Page 57 of Hunt Me

If that was even possible.

“In breaking news, the body of Sergio Pavel, a security consultant for Dmitriyev Enterprises was found murdered in his home in Southern Highlands earlier this evening.”

My head jerked up as soon as I heard the reporter’s voice. Leaning forward, I held my breath as the man on the screen continued with his report. No. No, this wasn’t possible. Dmitriyev Enterprises?

I pressed my fingers across my lips. What in God’s name had I stumbled onto?

“While details are sketchy about the brutal slaying, the police yet to provide any information, what we do know is that Mr. Pavel’s position within the billion-dollar firm is likely a cover-up for his involvement in syndicate activities.”

What? Oh, my fucking God. I leaned forward even more. Even the reporter was insinuating what my father had warned me about.

“There has been speculation for years the Dmitriyev family is considered one of the most powerful and dangerous Russian Bratva within the United States. While never charged with a crime, they’ve been linked to several high-profile killings over the years including the massacre at a public amusement park almost twenty-two years ago.”

Bratva.

I closed my eyes briefly, envisioning Mikhail’s face. Okay. They’d legitimized over the years. Even my father had suggested they were above board. To a point. Besides, reporters loved to sensationalize for profit and ratings.

What else?

Grabbing the remote, I turned up the volume.

“The family also owns a significant share of resorts, casinos, and entertainment facilities within Vegas. There are also unsubstantiated reports of at least partial ownership of our newly crowned sports stadium as well as significant shares in a Los Angeles-based movie production company. It’s unclear whether Mr. Pavel’s murder was related to any syndicate activities, but reports of a possible witness are circulating.”

A cold chill trickled down my spine.

Someone had seen me.

Or…

The tip was supposed to be anonymous. I looked away briefly. So much for my possible anonymity. Thank God, I’d hung up before they’d traced the call.

Witness.

Mikhail would soon learn the scrap of information as well. So would his brothers and father. And everyone else in… the Bratva. Oh, this was so bad. So very bad.

I managed to slide the glass onto the table without dropping the heavy crystal. I dumped my head into my hands, rocking as the nightmare continued playing out in the darkest reaches of my mind.

This wasn’t just a horrific situation. This was devastating. Had Callie known the man who’d been her regular was some mob gangster?

Correction. He had been.

Now he was dead.

What had he said to me? Why a brat?

No, I doubted Callie knew anything about the man other than that he was a decent tipper. My sister was like a sweet butterfly, refusing to believe the worst in people, where I’d seen the most horrible crimes anyone could ever imagine.

A dull ringing echoed in my ears as the reporter droned on.

I wasn’t a fool. I’d studied organized crime in college. I’d written two white papers on two different mafia families, both receiving modest acclaim. That’s one reason my father had tasked me to be on his commission. Sadly, he hadn’t understood that I’d simply been interested in the dark and depraved acts in relation to how the media continued to glorify the men involved as if they were sexy heroes.

Not because I’d wanted to spend my life hunting, trapping, exposing, and prosecuting syndicate leaders. And Russian Bratva? They were the most dangerous and vicious savages of all. They were ruthless in every aspect of their business, refusing apologies and excuses.

Forget about betrayal. Fingers and legs were removed for the slightest infraction.

The lump in my throat had shifted to a basketball in my stomach. If I told my father, this entire situation could be turned into a circus.

Or a bloodbath.