Page 38 of Dangerous Games

“You got info for me?” I ask as I answer.

“Oh yeah,” Wiz’s voice fills my car. “Your guy Brian Hatchett is in debt up to his eyeballs all thanks to his little gambling problem. Owes the Bratva almost a million dollars.” I let out a low whistle. That’s some fucking cake. “I don’t know what kind of idiot lends someone that much money, but that’s not all. He’s signed over his house, his car, and all savings accounts to the Bratva, including the retirement he had.”

Jesus Christ.

“So the man has nothing to his name?” I ask, unable to keep the shock out of my voice. How do you work your whole life for something all to sign it away like it’s nothing?

“Correct,” Wiz answers. “From what I’ve found through various records and accounts online, the Bratva essentially owns him.”

“Were you able to find out what he does for them?”

“Nothing that straight up says it, but from what I’ve gathered, he does low-level jobs that are beneath the ones affiliated. Basically, he’s an errand boy.”

Which is exactly what I thought.

“Any family or wife?”

“Not that I could find. He used to be married, but his wife left him almost ten years ago to the day when she found out he was on the brink of losing the house. Apparently she had no idea he gambled all of their money away. They never had any kids, which, after reading about him, is probably a blessing in disguise. No kid needs to be around shit like that.”

Kind of like Bronwyn.

She damn well didn’t need to be around that shit and still doesn’t, but her piece of shit dad makes sure she is.

“Why do they keep letting him dig a deeper hole?” I ask. At some point, even a loan shark will cut you off.

“My guess is it’s what they’re holding over his head to do the stupid shit they want him to do.”

Yeah, that’s what I thought too.

“You get any other bad vibes about him?”

“Not really. He has no history of violence. Only has been arrested once for writing a bad check at a casino. Ironically, it happened at Voron Casino,” Wiz snorts sarcastically. “Oh wait, I found a record that he purchased a pistol a month ago. He put it on a credit card. I find it strange that the Bratva didn’t buy it for him or just give him one.”

Probably the gun he tried to kill me with.

“They either don’t know he got one or they didn’t want their name associated with it. Thanks for finding all this shit out for me.”

“You can tell me to fuck off, but can I ask why?”

“He showed up outside the pizzeria the other day and was hiding in the back alley,” I answer, not wanting to give him the full details yet. I don’t need Bronwyn’s business out in the open for everyone to know.

“Shit,” Wiz drawls out. “You think they sent him or he’s doing a little solo mission?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I answer as I rub a hand through my hair. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“No problem. If I find or hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”

As soon as I hang up with Wiz, I can’t help but wonder if she will tell me Matteo came to her place of work and questioned her. Part of me wants to think we’ve built that type of trust by now where she can open up to me. I mean, the only thing left to seal the deal is for her to literally see me kill someone, but I know people like her.

And that’s because I am like her.

I may have more people around me who show up, but they never truly know what’s going through my head. Opening up and giving someone every tiny detail of your day is more intimate than fucking someone’s brains out. It gives them access to know you on a level others don’t. They learn your ins and outs. Learn your likes and dislikes, what annoys you, and what makes you laugh. Before you know it, they’ll be able to predict your next move before you know what you’re going to do.

And that’s fucking dangerous.

It’s scary to give someone that kind of power.

But what Bronwyn doesn’t know is that the power is mine to have and hold. I’ll take care of it and nurture it until the day I die. She will never go another day feeling alone and isolated.