Stefano.
He wondered idly if Gabriel’s brother would show tonight, but he doubted it.
They’d been in sixth grade, and Vincente had been late for school that day—he’d had to drop his sister off first because their mama had a doctor’s appointment. He’d come around the corner, aiming for the front doors of the building, and had seen Gabriel, who’d been oversize even then, same as him, crouched down picking up his books spilled around the pavement, backpack empty. His older brother, Stefano, had been standing over him. No backbone, Stefano had said with a sneer as he kicked a math textbook just out of Gabriel’s reach. Why don’t you call Pops? He’ll teach you how to stand up for yourself, you spoiled little shit. With no reaction to the words, or the bullying antics, Gabriel had reached over, gathered the rest of his belongings, straightened, and walked away. As he’d passed by to enter the school, he’d given Vincente a too-mature-for-his-age nod and carried on about his biz. Ten fuckin’ years old.
That was the first time in his life Vincente had known what it was to be impressed by someone. He’d hooked up with the youngest Moretti that very day at first recess and had been with him ever since, at his back, where he’d stay until one of them took his final breath.
The sound of voices had him looking up to see Vasily Tarasov in the foyer. He nodded to Eva’s father, head of one of the most powerful Russian organizations in the States today. The guy headed straight upstairs, clearly anxious to hang with his kid.
Vasily’s two heavies, Dmitri and Aron, could be heard talking with Vito, their own doorkeeper—enforcer—of the night, ensconced in the alcove at the entrance, his ball game on the small plasma screen set inconspicuously into the wall.
How would Nika greet him when she arrived?
Would she smile at him? Would those emerald eyes flash with remembrance of the last time they’d been together? Maybe she’d walk over in that relaxed way she moved . . . Yeah, with her old man trailing behind.
He glanced up when heavy footsteps sounded and almost groaned when Maksim sauntered in. Great. Just what he needed. Ten minutes of the Russian’s penchant for riding Vincente’s ass until he wanted to throw down. Uh-huh. G would be real proud with them, clothes torn to shreds, faces and knuckles bleeding, standing next to him as Eva walked down the aisle.
Maks spotted him and came right over, snagging a couple of carrot sticks off a tray on the bar as he passed. “Parents and brother were murdered,” he said before crunching the vegetable between his even white teeth. “Found in their home with their throats slashed. No forced entry. No one ever charged.”
Vincente stared at the freak of nature. Guy was six feet seven inches of I’ll-fuck-you-up-with-a-smile. His massive body was hard and muscled and covered by tattoos only another Russian mobster would know the meanings of. He’d recently begun to grow his hair out, after having shaved it clean off for more years than Vincente could remember. Maks was now sporting a dark Julius Caesar do that worked liked nobody’s business.
And if it hadn’t? Who would have told him?
Well, he would have. So would Alek and G. He and the boys would have ridden the shit out of the irreverent prick and been thankful for the opportunity.
Maksim crunched loudly into another carrot, his eerie silver eyes trained on Vincente as he waited for a response.
“Could’ve been a burglary gone wrong,” Vincente tossed out.
“Nope.” Maks held up his phone to show a guy with buzzed-off hair and eyes that said there was something missing upstairs. Nollan. Vincente looked a little closer and saw the weak chin and pasty skin he’d missed outside the hotel earlier. Guy looked anemic.
He gave up on his study of the pic when the urge to growl rose up his throat. “Suspects?” he asked around a jaw that was stiffer than it should have been. How the fuck had a guy like that landed a goddess like Paynne’s sister?
“Handwritten note in the corner of the formerly sealed police report fingered our boy as suspicious, but they never tracked him down for questioning. Murders took place in a small town in Michigan called Lapeer.”
“How’d you get—?”
Maks held up a big hand. “V. Seriously? You dare to question my expertise? And I’m not through yet. That was just a surface sweep of the most obvious channels. I’ll be digging deeper tonight after the par-tay. Speaking of, I saw Vasily drive up. Where is he? And there’s a cab traveling the drive as we speak.”
