And that scared the hell out of her.
CHAPTER 19
Stefano looked around the shithole of a cottage, his lip curling in disgust. The late morning light, or as much as the thick clouds allowed through, highlighted walls covered in faded paint and cheap prints hanging askew. The cracked linoleum floor creaked and sagged with every step. The last thing he wanted to do was plant his ass in the flea-bitten couch in the center of the room.
Taking the lesser of two evils, he swiped at the seat of one of the chairs that sat on crooked metal legs around a dilapidated kitchen table. At least nothing could burrow and lay eggs in vinyl. He didn’t think.
He looked at Furio, who now had his lower arm in a cast. “The element of surprise is what’s going to make this work.” He paused and wondered if Gabriel knew he’d flown into a small private airport and was right now less than fifty miles away from Eva. And his soon-to-be-dead crew. He added the Berkman twins to his mental list—one had been responsible for Furio’s injury—before continuing. “Go to her house—”
“I doubt she’ll be hanging there anymore,” Furio said with a shake of his head. “Probably have better luck casing the hotel. Don’t you think?”
True. If Stefano was the one sleeping with Eva Jacobs, he certainly wouldn’t want her anywhere but at his side. His brother would be no different. “Okay. The hotel, then. Wait until they’re separated and then take her. Bring her straight to me. If anyone gets in the way, kill them. Unless it’s Gabriel. Him you leave alone.” His brother had to live with what was about to happen, otherwise what was the point of the exercise? “Put him out of commission, if you must, but leave him breathing. Get her and call me when you’re on your way. And make sure she’s in one piece. Untouched,” he warned, holding Furio’s hooded gaze.
His underboss nodded and left. After taking out his cell, Stefano pressed a button.
“You’re not gonna like this, boss,” the voice said upon answering. The guy he had squatting near the Crown Jewel wasn’t going to dick around with meaningless hi-how-are-yas.
“What is it?”
“One of the boys just called to say Maksim Kirov’s jet took off in the middle of the night, heading our way.”
That, he actually did like. The more Russians they took out at one time, the better. The fewer that could retaliate. He shoved thoughts of the war he was about to start with the deadly organized crime faction to the back of his mind. He’d deal with it later. “Has Vincente surfaced yet?” he asked, his ego still in cinders because of the way he’d been played by the fucker.
He should have trusted his first instinct years ago, which had told him the closeness he’d sensed between his brother and Vincente wasn’t something that would disappear just because one of them had bolted. Because of Stefano’s suspicion, it had taken the Reaper years to get in good with him. But the bastard had done anything that had been asked of him, which in effect, had proven his loyalty.
Yeah. Words like loyalty and honor evidently didn’t exist in their world anymore.
His hand tightened on the phone at the uncomfortable clearing of a throat.
“Uh, no. No one’s seen the Reaper anywhere.”
“I want him found. Tell them to look harder.”
“Will do.”
Ending the call, he slid the phone back into his pocket. He looked up when the door opened and Alesio sauntered in. The kid, who was in his twenties, looked enough like Gabriel to cause Stefano’s skin to tighten whenever he allowed it to register. But Alesio was a good one. At least he knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.
He nodded his thanks when Alesio passed him a Starbucks cup.
“It’s probably still warm enough to drink.”
Stefano sipped the tepid cappuccino.
“What’s the deal with us being out here in the middle of nowhere?” Alesio asked. “I thought we’d be staying in Seattle.”
“We’re here to have a little fun with Gabe’s new woman.”
The kid turned away and headed over to the couch. “Gabriel has a woman? This thing safe to sit on?” he asked suspiciously.
Guess the idea of a bug crawling up his ass gave him the scratch same as it did Stefano. He pushed the chair opposite him out with his foot. “Safer.”
“Cool. So, Gabe has a woman? What the hell’s she doing out here? She some sort of bushwhacker?”
“Far from it.” He paused. “Actually, you two were at Columbia around the same time. She graduated this month.”
Alesio grinned. “What’s she look like? Maybe I nailed her.”
