“Or it could be a trap.”
“With this as bait, it definitely is, but I’m hoping it’s both. Stathis Dimakos…why do I know that name?”
“He’s Ilias Dimakos’ cousin.” The man headed the Greek mafia in Los Angeles. “Older brother to Alastor Dimakos, killed last year.”
“Ah.”
I tapped my fingers against my desk. This was about a blood feud then. Another little memento from my late father. That explained Stathis’ eagerness to meet. No matter what information the Dimakos clan shared, this wasn’t going to be a simple meet-and-greet, not after my father killed his brother. I doubted Stathis knew the little secret my father’s private records hid, the truth behind his brother’s death.
“Plan for ten men, none with happy trigger fingers. Place half at high points, the rest spread throughout.”
“Only ten?”
“We won’t need more.”
“And if the rest of the Dimakos clan lies in wait?”
“They won’t. He’s acting alone.”
Vinny’s dark gaze swept over my face and posture for some sign I was bluffing. “What do you know?”
I leaned forward. “Whatever Stathis has planned, his cousin has no idea.”
“You’re certain, boss?”
“Absolutely.” I pulled the property deed free. “I’d even venture to say Ilias Dimakos is going to be quite upset with his cousin when he finds out what Stathis just gifted me.”
“Is it worth attending?”
Probably not, but I refused to voice that thought. My fingers grazed over the dents and small cracks on my desk surface, the ones I had created with my fists in a fit of rage months ago. They were a reminder of how fragile my grip on sanity was after almost nine months of searching for my sister. I had tried everything since she disappeared. I bribed. I threatened. I tortured. I killed. I took over the famiglia. I found and dismantled three human trafficking rings in the US. My sister wasn’t with any. None of the other victims remembered her. None of the ringleaders reacted to her photo.
“We got something on your mystery letters,” Vinny said after a long break of silence.
My gaze snapped to the second manila folder, not particularly caring about its contents. I needed a distraction. Something, anything, at this point. This stalker was as good an outlet as any other.
“Tell me,” I said, straightening.
“The letters are sent by an Ainsley Willow Burch. Seems she switches post offices each month, but she’s on camera at each. Travels by bus as her preferred mode of transportation but switches up the routes each month.”
I scoffed at the poor attempt to evade detection. “What do we know about her?”
“Young, orphaned. Family used to be well-off. A family of doctors until they died in a car crash five years ago. Brother died in the shooting.”
“The shooting?”
“Elio’s.”
My brows rose. “She’s of the life, then?”
“Nah, her brother though…of a sort.” Vinny tapped two fingers on the unopened file. “It’s all there.”
“Give me the rundown.”
Vinny sighed as if inconvenienced. “Noah Burch, studied medicine for a little over two years between Harvard and UCSF before he dropped out. Held a few jobs to support his sister for the next two years, but they were living outside their means. After the banks threatened to foreclose on their house, he took a job as a runner for the famiglia a couple of months before the shooting.”
“We hired him?”
Vinny shrugged and leaned back in the wing chair. “Spoke to Antonio. One of his men remembered a scrawny guy begging for some work. They thought he might be a cop until he pissed himself when they put a gun to his head.”
