Page 6 of Tattooed Heart

“Everything you know. Names, habits, safehouses, anything Morozov might use to pressure judges or fabricate evidence. You worked for him. You know how he operates.”

“He'll find me. And then he'll kill me. Besides, I've already given Dimitri and Aleksandr information. I don't know what else I can tell you.”

“If we don’t stop him, he’ll come for all of us. So, start talking. Tell me everything you told them, every detail, every name. Don’t hold back. Maybe something you forgot will come back to you.”

The silence stretches between us, tight and brittle. Then Nick nods. And just like that, we have a plan. A shaky alliance held together by desperation and the thin thread of past mistakes. But it’s something. And right now, something is all I have.

Nick pours himself a drink, his hands shaking slightly. “I overheard something at Venezia,” he states, referring to the Italian restaurant where he'd worked. “Morozov's men talked too much when they thought no one was listening.”

“What did you hear?” I press.

He takes a nervous sip. “There's a guard at the prison. Russian guy named Baranov. I served him and one of Morozov's enforcers dinner about a month ago. They kept their voices down, but I caught bits and pieces while refilling their drinks.”

“And?”

“Baranov's on Morozov's payroll. He has been for years. They weren't exactly friends, but both came from the same area in Russia. Baranov owes Morozov, though I don't know why.”

I lean forward. “Did they mention anyone else? Anyone controlling things?”

Nick hesitates, clearly deciding how much to share. “There's a lawyer they mentioned. Benjamin Petrov. He eats at Venezia every Thursday at the same table by the window. Very particular about his food. The kind of man who thinks everyone is beneath him.”

“What's his connection to Morozov?”

“He handles legit business stuff. At least that's what it looks like. But the way they talked about him...he's more than just a lawyer. He's Morozov's fixer.”

“You think he was involved in framing Dimitri?”

Nick nods. “I don't know details, but Morozov's men stopped talking whenever I got too close to their table. One night though, after too much vodka, one of them bragged about ‘setting up the Avilov dog’ and mentioned Petrov had ‘taken care of the paperwork.’”

“Where can I find this Petrov?”

Nick's eyes widen in panic. “You can't be serious. You can't just walk up to him and start asking questions. These people don't play games, Sandy.”

“I'm not planning to ask nicely,” I reply, calm despite the storm raging inside me. “I need leverage.”

Nick studies me for a long moment as if he’s seeing someone he doesn’t recognize. “You’ve changed.”

“No,” I say quietly, holding his gaze. “I’ve always been this way. I just never had a reason to show it—until now.”

He drains his glass. “Look, I don't know much. I was just the guy pouring drinks and serving pasta. But I do know Petrov keeps an office on the Upper East Side. It’s very fancy. I delivered catering there once when they were short-staffed.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“He's paranoid. Keeps files on everyone, including Morozov. It's his insurance policy. If anything happens to him, those files go public. At least that's what I overheard one night.”

“And you know where these files are kept?”

Nick shakes his head. “In his office somewhere, but that place is like Fort Knox. I was only ever in the reception area.”

“You must know something else,” I press. “Someone who works there, maybe?”

Nick tugs at the ends of his hair, his eyes darting as if torn between silence and confession. “There’s a woman,” he answers at last. “Marina. She’s Russian, like the rest of them. She’s on the cleaning crew now, but she used to come into the restaurant sometimes for lunch.”

“And you think she could help me?”

“Maybe. She hates Morozov's people. Something about her brother getting caught up in their business back in Russia. But Sandy, this is dangerous. These aren't people you mess with.”

“I'm carrying the child of a man who's been falsely imprisoned and might be murdered before he ever gets to see his baby,” I say, my voice breaking despite my efforts to keep it steady. “I'm already in danger. We all are.”

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