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“It was… interesting.”
“I bet.”
“Who are they to you?”
Luka has the audacity to wink. “Promise me a safehouse for me and my brother’s family, and I’ll sing like a bird.”
“Don’t make demands of me,” I snap. “Tell me who these people are, first.”
He sighs. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“They’re Bratva heads. Russian mafia. Well, they were, anyway. Until the Antonovs took care of each and every one of them.”
A sharp chill passes through me. “As inkilledthem?”
“No, no. But honestly, killing them would have been a mercy.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He shakes his head. “That’s the only freebie you’re going to get out of me. Give me what I want, and I’ll tell you everything. I swear.”
I squint at him, perturbed. I’ve learned never to take a criminal at his word, but I’m running out of options and frankly want to move this along. If Peterson were here, he’d tell me not to back down, but the matter at hand is time sensitive. The more time I spend in this room with Luka, the higher the chance his attackers will regroup and try again.
And maybe next time, Luka won’t be so lucky.
“Fine,” I grind out. “You can have your safehouse. Now, tell meeverything.”
Luka smiles triumphantly, but the dark circles beneath his eyes give away his obvious relief. “The Antonov Bratva. I’m their tech genius. Anything involving a computer—I’m probably involved somehow.”
“Wire transfers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hacking local traffic cameras?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“So, what you’re telling me is you’re a gangster.”
His nose scrunches up in disgust. “I prefer the term ‘black hat hacker’, but whatever.”
“Then what does this have to do with the people you just named? What did you mean when you said ‘the Antonovs took care of each and every one’?”
“The Pit,” he answers cryptically. “What’s a Bratva supposed to do with enemies they refuse to kill? They lock them away. They lock them away for a really,reallylong time.”
Missing, presumed dead.
I swallow thickly. “So these people were imprisoned by you and your brothers.”
He doesn’t answer, so I ask another question.
“What are the chances they’ve escaped and are now looking for revenge?”
My question seems to shock him into silence, like he never before considered the possibility.
“The Pit is inescapable,” he mumbles.
“You know that for sure? You know without a shadow of a doubt that nobody can escape this supposed prison?”
