Mikhail
“Did you talk with Dushku?” I ask Roman and take a sip of whiskey.
“Yes. He says he had nothing to do with the shooting, or with the guys who followed you.”
“And you believe him?”
“I’m not sure.” Roman leans back in his chair and grinds his teeth. “Everything about this is f****d up. All of the guys were Albanians, but none of them were working for Dushku. They were just some random gang members. What I am sure about is that the same person hired all of them.”
“Maybe it’s a setup to make us attack the Albanians. We have the product, Albanians buy it. If we start a war with them and cut the supply, the Albanians will have to search elsewhere.”
“Irish?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Nope. Italians.”
“It doesn’t make sense. Why did the don agree to the cease-fire, and the ma