Used to Maks’s tossed-salad convos, Vincente nodded to the stairs out in the foyer, even as his gut twisted with anticipation—cab had to be her. “Your Pakhan is up with Eva.” In the Russian Bratva, the Pakhan was “the boss” of the organization.
“I hear Russo’s officiating. Bet that’s burning a hole in big bro’s ass.” Maksim’s mind had obviously moved on as he brought up their old high school chum, Lorenzo, who was now a detective with the NYPD. His little brother, Father Michael Russo—or Mikey, as they knew him—would be performing Eva and Gabriel’s ceremony. Vincente didn’t think Lore would really give a shit.
“Probably has cops lining the freeway to see who shows,” Maks added. “If not him, then that other asshole, Smythe. Though, from what I’ve been reading, I think he’s been put on ODMC duty. And the maid of honor? Shouldn’t she be here by now? Or is that the cab?” His crooked, baiting smirk, surrounded by that precisely trimmed goatee, made Vincente want to knuckle it off his face as the offhand comment came zinging his way.
Instead of throwing down, he looked at his Breitling again. “She—” The doorbell chimed, interrupting him, and his body began humming like a tuning fork.
“Ooh! I’ll get it!” Maks exclaimed in a sarcastic voice.
Vincente shot out a hand and clamped on to Maks’s python of a bicep. “Don’t fuckin’ push me tonight, Kirov,” he warned as he shoved the guy out of the way and headed for the door himself, already hearing Vito’s greeting.
The hot lava that was once Vincente’s blood traveled swiftly, heading straight to his groin at the sound of a breathless, musical “Hi.”
Fuck. That voice. He stalled out just before he reached the entrance, his legs refusing to work anymore. His eyes slid closed; his chest constricted at the symphonic sound. How many times during the past weeks had he needed to hear it?
“I’m Nika Paynne. Eva’s friend.”
He heard the smile in Vito’s voice as he replied, “Turn left at the top of the stairs, bambina. Second door on your right. She asked that you go up as soon as you arrive.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. Oh, hang on. It says here there should be two?”
“There’s been a change of plans. I’m on my own.” Unmistakable relief coated her words.
“Good deal. Up you go.”
Yeah. No shit, good deal. Vito, Dmitri, and Aron were probably drooling down their chins at the sight of those striking green eyes that could singe you with a single glance. And, no, he wasn’t struggling to process what Nika “being on her own” meant.
“You’re just going to stand here?” Maksim’s stage whisper came from just over his right shoulder.
Vincente barely heard him as she came into view. She clicked her way across the spacious foyer, moving like a relaxed cat, that bright hair like waves of sunshine and warmth flirting all the way down to her lower back as she began her ascent to the second floor. And, boy, was he the one now drooling. Holy hell was he drooling.
She wore a gold dress that would have made Oscar proud, the clingy thing reached mid—creamy, toned—thigh. Christ, her legs were spectacular. She had another of those silky wraps like the one she’d worn in Seattle, only tonight the shimmery little beauty was hanging over her arm. She must chill easily. His teeth clacked together when his gaze zeroed in on that sensitive spot at the back of her knee.
She went up another step, and her shoes caught his eye. He had to adjust himself at the sight of
those four-inch gold stilettos. Sexy yet classy.
“Impressive,” Maks remarked as Nika disappeared from view at the top of the stairs. “Damn, V. That’s some iron control you got going on, my brother.”
He was clapped on the shoulder and then found himself alone. Like Nika.
Why had her old man let her come here by herself? Seriously. Was the guy fucked or what? The place would be teeming with single men in less than an hour.
Vincente swung away with a nasty curse and slammed out the French doors.
