took her out. Gavril Dmitriev was one of her regulars. When I approached him for a friendly chat, he threw a knife at me. I was just wondering if you knew how the puzzle pieces fit together.”
He looks at me with a raised brow and big eyes, as if everything I’ve said is news to him. “Who took Naomi out?”
“A rat in my organization. He’s dead now. When I find out who he ratted to, that person will be dead too.”
“Well, it wasn’t me.” Laughing, he straightens. “It seems you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“Are you denying involvement with any of these people?”
“Categorically.”
“What about Teszner?” I ask when he turns to leave.
He pauses. “His father and I went way back. We had a—How shall I call it?—love-hate relationship. He wasn’t the world’s most popular person, but he had a good sense for business. I could respect that. It’s the only reason I agreed to lend his son money.” He comes closer, standing toe to toe with me. “But if he doesn’t pay it back soon, I’ll be knocking at his door.”
I chuckle. “You’ll have to get in line. The loan sharks are after him too.”
He watches me with a shrewd expression. “There’s word on the street that you cut out his tongue for insulting his sister.”
“I poked out his eyes too, and I’ll do the same to any person who looks wrong at my wife.”
He clucks. “Have I discovered a weakness?”
“Nothing you won’t do for your family in a similar situation, I hope.”
His expression turns sour. Everyone knows he hates his wife, who was given to him as part of a marriage contract. Her father is a powerful player in Russia, and Skripchenko can’t get rid of her without starting a war.
“I’ll tell you if I hear anything,” he says with a flat smile.
I return the gesture. “I’ll take it as an insult if you don’t.”
He flicks his fingers at his men, who shoots us bashful grins as they get into the Mustang. Skripchenko waves as he burns the tires and takes off in a cloud of dust.
I stare after his car.
For his sake, I hope he didn’t lie to me.