Stefano laughed and shook his head. “If you’d nailed Eva Jacobs, you’d have kept up with the hammer. She’s the type you hang on to even after you’ve had your fill.”
“Maybe. So why’s she out here?”
“She’s not yet, but she will be soon enough. Furio just left to go get her.”
“Furio. Crazy fucker.” Alesio spoke from behind his hand as his jaw widened on a yawn. “So we snatch her. What if the others get in the way? How many we willing to take out?”
He took another pull from his cup. “Gabriel has Jakson Trisko and Quan Mao on him, but I’m sure Furio knows not to underestimate them. Alekzander Tarasov’s been hanging around out here for the past couple of weeks. Maksim Kirov’s flying in, but I’m hoping we’ll have Eva before he lands.” He liked the odds. “So I guess it’s Gabe, Tarasov, and the bodyguards. And a small crew of wannabes. They shouldn’t be any trouble because they’re rusty.”
The younger man’s arms went over his head in a long, spine-cracking stretch. “Fuck. Should’ve slept more,” he mumbled. “Those Russians won’t be easy, especially Kirov, if he makes it. I hear he’s a fuckin’ machine. So, you’re finally gonna get back at Gabe, huh? He’s been gone long enough not to be missed if he gets caught in the cross fire.” He shrugged like he was already pulling the covers over his head.
The lack of enthusiasm was starting to piss Stefano off. Alesio’s touting of Kirov’s skills didn’t help. “You wanna take a nap, kid?” he snapped.
Alesio’s eyelids drooped. “Good idea. I’m gonna go crash under a tree,” he said, slowly getting to his feet and crossing the shitty floor. “It’s nice enough outside for that. Not like I wanna snuggle on that thing.” He motioned to the couch. “Don’t think my ladies would appreciate me coming home with fleas or some shit.” He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t start without me,” he said with a thin smile, his eyes darkening. “I’ll be good and rested by the time the fun gets here.”
Gabriel and Eva were already situated at the large round table of the meeting room when Vincente strode in. He’d given up trying to get Alek to slip up and admit he’d fucked up last year. The guy was missing his woman like one would a necessary organ, and that bothered him. He didn’t like seeing his friends hurting. Alek had the goods to keep his woman safe by his side, but the fucker wouldn’t chance it. Dum-dum.
Greetings were exchanged as they dropped into their seats, and Gabriel swung easily into host mode, offering a dry red that Vincente declined. Too early for that shit.
They glanced up when the door opened.
Jakson Trisko came in looking like a UFC light heavyweight title holder, scarred and proud. It was good to have him with them again. Judging by the new attitude, the guy hadn’t enjoyed his stay oversees. But having a retired Seal in their crew? Very fucking nice.
Quan Mao entered behind Jak, and Vincente narrowed his eyes on the newcomer. So what that the Asian had been with G for more than four years now? Vincente didn’t know the guy well, so he was a newcomer. And would have to prove himself before he was accepted fully into their circle. Maksim had dug deep into channels that had earned the stubborn Russian a few warnings to keep out, and he had gotten a striking history on the Asian. He was disciplined to the extreme. Had earned a Roku Dan, or sixth Dan, and the samurai title, Renshi, which was right fucking impressive to have done at his
age; Vincente would have to place him a year or two above or below his own thirty-three.
But he was still a newcomer. Because that’s how Vincente rolled. No one was trusted until they proved they could be trusted.
Paynne came in next, strolling across the room with a round of nods and an open grin aimed at Eva. Gabriel’s return nod was clipped.
“Talk to Nika yet today, Priss?” the biker asked as he took a chair two over from Vasily’s daughter.
Priss? Nickname?
“No. You?”
“I wanted to pick her up on my way over from seeing a friend, but she insisted—in that way of hers—that she’d get here on her own.”
“She’s coming?”
“Yeah. Fist said to invite her,” he said, tipping his head Vincente’s way. He nodded to the amusing biker in acknowledgment of his talents. “Since she’s now involved.”
Vincente watched Gabriel’s big body stiffen during the brief convo. He was jealous. A first time for that fucker. Hilarious.
“I do feel like hell about Nika’s role in this, Paynne,” G offered without hesitation.
