Mikhail
“He had an Albanian gang tattoo on the inside of his forearm,” I tell Roman. “Do you think it’s Dushku?”
“Possible. Maybe he found out it was me who offed his friend Tanush. Or maybe he was mad because we beat him to making a deal with the Italians.”
“It could be both.” I nod. “Or someone wants us to think it was Dushku. They sent only one man, and half of the people in that room were armed. It was a suicide mission. And how very convenient that he had a tattoo that would connect him with the Albanians. Something doesn’t add up.”
Roman leans forward, drumming his fingers on the desk. “It could be the Italians playing us, setting the stage for something bigger. They were in charge of the security for the wedding, and an armed man managed to get through.” He points his finger
