The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2)

by Nancy Haviland

  Passing her thumb over the address once more, Nika’s heart jumped, quickening her pulse. But it wasn’t due to thoughts of letting loose her brother and his notorious motorcycle club on Kevin once she had the evidence in hand. No. This silly excitement was caused by thoughts of who else would be attending the wedding.

  Gabriel shared a house with three of his friends. Maksim Kirov, the gorgeous, if not absurdly arrogant, Russian mobster who owned a swank nightclub in Hell’s Kitchen. Alekzander Tarasov, Eva’s cousin and another Russian made man, just as gorgeous but a little less I-know-you’re-staring-because-I’m-hot. He and Gabriel owned TarMor, the übersuccessful project management firm where Eva now worked as an associate business manager.

  It was the third housemate who had caused Nika’s body to react. The one who’d been haunting her dreams for weeks now, taunting her, making her relive the bone-rattling kiss they’d shared in a quiet corridor of the Crown Jewel, the posh hotel Gabriel and Alek owned here in downtown Seattle.

  Vincente Romani.

  Caleb had told her Vincente owned a midsize company called ROM Construct that was based out of Manhattan. Oh, and it seemed when Gabriel had taken over as boss of the crime family he’d grown up in, Vincente had stepped in as his underboss. He’d been a lieutenant in the Moretti family before that, to the former boss, Stefano, who was Gabriel’s older brother. According to Eva, Stefano had disappeared a few weeks ago.

  The bottom line was Nika had been having inappropriate dreams about an undeniably gorgeous but deadly Italian mobster.

  Aim high, sista.

  She ignored the high five her pride figuratively offered, leaving it hanging, too busy trying to pretend it wasn’t desire that curled through her body at just the thought of the man. The first time Nika had seen him, he’d been standing on the sidewalk in front of the Crown Jewel. She’d crossed the street, worrying over what Kevin’s reaction would be when he found out she’d left their apartment—after all, she’d just taken a beating like no other from him a few days before—and had glanced up into a face that was sinister and cold, yet so beautiful she’d been instantly captivated. His hair was long and black and fell past his broad shoulders. He was taller than she was, which was something, considering she loved to wear heels that put her at a healthy six-one, give or take an inch. His body had been tightly muscled, his features equally cut and hard. And his eyes—those dark-brown, haunted eyes—conveyed a blatant move-on-or-be-sorry to anyone who dared to meet them.

  Well, she’d met them, but she had yet to move on. What she’d seen had shaken her to the core. So much so that she’d stumbled and would have fallen had Vincente not caught her.

  And then he’d kissed her only minutes later.

  She shifted and cleared her throat, feeling jittery. It was stupid to feel excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

  Would he look at her with that same interest as last time? Did he even remember their last encounter? Did he think about it? The way she did so often?

  That kiss, a simple meeting of their mouths, had stayed with Nika. Why? Because she’d been aroused by it. By him. And then she’d been relieved. The desire that had crashed over her when Vincente kissed her had let her know Kevin hadn’t won. It was still possible for her to feel something for a man, even after everything that had been done to her.

  Not that she wanted another man. She shuddered. Maybe not ever.

  Once she found that memory stick and she finally allowed Caleb to deal with Kevin as he saw fit, she was done. Oh, she might fool around someday, if she was able to go further than a kiss. But she wouldn’t know that until she tried. Wouldn’t know just how fucked-up she was after the way she’d been living this past year until it was all over.

  Then she could experiment. Test boundaries. But one thing was for certain: never would she put herself in the position of being under a man again. The shots would be hers to call. The relationship hers to dictate. Hers to walk away from if she so wanted. Hers to control.

  Vincente Romani’s dominant, blatant alpha-male countenance wouldn’t stand for the type of woman Nika vowed she’d be once she was free. So, as she told herself every time she thought of him, he wasn’t for her.

