Page 97 of Trust

I could sit and listen to him for the rest of the evening, but I do have to put in a show of working. The managers take care of most of the restaurant business, but if I show up without putting in any work at all, they’ll get suspicious.

Suspicious of what? That I’m attracted to the young cellist?

They already know that.

Mandy, the assistant manager, walks up to me. “Hey, Boss,” she says. “There’s some Russian on the phone that wants to talk to you.”

I frown. “He wants to talk to me?”

She shrugs. “He had a Russian accent. I assumed he was a friend of yours.”

“I don’t know every Russian in New Bristol,” I grumble. “We are premier Russian restaurant. Many Russians like the food.”

“Okay, but many Russians don’t ask for you by name.” Mandy points toward the back office. “They’re on hold.”

I grumble and go to take the phone call.

“Ilya Zima,” a familiar Russian voice says on the other end. “How are you?”

“Dronov,” I answer. He’s the man who took over after my father’s heart attack. It’s because of him that I ended up in New Bristol. He expects me to resent him, but I’m content with my small slice of this pie. He can amass his riches in St. Petersburg. I’m happy being moderately wealthy here in New Bristol.

“Why are you calling?” I ask.

“You’ll never believe what happened,” Dronov says jovially. “Fucking Andreyevich got himself arrested. Well, arrested, then killed. Funny how that happened.”

“Funny,” I agree sardonically. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Nah, it’s fine, he was a prick.” Dronov laughs. “I was always telling everybody that.”

“Then he was a prick.” I sigh. “Why are you calling at…” I do the mental math on the time difference. “Two in the morning?”

“Well, Andreyevich is gone, and that means I need somebody here who’s actually good at numbers. You’ve been doing a good job in New Bristol, but you must miss Mother Russia.”

I stare at the phone. “Excuse me? You want me to return?”

“Sure. I have a whole new business venture planned just for you.”

I don’t know if I can trust this. Is this a real offer, or is he calling me back simply to murder me once I’m in Russia again?

Either way, I know that I don’t want to go back.

There’s nothing in Russia for me.

My sister, maybe, but I’ve told her I’ll help her move to America once she finds the courage to do so.

“I’ll think about it,” I say carefully. “Because?—”

I hear a scream and nearly drop the phone receiver. Another shout, and another. Something’s happening in the restaurant.

“Zima?”

“I have to go,” I say, hanging up.

He’s going to be angry about the abrupt end to the call, but I don’t give a fuck about that.

I rush out to the main dining hall.

Several police officers are marching in. The guests look terrified. Mandy is trailing behind, arguing with them about something.