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“The Brotherhood,” Alec broke in. “The Russian Mafia.” He nodded slowly as things started to connect. “The king told me up front he’d heard rumors the Bratva was involved in this operation, remember?” He cursed under his breath. “Now Keira’s message makes sense to me.”
“Drugs. Gunrunning. Prostitution. Money laundering. You name it—if it’s illegal, Vishenko has a hand in it. And those are just his illegal activities. He’s plowed his money into legitimate enterprises, as well. Not as profitable, but profitable enough. And completely aboveboard. He even pays his taxes on his legitimate earnings.”
McKinnon’s eyes narrowed. “The FBI has been after him for years. So has the IRS. And so has the agency—ever since we learned of Vishenko’s connection with the two Penningtons, father and son. We’ve never managed to make anything stick, and neither have the Fibbies—no one will testify against Vishenko. The two times the FBI managed to scrape up witnesses against him early on, the witnesses ended up dead. Gruesomely dead. And the US marshals guarding them were also killed.”
He breathed deeply. “You can forget the IRS— Vishenko’s too smart for them to make a case based on imputed income. Don’t get me wrong, he lives like a king. But his income from his legitimate businesses accounts for his lifestyle, and he’s been extremely careful not to exceed that. The FBI is still trying to make a racketeering case—RICO could bring him down and the government could confiscate everything—but the Fibbies can’t convince anyone to flip on Vishenko, not anymore—men would rather go to jail themselves than risk certain death...and can you blame them?”
“Apparently not. And the agency hasn’t had any luck, either?”
McKinnon made a sound of disgust. “Much as I hate to admit it, no. We’re in the same boat as the FBI. The old Sicilian law of omerta is nothing compared to the cone of silence surrounding Vishenko—no one will roll on him. Until someone does...”
“Great. Just great.”
“Yeah, but the agency hasn’t given up. And if he’s involved in this case...” McKinnon smiled, but his eyes were like blue ice. “God, what wouldn’t I give to be instrumental in putting him away for good,” he said softly.
Alec nodded. “Me, too. So let’s recap what we know so far. As I see it, there are three legs involved in the human trafficking of Zakharian women for prostitution purposes.”
“Knock out one, and the other legs will probably collapse. That’s the theory,” McKinnon said, a real smile starting. “So this tracks. A criminal element here in Zakhar—and there is a criminal element, no matter how draconian the laws are—lures the women with promises of modeling contracts, acting contracts, anything that will convince young, impressionable women to willingly agree to go to the US. The US embassy in Drago issues the visas for a price. Vishenko’s Bratva takes delivery of the women once they arrive in the States, and either sells them to gangs across the country—and there’s more of a market for that than you’d believe—or he pimps them out through his own organization.”
Alec closed his eyes briefly as he thought about telling all this to Angelina. “God,” he said, fixing his burning gaze on McKinnon, not realizing how much he was betraying his personal feelings toward Angelina. “Angelina’s cousin...”
“Yeah. If she was part of this, it had to be a nightmare for her. But the one good thing is, if Keira’s right, Caterina Mateja’s still alive.”
“But for how long?” Alec asked fiercely. “If Keira’s right, Vishenko has a million-dollar price tag on her head.” He stopped suddenly as an idea occurred to him. An idea that should have occurred to him right away, as soon as he read Keira’s message. An idea that could have monumental repercussions. “She knows something,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Caterina knows something.” Adrenaline surged through him, and he grasped McKinnon’s arm. “That’s why Vishenko wants her dead. That’s why the price is so high. She knows something—or she has evidence that can put him away—and he knows it.”
McKinnon shook his head regretfully. “Don’t jump to conclusions—the case is a long way from being made. Okay, so maybe she knows something. Or maybe she has evidence. But what makes you think—even if you can find her—she’ll testify against Vishenko?”
“Angelina would do it,” Alec said, the absolute certainty in his head and his heart reflected in his voice. “She’d do it because it’s the right thing to do, no matter the risk. If Caterina’s anything like her cousin, she’ll do it. She’ll testify.”