Nika walked down the wide second-floor corridor of Eva’s new home and tried not to appear too impressed in case there were hidden cameras—something she would have bet on. When the cab had passed through the gated entrance at the road, she hadn’t thought much of it because her brother’s clubhouse was also protected in the same way. But then the cab had driven down what seemed like a mile-long driveway and pulled around to the front of the sprawling two-story house, and she’d had no choice but to gape.
The motorcycle club didn’t live like this.
The house was beautiful. Deluxe accommodations but not pretentious. The all-masculine ambiance was more than apparent, making her wonder if any of the men who lived here, aside from Gabriel, had girlfriends. The goons at the door had definitely given the place a mobster vibe. The one she’d spoken with, Italian she was sure, had been rather adorable with his long face and droopy eyes. The other two, who’d made her think of the movie Eastern Promises, had to have been Russian. They’d been much more intimidating. But looks could be deceiving. Sometimes the ones who looked the scariest were the nicest.
Like Vincente.
Taking her time, Nika admired the paintings she passed. She stopped in front of one, feeling her cheeks heat at how sexual it appeared despite angels and cherubs being the subject. She reached out and ran her finger over the glass case that sat on the table beneath the picture. Sitting protected and proud was a miniature Harley-Davidson model that Caleb would have loved—a Softail Deluxe if she wasn’t mistaken. Who was the collector? Vincente maybe? He’d worn a gorgeous leather duster every time she’d seen him. Not that that meant anything, but bikes and leather usually went hand in hand.
Her limbs weakened slightly with an anticipation she had no business feeling, a reaction she almost missed around the nerves crowding her system. She should be focusing on Kevin and that damned memory stick—not a brooding mobster. In a few short hours she might have her and her brother’s freedom in the palm of her hand. They could be in the clear by morning.
Trying not to let her hopes get too far up there in case she was wrong about what she’d seen Kevin do in the hotel room, she continued on down the hallway, only to falter when the door she’d been standing across from swung open.
The handsome Asian man that was always hanging behind Gabriel stepped out. His almond-shaped dark eyes were sharp, his expression tight, but he relaxed when he saw her.
“Hello, Nika,” he greeted her in the smooth, laid-back tone she remembered from Seattle.
“Hi, Quan. Nice to see you again.”
“And under better circumstances.” He tipped his chin, indicating a door farther down on the opposite side of the hallway. Still twenty feet away. “Eva was worried you might not make it.”
“I wouldn’t miss her wedding for anything.”
“That’s what Gabriel told her.” He flashed a toothpaste-commercial smile. “I won’t keep you.” He nodded, and she moved on as he disappeared into his room once more.
She knocked when she reached the correct door, and a stranger opened it for her. A tall dark-haired man she’d yet to meet, but she knew who he was. Eva’s father.
Vasily Tarasov had left Eva and her mom after Eva was born, hoping to protect them from his mafia ties. But he’d always remained in the background, keeping a watch on them from afar, until Eva’s mother had been killed in a car crash a couple of months ago. That’s when Vasily had made his presence known to his daughter.
“Nika,” he said with a smile that killed it. Having celebrated his forty-fourth birthday only a week ago, his dark hair and striking blue eyes mirrored Eva’s. God, he was stupid handsome.
“Mr. Tarasov?”
He nodded and held out his hand. “Vasily, please. Come in,” he invited after she shook it. “It’s nice to finally meet you. My daughter speaks very highly of you.”
“You as—”
Eva came out of nowhere and threw herself into Nika’s arms as her father closed the door.
“You’re here,” her best friend whispered while Nika tried not to cringe in discomfort at the tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“She was worried you wouldn’t make it,” Vasily said wryly.
Nika swallowed the lump that rose in her throat and stroked her hand down her friend’s silky black hair. “Wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” she said quietly.
She and Eva had been best friends since seventh grade, and there wasn’t another person on this earth, other than Caleb, who Nika loved and trusted more. They’d gone through high school and onto college together but had been separated when Eva moved to New York to transfer to Columbia. The beautiful smart-ass.
“Can I get you girls anything before I head downstairs?” Vasily asked as Eva stepped back with a slight frown.
