Vivian had been right. We all carried secrets, many hoping they could do so to their grave.
I wiped sweat from my face, loathing the dull ache in my joints. The tension was killing me.
After a few minutes, I dropped my head, determined to make sense of the discovery. At the meeting in a few hours, I’d have additional security placed on every building Mikhail owned and send out soldiers to take notes about the businesses owned by the Irish. Then I’d need to work with our hackers to try to establish a tracking device of some kind to intercept emails and phone calls.
After that, I’d need to let Kazimir know what I’d discovered. And he would be none too happy since we couldn’t be certain the Irish had anything to do with the Ghost. Although I suspected they did.
And why?
One beautiful blonde whose hair appeared anointed in copper. A goddess.
Or more accurately, an Irish princess.
I sat in darkness, the light of the laptop blinding. I rapped my fingers on the desk while staring at the screen.
The same one I’d had in front of me for at least an hour.
What the hell had I managed to accomplish at this point?
Yes, I’d enjoyed dinner with my companion after she’d dressed my wound. Smirking, I swirled the glass as I tried to focus on the screen.
She’d asked about my life in Russia and I’d told her. I’d asked about her life in medical school and she’d held something back.Someone she’d cared about. That I hadn’t been able to discover in going through her social media.
What my gut told me was that she’d been placed in the middle of a dark, twisted puzzle.
I glared at her phone, every breath I took short and extremely labored. The silly girl had kept facial recognition as her password, allowing me full access after she’d gone to sleep. From there, I’d found out almost everything I needed to know about her.
Her friends.
The name of several family members.
What she’d been doing in Italy.
The only answer I’d yet to discover were her intentions in hunting me down. And I had no doubt that’s what she’d been doing. Her appearance on my flight and in first class was no coincidence. Not a chance in hell.
One thing she hadn’t lied about. She was the daughter of an important man. Even without knowing much regarding American politics and private equity firms, I knew the power both could wield depending on the hands manipulating their use. I had no doubt such was the case with Gerald Hamilton. Not only had his father been deep into New York politics, he’d also been a successful businessman, buying companies on the brink of bankruptcy, dismantling and selling off the parts.
He’d made billions.
His son, Vivian’s father, had inherited the company, turning the corporation into a private equity firm with ties to several countries, including Russia, Saudi Arabia, and most of Europeincluding Italy. If that wasn’t enough of a red flag, he’d also purchased a security firm that could rival anything in the US or any other country.
And an article on talks with a prominent oil and gas company. Not for dismantling but for controlling.
Her father could keep tabs on anyone in the world no matter where they tried to hide. Gerald could also play fortune teller with world economy, in the right place at the right time to make a deal. Brilliance in utter corruption. Especially since from what I’d read online, the Hamilton name had garnered respect for generations.
How fascinating that most innocent people believed the worst of humanity were the scum inside crime syndicates. Maybe once upon a time that had been true. No longer.
I raised my glass and tossed her phone aside. It wasn’t needed any longer as I’d already downloaded a number of her photographs to the laptop.
So many stunning depictions of a lovely wedding on an island somewhere off the coast of Italy. Charming.
Even still, Gerald’s power or wealth wasn’t the smoking gun. Her mother’s identity was, even though Gerald had done an excellent job of hiding her family from the world. She’d been the true catalyst of her husband’s obvious success.
All because of the blood running through her veins.
Her brother was none other than Sean McCarthy, leader of the Irish mob. And no doubt Gerald’s eager and willing henchman.
From what Dimitri had told me about the organization, he hadn’t given them enough credit for the power they nowwielded. All because of what I would guess was an arranged marriage thirty years before.
