Vengeance Unleashed (The Wanted Men Series Book 1)

by Nancy Haviland

  That explained why he’d seemed familiar, and why he’d tried to put her at ease that day. “He works for you and your brother?”

  “V’s been with my family from the beginning. He’s now a capo—a caporegime or captain. He keeps an eye on things and lets me know if shit gets out of hand. Sometimes I intervene, anonymously, of course, and sometimes I don’t.”

  “If your brother wants to kill me, why didn’t he have that guy do it when he broke into my house? We were alone.”

  A pause. “He’ll want to do the job himself.”

  Nice. She went on like they were talking about someone else’s fucked up life. “You were born into this crime family?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kinds of things did you do when you were a…” Was there a politically correct term for someone in the mafia? A goon? A made man? A mobster? “When you were in New York,” she finished.

  He remained silent so long she wondered if he’d even answer.

  “I followed whatever order my father gave. When I could, I kept to the business side of things, but only because it was more interesting—overseeing the gambling houses, document altering, dealing with the chop shops and organizing the export of refurbished vehicles. Our family has a lucrative loan-sharking operation that was always a nice challenge.”

  “That’s it?” she said when he didn’t go on.

  “No.”

  “What. The rest is a secret?”

  He paused again. “You want it all, Eva?”

  She swallowed, then nodded. And held her breath.

  “Contract killing. Arms, organ and drug trafficking. Embezzlement. Prostitution. Just a few things Stef has gotten into in the last few years.”

  Okay. Now she had a clear, horrifying picture of a family filled with murdering criminals. “Have you ever killed anyone?” she asked as she started breathing again.

  “Yes.”

  “More than one?” she pressed weakly.

  “Yes, Eva. More than one. I considered them necessary kills. Not many of us take a life for the sake of taking a life.”

  She rolled over and sat up, really looking at Gabriel for the first time since her intruder had called earlier. His mouth was set tight, tension lines bracketed his eyes, his hair was separated by deep grooves as though he’d been running his fingers through it.

  But he still looked capable of ruling the world and everyone in it.

  “What would you consider a necessary reason for taking a life?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “If someone threatens, hurts, or kills someone I consider mine, I’ll put them down. If they fuck with, beat, or kill a child or a defenceless woman, I’ll put them down.” He held her gaze as he reached over to uncap the bottle of water sitting on the nightstand. “I haven’t filled the bottom of the Hudson, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He handed her the bottle.

  Her chest swelled with emotion as her morals struggled. Did she swoon over his protective instincts? Or shrink back at how far he’d go to satisfy to them?

  As she accepted the water, her entire being strained to go to him. Would some of his strength seep into her if she burrowed into that wide chest?

  She downed half the bottle, her frustration rising because the man she wanted to accept comfort from was the very man who’d just destroyed her world as she’d known it.

  “I don’t want to stay here with you.” Could she even go to the police with this story without them locking her up in a padded room?

  As something she couldn’t identify—sure wasn’t concern—flashed through the lingering shadows in Gabriel’s eyes, his big shoulder rolled in a shrug.

  That was it? A shrug? “You’re an arrogant bastard.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  Shock nearly rendered her speechless. Nearly. “Boo-hoo. At least I’m not a liar.”

  “No. You’re just hard-headed and lippy, not to mention too stubborn to recognize when someone is trying to help you.”

  She was about to throw the water bottle at his gorgeous head when it hit her that he might be right. But what did he expect her to do? Work through all of this while sitting in this fucking bed with him?

  She huffed out a dismayed breath and gave him her back.

  “You’re free to roam.” She heard him get to his feet. “Just be aware the boys stationed outside know you’re not to leave the suite.”

  As the door closed, Eva grabbed a pillow and stuffed it into her face so the sound of her tears wouldn’t be heard.

  FOURTEEN

  Vincente held his breath as Stefano’s cologne played chicken with his gag reflex. Man, the expensive shit was always the worst. Especially when trapped in an ancient elevator with a wearer that had to have bathed in the shit.

  But maybe he was being oversensitive because his nerves were stretched to the limit.

  The car ground to a halt, the ding of the bell sounding weak and sad from overuse. He gladly exited first, taking the lead down the empty hallway in Caleb Paynne’s apartment building. They’d stopped by the clubhouse to discover the biker they wanted was MIA. One of his brothers had let them know—after he’d checked in with a higher authority—where Caleb was. Which had given Vex, the MC’s president, and Caleb, a heads-up that company was enroute.