“No. I think we’re okay,” she said distractedly, eyeing Nika’s dress. She turned to her father. “We’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Okay. If you change your mind about what we spoke of earlier, let me know. I know I said I wouldn’t give you away, and I still won’t, but I will walk you down whatever makeshift aisle Samnang has put together.”
Eva smiled. “I know you would. But I think we’ll stick to the plan. You understand—don’t you, Daddy? I don’t want you to be hurt by my decision.”
Vasily frowned. “Eva. This is your wedding. And I already told you, if you’re happy, I’m happy. I just wanted you to know the option is there.” He kissed his daughter on the top of her head and nodded at Nika before leaving.
“Is everything okay?” Nika asked when Eva stared at the closed door a moment too long.
“Yeah. I just hope he’s being honest with me. I told him I didn’t want—” Her fingers came up to cover her mouth, and she shook her head. “Sorry,” she said as if through a tight throat. Nika clasped her free hand and understood immediately.
“Your mom.”
“I don’t want to do this without her.” Eva’s attempted laugh came out more as a sob. “It seems so cold of me to be having even such an informal wedding this soon after her death. I would have been happy to go to a justice of the peace, but I wouldn’t do that to Gabriel. He deserves more than that.”
“I’m sure he understands.”
“He does. I told him that when I used to think about my wedding day, my mom was always such a huge part of it. She was supposed to walk me down the aisle.” She coughed and dabbed under her eyes, blinking quickly. “I feel bad for my father, but I just can’t bring myself to give that job to someone else—not even him. I’ll walk in alone. That way she’s next to me, even if only symbolically.”
“Oh, Eva.” Nika kissed her friend’s cheek with a loud smack. She sniffled through another hug and couldn’t help but be grateful her own parents hadn’t witnessed her sham of a wedding.
Eva cleared her throat and reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table behind them. “Okay. Enough of that. Uh, is Kevin downstairs?” she asked in that careful voice she and Caleb used whenever they asked about him.
“No. He went to see his cousin. I’m on my own.” For good, if all goes well later, she added to herself.
“Really?” Eva’s eyes widened at the news with a slowly revealed joy.
Nika smiled and nodded back. She had to be careful. The last time they’d been together, before Eva’s ordeal at the hands of Stefan
o and his underboss, Furio, Nika had admitted her hatred of Kevin. The past couple of weeks, she’d been putting off talking about why she’d said what she had when they’d spoken by phone, but if Eva cornered her and pressed the issue, she wasn’t sure what she could say to explain it away.
“Okay. At least you’ll be able to relax. That’s good. And stop looking at me like that. I’m not going to ruin your night by asking about it. Now, come see your dress.” Eva reached out and snagged her wrist to drag her across the large bedroom and into a massive closet. “I’ll need you to do my hair; then we can change and go down.”
Nika held her breath as Eva unzipped a white garment bag. Inside hung a gorgeous shimmering olive-green creation. The simplicity of the dress added to its beauty. It would be knee-length and fit slim but not tight. It had capped sleeves that were littered with tiny beads that sparkled like stars. Nika reached out and turned it . . . and tried not to groan out loud when she saw three long crescent-shaped slits cut out on the upper back. Shit.
She pasted a smile on her face and attempted to gush. “It’s gorgeous, Eva. I love the color.”
“You sure?”
She tried harder. “Absolutely. It’s perfect. Did you choose this shade to complement my hair or Gabriel’s eyes?” She quirked her brow. Gabriel had mossy-green eyes.
“Both?”
“That’s what I thought. Well, you did great.” She unhooked the hanger and folded it over her arm. “I, uh, need to use the washroom, so I might as well change at the same time.” She held tightly on to the black wrap she was now thanking God she’d had the foresight to bring with her.
“Good idea. It’s right across there.” Eva motioned out into the bedroom. “Let me know if you need a hand with the zip—it looks like it could be awkward to reach.”
The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2) Page 4