The biker shrugged. “Doesn’t change anything, but I appreciate the sentiment. On top of the pile of shit she’s already dealing with, she doesn’t need this.”
Vincente dropped his eyes, his built-in radar once again giving off a quiet beep. What the fuck was going on with the sister? And if Paynne was so worried, why wouldn’t he ask for a hand? When it came to the weaker sex—and, yes, he was well aware any woman who heard him say this out loud would cuff him in the ear—they needed protecting. The simple truth of the matter was, most females just weren’t equipped to defend themselves against a man typically bigger and stronger, and usually that much more crazy, than themselves.
“You have no more control over what your brother is doing than I do, Gabriel.”
All attention went to the only female in the room as she publicly relieved their friend of a fault they already knew wasn’t his. Vincente fell in like with her right then, and he wasn’t the only one, judging by the expression that crossed Gabriel’s face as he inclined his head her way.
Eva’s voice was soft but firm as she gave Paynne a look, adding, “Just as you have no control over what your sister does, Caleb. No matter how much you hate it.”
The biker’s expression was grim but deferential, his lifted brow showing he’d taken notice of Eva’s defense of Gabriel. “Yeah. I get that. Free will sucks sometimes.”
“Yes, it does,” Eva murmured, straightening the cutlery in front of her. She did it absently, almost as if she wasn’t aware she was doing it. She tweaked Gabriel’s, too, lining the bottom of those eating utensils in a precise line. She took her time and then sat back with a sigh that was somehow content. Funny little thing.
The sound of the door being used again had all heads turning to see the second Russian in their closely knit group saunter in like he owned the universe. Maksim Kirov was a jacked six-seven, built like a tank, with tattoos covering a solid portion of his muscled body. Only another fucking Russian would know what any of them meant. As was the norm, Maks’s criminal history was hidden away under a three-piece suit that Vincente thought looked damned uncomfortable, even though it probably cost as much as his bike. The guy took in the scene with those pale-silver eyes of his. Paired with the shaved head and ultraprecise black goatee, he looked downright menacing.
Gabriel stood as Maksim approached.
Two big boys right there, Vincente thought as he took in Eva’s awestruck reaction to the giant.
“This is becoming a real ass burner, my brother,” Kirov drawled, the ink on his neck shifting as he spoke. “You owe me for fuel.” His huge mitt clasped Gabriel’s nape and pulled him in for two loud kisses to each cheek to show he was forgiven for dragging him away from who knew what. “Vasily should be here in a couple hours.”
“What?” Eva gasped, popping to her feet. “My father is coming?”
And, as one would expect, Maksim—who had the attention span of a cracked-out monkey—was instantly captivated. He shifted to the side, shouldering Gabriel out of the way to tower over the girl, not hiding the fact that he was clearly checking her out.
“Finally, in the flesh.”
Eva raised an eyebrow at him as if she was no stranger to being checked out and wasn’t intimidated by it. Made her look like Vasily.
“Did you mean my father? He’s coming here? Today?” she asked.
“Yes.” Maksim took her hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s an honor to meet you, Eva. Being the Pakhan’s daughter, I am now at your service for whatever you need. And I mean . . . whatever . . . you need, sweetness.”
Vincente sighed. Fucking Kirov and his necessity to disturb the shit.
“I’m pretty sure your friend is taking care of her needs, Kirov,” Paynne said with an edge to his voice. “So back the fuck off.”
“Caleb,” Eva warned.
“What. He shouldn’t be fucking around with his buddy’s old lady, Priss, not even verbally. Doing so equals massive disrespect.”
If he hadn’t been so far away, Vincente would have offered a fist for a pound.
“That how you got the shiner, gearhead?” Maks inquired silkily.
“Sit down, Maks,” Gabriel growled, motioning to the other side of the table. “Over there.”
With his totally unrepentant silver eyes still on the biker, Maksim murmured, “Sorry. But I think I’ll be much more comfortable on this end. Scenery is incredible.” He pulled out the chair that was between Eva and Caleb.