  No matter how sexy and heroic he’d appeared to be when he’d swooped into town a few weeks ago, along with a few others in Gabriel’s organization. He’d been in such control dealing with the situation Gabriel’s brother had created. And that capable confidence had been so attractive to her.

  Heroic. A definite draw. She’d dropped him into that slot the day Eva had left Seattle. Nika had returned to Kevin’s apartment after spending the night at the Crown Jewel with Caleb. Her brother, for goodness’ sake. Her reasons for her absence hadn’t mattered to Kevin. That Eva had almost been killed hadn’t mattered. He’d been enraged, having stewed all night, and by the time he’d finally allowed her to crawl into the bathroom, out of his reach, she’d been panting through every painful breath. He’d layered his hits over the ones he’d given her only days before, and it hadn’t fazed him. She’d been horrified by his cruelty. As she’d rinsed the metallic taste of blood from her mouth, pressing a cold cloth against her throbbing ribs with a trembling hand, she’d wished with everything in her that Vincente would burst through the front door and destroy the abomination she’d been forced to marry.

  Thank God Eva and Caleb had left for New York that same night and neither of them had seen her afterward. She wouldn’t have been able to fake her way through the casual hugs and false smiles. Not that time.

  With a tired sigh, she pulled her hair back, securing the mass of bright reds and golds with the hair tie she always wore on her wrist. What she wouldn’t give to sleep for a year.

  “You ready?”

  A flash of alarm buzzed through her like a shock from an exposed electrical wire. She dropped her arms from her messy bun without looking up. She had to play this smart. If the sadist suspected she was looking forward to this trip, he’d shut her down. He’d nod at the suitcase, tell her to unpack it, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing she could do about it. How long would she have to wait for her next opportunity to find that damned memory stick?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him in the doorway—dark aura, receding brown hair buzzed off, hooded brown eyes on her. His arms were crossed over his chest, feet planted . . . as if he’d been there for a while. Watching as she remembered Vincente.

  God, she hoped not. That was private to her.

  And dangerous.

  If Kevin suspected she was sitting there mooning—not that she was mooning—over another man, she didn’t even want to think about what he’d do to her.

  She cleared her throat and schooled her features to show absolutely nothing before lifting her head and turning to him.

  “I just finished packing.”

  “What were you thinking of just now?”

  You. Dead. “I was wondering what I should wear tonight, since I’ll be changing out of it and into the dress Eva has for me the minute I get there. The outfits I have are either off-season or for the office.” An office she no longer had. Because of the condition Kevin sometimes left her in, she’d come to miss so many days she’d eventually decided to quit her job as an accountant. Thinking ahead, wanting to ensure a good reference later, she’d left just after Christmas and Kevin had been pleased, saying they’d get by without her paycheck. They weren’t, if the few twenties he tossed at her before she left for the grocery store were anything to go by.

  “What the fuck is off-season?”

  “They’re winter dresses.” Which was probably a good thing because they had long sleeves and would fully cover her. She’d already packed one of her silky wraps in case the bridesmaid dress Eva had bought her was off the shoulder or, God forbid, backless. She prayed it wasn’t, because she’d have no choice but to refuse to wear it. And how would she explain that without having to reveal
the bruising that still littered her body?

  “Well, pick one out and finish up before I change my mind about bringin’ you to this joke.”

  Anger burned in her throat, but she swallowed it. She went to the closet and withdrew a silky gold dress she’d bought a couple of years ago on a trip to New York. She and Caleb had gone to visit Eva during her first year at Columbia.

  After wrapping the dress—which would make her look as though she were inept at choosing proper clothing for the season they were in—in a garment bag, she laid it out over the suitcase. She folded a pair of gold earrings and the matching bracelet that used to be her mother’s into a satiny cloth and tucked it into the zipper of the carry-on. Her shoes were already packed.

  The whole time, her spine was so stiff she was surprised she could even move. Kevin was too quiet. Too focused on her. More so than normal.

  Could he know? Had he somehow found out about the kiss with Vincente? Her greatest fear.

