Page 2 of Dangerous Vengeance

“Hello, Natalie.” The voice that answers is deep and robotic, made by a person talking through a device to disguise who they are. It’s the only voice I’ve heard, so I can’t even say if this person is male or female. Just dangerous.

“Hello….” I swallow hard and continue. “I was hoping we could meet. I have the story mostly ready to go, but I still need that evidence you spoke of—something hard to bring them down.” I talk cryptically, not wanting anyone around me to overhear what I’m saying. They don’t need to know I’m working on the story of the century.

“I’m not sure you understand how dangerous a meet would be.”

“Oh, I know, and believe me; I’m terrified. But I need that information. So, how is this afternoon?” I clench my jaw while I wait for the response. Even if they only agree to a drop and not an in-face meet, I still have to have it. A few seconds tick by with just silence on the line and then they speak.

“Corner of Tenth and Broadway. Twenty minutes. Come alone. There will be a blue sedan parked and waiting. Climb in.”

That really sounds sketchy and very unsafe, but if I want this story, I have to take risks. I’ve been speaking to this person for months now and they’ve never threatened me. They’ve only ever been helpful in my research into the Bratva.

“I’ll be there.”

As soon as I say the words the line clicks and goes silent. The call ends and I lay my phone on my desk. Dad has a bead on my phone at all times because of GPS—we use an app to keep tabs on each other—so if I have my phone on me, even if I don’t use it, I’ll be safe. They’ll never know I’m being tracked, and if something goes sideways, and I disappear, Dad can just ping my phone. It’s going to be okay.

I glance at the clock and see that I barely have time to make it to the destination in twenty minutes, which is a bit concerning. The source knows where I work and what I do, which means they’re probably watching me at times. That means they know what I look like, but I still have nothing on them except a mechanical voice.

Standing, I pick up my cell and grab my jacket and satchel. As I head toward the door, one of the reporters at their desk perks up. “Where you going?”

“Meeting a source.” I swing my jacket over my shoulder and hold it there with a few fingers as I continue walking. “Don’t worry. Sheffield knows.”

That guy is a bit nosy, so I don’t mind blowing him off. I take the elevator down to the ground level and stroll out toward the street. I have to hail a cab, which sometimes takes a few minutes. This time, I see a few coming toward me, so I walk right up to the curb and raise my hand, cell phone tightly gripped in my fist, and suddenly I feel someone grab me from behind. Something gets wrapped around my head or shoved over it—I can’t tell.

“What the! Stop! Help!” I scream and writhe, kicking and swinging my arms.

“Get her cell,” a voice says, and someone pries my cell phone from my hand.

“No, you can’t take that.” As I say the words, I hear something drop to the ground and I yank my arms away as I hear someone stomp.

“Get the car.”

“What! No, give me back my phone. You can’t do this. Help!” I make such a fuss that I hear a few cops nearby shout at whoever it is that has grabbed me. They take my bag. I feel my hands being tied up, maybe with a zip tie, and then I hear the report of a gun. Someone is shooting? “Oh fuck, help!” Tears come to my eyes as I am shoved into a car.

“Get out of here,” a voice screams as inertia forces me into the seat of the car. The tires squeal and more gunfire sounds.

“Help,” I plead, writhing on the seat.

“Shut her up!” It’s a man, and he’s angry. I feel a knee in my hip, then hear more gunshots.

“Oh god… oh god.” I sob and curl into myself. Is this my source? Did they know I would be coming out and they just snatched me? What is happening?

“I say we just kill her.”

“No, we can’t. She has files… We have to keep her around until we get them.”

The two men go on as if I’m not tied up in their car, and I realize with a gut-sick feeling that this is not the source. This is the Bratva. They’ve learned I’m on to them and they’re not happy.

Oh god, what did I get myself into?

2

MATTY

Hot water pours over my body, washing the sweat away. The round of eighteen holes with an old friend was unremarkable, but with the lifestyle I live, unremarkable is actually quite remarkable. I crave the slower pace of a normal life. A life where shootings and drug deals aren’t the norm. But being born to the leader of the Bratva brought with it certain expectations and responsibilities, as well as a duty to honor and stay loyal to my family no matter the circumstance.

I finish my shower, rinsing the suds from my body, and wrapping a towel around my waist. Then I head for the lockers where my fresh change of clothing is. If everything has gone according to plan, Leo and Rome—my brothers—should be here to pick me up with a very important package—Natalie Yates. We’ve had our eye on her for some time now. She’s a nosy reporter, snooping around the family business and asking too many questions. We need to shut her down before she shares what she knows with anyone of significance, especially the general public.

I dress quickly, heading to the front of the country club where I expect my brothers. As I walk, I button the cuffs of my shirt and ensure my gig line is straight. Ms. Yates has no clue what sort of hornets’ nest she has stirred up by sniffing around where she isn’t supposed to be. When Jimmy Slater-—local hitman—did that, Sven almost killed him on the spot. Lucky for Jimmy, Dominic had a plan we didn’t know about. But no one in the family is paying Natalie to hunt for a mole. And none of us want her around.

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