Before he could sit—fucking children—Vincente heaved to his feet, not relishing the idea of someone ending up with a butter knife imbedded in their carotid. “The shiner is my work, Kirov,” he grumbled. “Now give it a fucking rest.” He kicked out the chair next to his. “Plant your ass before you have it handed to you.”
Giving Gabriel one last sidelong look—filled with affectionate humor—and the biker one that said he didn’t appreciate the lip, Maks wandered around and folded himself into his appointed seat.
“This okay, Papa?”
Vincente sat and gifted him with an elbow to the ribs.
Gabriel held Eva’s chair, waiting until she sat back down before he took his own seat. He leaned in, presumably to apologize, and she looked at him, those big blue eyes shining as she listened. Damn. Was this little willow the one who would tame the ferocious, lonely beast?
Looked like it, Vincente thought when she nodded and covered G’s hand with hers, if she was brave enough not to let all this shit with Stefano sway her.
His lips curving up felt foreign to Vincente. In their line of work, things to smile about were few and far between. He looked at Eva again, hoping she knew what she was getting into. And hoped even harder that she got into it anyway. Because Gabriel deserved a shitload of happy. He’d been raised as nothing more than a glorified soldier. Albert Moretti had been a cold, ruthless man to those under him, and that had included his son. And then, to have been saddled with a vindictive prick like Stefano for a brother; there was nothing worse than a man who wanted everyone around him to suffer as much as he did. That’s who Stefano Moretti was, Vincente had determined long ago. The poster boy for Misery Loves Company.
So, yeah. Gabriel deserved some smiles.
Vincente picked up his glass and noticed Maksim rubbing at his brow a little too hard. Gone was the mischievous grin, and in its place was envy as he openly studied their friend.
Huh. Guy wanted to settle down? Interesting. Wouldn’t have seen that one coming.
He glanced at Alek and watched the guy polish off another glass of red. It wasn’t even noon, for chrissakes.
Fuck. All the feelings in this room, positive and negative, were choking him.
He shoved his chair back and got to his feet, going for the door like acid was lapping at his heels. “Be back in a few,” he said to whoever was listening.
His boots
thumped a nice beat as he went down the hall and through the opulent lobby of the Crown Jewel, duster swishing in that familiar, protective way around his ankles. He ignored the usual stares brought on by his size and looks. Morons. Would the Nancys feel less threatened if he wore horned rims and a plaid button up? Probably, he thought, aggravated, as he reached the sidewalk and greedily inhaled a lungful of warm, salty air. He hung a louie and walked a few steps away as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, hitting his jacket and causing the hide to throw off a comforting scent. The bright orb bounced off something across the street, and he turned his head. Wasn’t it usually raining in Seattle? Gabriel pissed and moaned about it enough—
Vincente’s thoughts splintered and flushed, his lungs promptly forgetting their life-sustaining function. Holy hell. He so got why the bright orb had come out to play. It had found its earthbound equal, in the form of an exquisite woman with an incredible mane of fiery hair shining as brilliantly as the rays enveloping her.
She shut the door to a black Toyota, and his heart rate kicked up as she started across the street, moving with a sinuous grace that would have left a panther pissing with envy. She was wearing a softly billowing silver shirt. Her fitted black skirt showed just enough to let him know her legs would be fantastic. And draped over her upper arms and back was an oversize silky black scarf that flowed down to sway against her hips with every step she took. A hot wash of blood rushed through his veins, pooling in his groin. Shocking the shit out of him.
That hadn’t happened in a while. And not from twenty feet away.
His gaze came up and his lower stomach clenched at the sight of the lush, flowing tresses that reached all the way to the small of her back. Jesus Christ, how many colors were in there? As she drew closer, he easily made out a rich, blazing russet, a burnished gold, and a vibrant ginger.
She glanced up, and their gazes clashed. And Vincente was nailed a solid kick to the solar plexus from a pair of eyes so exquisite an emerald color it was like gazing at two perfect, glittering jewels. Jewels that widened in shock as her step faltered. He had to throw his arm out, snaking it around her slim waist to stop her from falling at his feet.
A Love of Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 1) Page 27