  “You looking forward to going to this wedding or something?” He said wedding like the average person would say mass murder.

  Shrugging, her voice as emotionless as she could make it, she said, “Eva and Caleb would find it suspicious if I didn’t go to her wedding. If not for that, I wouldn’t be flying across the country to sit there and watch two people exchange meaningless vows.”

  Yes, I would! I would crawl over a field of spiders to see my best friend pledge herself to the man she loves!

  He snorted. “That’s the only reason we’re goin’. Grab the stuff. Cab’s waiting downstairs.”

  With that, Kevin disappeared down the hall, leaving Nika to gather her purse, her carry-on, the garment bag, and the suitcase.

  Relief weakened her limbs as she trailed her own personal Satan out of the hell he’d created for them.

  Vincente Romani’s eyes popped open, rampant lust from the recurring dream—memory—rushing through his veins. His vision slowly became less blurry as his burning, tired eyes focused on the mahogany and leather furniture littered around his room. The fact that it had cost a lot fancied the space up a bit, but his shit was nothing but functional.

  He winced as he rolled over, almost snapping his morning wood in half. Fuck. With a hard punch, he worked his pillow before slamming his head back down, shifting his hips so his dick wouldn’t attempt to impale the mattress.

  Too many weeks of nothing but this. Why the hell wouldn’t she get the fuck out of his head?

  He should never have kissed her. He was the only one to blame. He’d let her in.

  Yeah. And goddamn if it hadn’t been the sweetest, most addicting action on record.

  But so what? So what that it had been good. Big deal. She was Caleb Paynne’s married sister for chrissakes. Two things that left him dumped in a heap on the corner of Outofreach Avenue and Onlyinyourdreams Boulevard.

  Gabriel said a few flags have been raised about the marriage, an anxious voice in the back of his mind reminded him. A voice he’d dubbed Nika Paynne’s Fan Boy. The relentless asshole.

  Even if it was a rocky marriage, she was still the biker’s sister. And you didn’t fuck around with an associate’s sister. Or someone’s wife.

  Was Caleb’s brother-in-law a biker? Vincente wasn’t sure on the details. Had deliberately chosen to remain ignorant of them. Or was he uninformed only because Maksim hadn’t voluntarily mentioned anything he’d found out about Nika and her husband yet?

  Gabriel is marrying Vasily’s daughter, Nika’s Fan Boy chirped a little louder in his head with a just-sayin’ shrug.

  So? Vincente sighed roughly. Nika should have slapped his face for daring to kiss her that day in Seattle. But no, instead she’d responded to him so fucking beautifully he couldn’t get it out of his mind.

  She’d also verbally smacked his ass like no one had dared since his little sister had found him mimicking sex acts with her Barbie dolls when he was eleven.

  Vinnie! My girls don’t kiss wif boys like that! You pig! What’s wrong wif you?

  His chest hollowed as he remembered Sophia’s shocked and disgusted reprimand. She’d snatched the dolls from his hands with a glower and had flounced away to tell their mother.

  Thirteen years, and the loss of her was still so fresh he could barely stand it.

  He rolled to his other side and faced the large bay window overlooking the pool, shutting the door on his memories. All they did was thicken the ice encasing his heart. Sure didn’t bring him the comfort some had said they eventually would. Fucking liars.

  Think of something else.

  He almost rolled his eyes at Fan Boy when his redhead’s flawless face once again zipped front and center. Why had she been introduced as Nika Paynne and not Nika Nollan?

  If she were married to Vincente, she’d have the Romani stamp all over her. Tattooed right on her beautiful fucking ass. He grunted and allowed himself to linger on thoughts of her ass for a second.

  So why didn’t the fuckwad husband insist she use his name? Didn’t know the guy from Adam, but he was still a fuckwad. Why? Because Vincente wanted to crawl inside that female’s body and stay there forever. And Nollan prevented him from doing that.

  So did being chums with Caleb. But, again, as they’d found out in Gabriel’s case, there were ways around that.

