Page 55 of Tattooed Vow

I spot him immediately, hunched in a corner booth, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He looks terrible. He was thinner than I remembered, with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He flinches when I slide into the seat across from him.

“You came,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I wasn't sure you would.”

“I almost didn't,” I reply coolly. “You have five minutes to tell me what was so important I had to risk my neck coming here.”

He glances nervously around the shop. “Not here. Too exposed.”

“Then where?”

“My apartment. It's just a few blocks?—”

“Absolutely not,” I interrupted. “We talk here or nowhere.”

Nick runs a trembling hand over his face. “You don't understand. They have eyes everywhere. This whole area...” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “They killed Yoni last night.”

“Who's Yoni?”

“Another guy like me. In too deep with the Butcher. He was skimming a little off the collections and thought no one would notice.” His eyes dart around again. “Found him this morning behind the dumpsters. Made to look like an overdose, but we all know.”

A chill runs through me. “Nick, you're scaring me. What exactly do you know?”

“That Morozov wants you dead. That Dimitri Popov killed his brother, and you’re meant to be his revenge.” He swallows hard. “He’s going to use you as leverage to weaken Dimitri and then target the Avilov Bratva.”

It’s strange to hear my situation summarized so clinically by someone who once knew every detail of my life. Someone who now feels like a stranger working for the very people who want me dead.

“How did you get mixed up with Morozov in the first place?” I question.

“After we broke up, I was in a bad place. I started gambling, just for fun at first. But I ran up debts I couldn't pay.” He rubs his nose, a nervous habit I remember from our time together. “Turns out the guy who owned the card games was the Butcherhimself. He gave me a choice—work for Morozov or take a swim in the East River wearing concrete shoes.”

“And what exactly do you do for him?”

“Whatever he tells me to. Run errands. Deliver messages. Keep my ears open at the restaurant.” Nick's eyes meet mine, filled with shame and fear. “I never wanted this life, Sandy. I'm trying to find a way out.”

“So why risk contacting me?”

“Because I heard them talking about you yesterday. The Butcher and his guys. They know about the Red Hook operation. They're setting a trap for Dimitri.” He reaches across the table, gripping my hand. “And while he's occupied there, the Butcher is planning to grab you.”

I pull my hand away, mind racing. If what Nick says is true, Dimitri is walking into an ambush. And I’m sitting here, unprotected, instead of warning him.

“I have to go,” I said, standing abruptly. “I have to tell Dimitri and Aleksandr.”

“Sandy, wait.” Nick stands, too, his expression desperate. “There's more. The guy Aleksandr and Dimitri think is on their side?—”

The window near our table explodes.

Time seems to slow as shards of glass rain down around us. Nick's eyes widen, a red stain blossoming on his left shoulder. He reaches for me, his mouth forming words I can’t hear over the screaming that has erupted in the coffee shop.

Then he crumples, and I drop to my knees beside him, instinctively pressing my hands against the wound. Blood seeps through my fingers, hot and sticky.

“Nick! Nick, stay with me!”

His eyes find mine, glazed with pain and fear.

“Run,” he whispers.

His eyes close, his body going limp beneath my hands.

More shouting. People fleeing.

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