PAVEL'S POV
"Did that waitress who's sleeping with Dushku find anything out?" Roman asks.
"No," I reply. "Apparently, he talked about some confiscated shipment and complained about his wife spending too much money on shoes. But that's it."
Roman leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I've known Dushku for fifteen years. He's a schemer and ruthless as hell when it comes to business, but human trafficking?" He shakes his head. "No. If there's a connection here, we're missing it."
He turns toward Dimitri. "What about the men following Dushku's son-in-law?"
"Nothing so far."
Roman slams his palm against the desk hard enough to rattle the glasses sitting near the edge. "What's the name of that guy Julian always sends to run errands? Besim?"
"Bekim," Dimitri corrects.