  None of it mattered really. Being in the line of work he was in—his construction company aside—Vincente didn’t have shit to offer a woman. Much less a woman like Nika.

  Between his illegal dealings and his fucked-up childhood, he was the last person on earth who could offer happily ever after. His father had treated his mother like shit and hadn’t been much better with Vincente and Sophia. Then things had gone from bad to worse when his mother was killed by a car bomb meant for her husband. Vincente had been twelve, and all he remembered of his father after that was the bullshit he’d toss at his kids when he’d slam through the screen door of their brownstone in Queens, drunk off his ass. Get yourself a haircut, Vin—you’re startin’ to look like fuckin’ Frankenstein, he’d say with that permanent sneer that had curled his mustached lip. You better stop growin’ soon, kid, or else you’re gonna be a freak. The girls are gonna run away from you.

  Yeah. Happy times, Vincente thought, throwing back the covers and standing. His reflection in the mirror above the dresser caught his eye. He’d topped out at six foot four, and his size had come in handy a time or twenty, so he wouldn’t fault it. He glanced at his black hair. It reached his pecs now. His mother used to run her fingers through it and go on about its shine as she smothered him as only an Italian mother could. He missed that. And Sophia, who’d gotten stuck being raised by him when their father had been MIA more often than not, hadn’t had nearly enough of it. Vincente had done the best he could considering he’d been a child himself.

  And his best had been A-okay—until he’d failed her.

  For the first time, he welcomed the image of fiery hair and green eyes that billowed like smoke through his mind. He latched on to it, replacing one he couldn’t handle remembering.

  Another strike against Fan Boy’s plight to have the redhead. Vincente couldn’t risk history repeating itself. Why would he ever set himself up to fail so spectacularly as an innocent female’s protector again?

  He wouldn’t.

  Cursing, he stalked into his navy-and-white en suite bathroom as the questions came again.

  Why had Nika let him kiss her that day? Been so enthusiastic?

  And why had those incredible emerald eyes of hers brimmed with fear just before she’d walked away from him? That was the question that had plagued him the most during the past few weeks. What had frightened her? And did it still?

  Find out, Fan Boy begged.

  No. He was sick of this. Sick of thinking about that day. About her. Who cared why she didn’t wear a fucking ring? Who cared why she didn’t use her married name?

>   Flipping the chrome lever up, he climbed into an icy shower.

  It was none of his fucking business. Her brother could take care of it. As he grabbed the soap from the small alcove in the wall and roughly washed up, he completely ignored Fan Boy’s adamantly whispered, Fuck that.

  CHAPTER 2

  “We just got in.”

  Caleb Paynne listened to the forlorn murmur of his sister’s voice, so different from the playful, teasing tone she used to have. It was as if her spirit was gone. As though she’d gained a husband and lost herself.

  He mentally punched Kevin in the face. He was probably standing over her, tapping on his watch, making her feel as if she were doing something wrong by talking to her own brother.

  “Kevin there with you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even. Nothing shut Nika down faster than questions about that SOB. He knew better than to ask them now or to state his derogatory opinion. He wanted to talk to his sister more than he wanted to bad-mouth that fuck she was married to.

  Caleb lay on his couch, arm over his eyes as he tried to wake up from a quick nap. He’d been going to bed later and later since setting up shop at the clubhouse in Queens. Gabriel Moretti had sent him to New York earlier that year, tasking him with watching over Eva—Nika’s best friend and someone he considered his own sister. She certainly didn’t need a bodyguard any longer, now that she and Gabriel were engaged. Fucking organized crime boss. What was she thinking?

  He checked the clock at the corner of the screen on the muted TV. Six thirty. Damn. He shook his head and paid attention before Nollan pulled the plug on the phone call.

  “Kevin went down to grab a hot dog from the vendor out front.”

  The dead tone to Nika’s voice—which was the antithesis of what he heard when Eva yakked about Moretti—left Caleb shaking his head.