  They stopped—for the second time in a week—in front of apartment 4B and Vincente raised his fist to knock, listening to the sounds of someone moving around inside. When the lock clicked and the door swung wide, the coldly resigned expression that met them made V want to smirk. Biker had to work on his poker face.

  “Paynne,” Stefano greeted.

  The idiot looked them over as though trying to figure out why they’d come a-callin’. A round of hand clasps were exchanged.

  “Gonna invite us in?” Vincente prodded.

  With the perfect amount of hesitation, Paynne moved aside so they could enter the apartment where a flatscreen in the corner was showing a rerun of Vincente’s favorite FX series about a badass MC.

  Stefano glanced around with the same distaste he’d shown the other day. “You should get yourself a garage. Come work for me—I’ll set you up.”

  “He’s already set up.” The big, blond president of the Obsidian Devils MC walked out of the bathroom rubbing an oily substance into his grease-stained hands. Vex was wearing his cut, which was the norm. Vincente respected the guy, knowing exactly what the crazy street rat was capable of.

  “Vex.” Stefano wasn’t happy to see the Pres. “You hanging with your subordinates now?”

  Vex’s perfect set of pearly whites flashed, but the smile didn’t reach the guy’s baby blues. “A brother isn’t seen as a subordinate where I come from. Reaper.” He nodded Vincente’s way and received a clipped nod back.

  Stefano dismissed him and turned to Paynne, who’d walked to the small kitchenette and now stood holding an already opened beer. The worn vest carefully laid out over the counter caught V’s eye. Upper rocker read Obsidian Devils, the lower, Manhattan. In the center was the ODMC’s fierce Grim Reaper wrapped in a black angel’s embrace. The MC and 1% patches were there, but so too was a new one. V. President was now affixed on the right breast, proud and visible.

  Looked like Paynne wasn’t heading back to Seattle, he thought as Vex caught his eye and gave him a look before sauntering over to block Stefano’s view. “Heard through the grapevine you were missing some coin from one of your operations in Freeport.”

  Perfect. Gabriel’s big bro started chirping about those who underestimate the family as Vincente sidled up to Paynne.

  “Go with whatever he asks,” he said under his breath. “Answer him. No fucking around. He knows the deal, and she’s covered.”

  “Is she? ’Cause I’ve been texting her and she hasn’t given me shit. Where the fuck is she, V?”

  Damn, Mr. VP was shooting sparks.

  “Furio got to her, but she’s okay. I’ll get the details and let you know.”

  Vincente had already moved away when St
efano tired of his and Vex’s conversation. He sidestepped the biker and focused on Paynne. “Wanted to ask you about the woman I met here the other day.”

  The biker put his beer down, jaw tight, and moved over to stand in front of the boss. “What were you doin’ in my place?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I hear she hooked up with someone. Know anything about that?”

  The resentment that flashed over the biker’s face was a little too real, but Vincente could do nothing except hope the guy pulled it together before he fucked them all.

  “What makes you think I’m gonna talk to you about that girl?” Paynne growled, possessiveness positively dripping from his tone.

  Stefano’s face hardened. “I thought I made it clear I was the one asking the questions. Vincente?”

  As V figuratively dragged his feet over, his respect for the biker grew. Paynne turned to face him, his expression reading don’t-make-it-hurt-too-much.

  Stefano turned away and took out his phone as he crossed to the window, giving the impression that he found the coming action a bore. “You get the arm taken care of?” he asked whoever had picked up on the other end on the line. Had to be Furio, since Alek had let V know one of the Berkman twins had injured the underboss before things had gone to shit. Never paid to relax your guard around guys like Furio.

  Not wanting to drag the “punishment” out, V let loose a quick right jab that connected with Paynne’s left eye. Unfortunately, he had to make it convincing, which was why the biker’s head snapped back, almost sending him down to his ass. And didn’t they all know about that split second it took before a pain-filled shower of fireworks burst behind the socket. The VP put a hand up when Vex stepped forward. Guy was the shit.

  Going right up in the biker’s grill, V fisted the front of a sweet Affliction tee and glanced over to make sure Stefano wasn’t paying attention. “Sorry, man,” he murmured with uncharacteristic sympathy and regret, and then rolled his eyes and said louder, “Learn a little respect, asshole.”

  “Hair smells awesome. Do you condition separately or use a two-in-one?”

  He blinked and met the biker’s glinting eyes and had to bite the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t bust out laughing. What the fuck? The dum-dum’s skull had to be hoppin’, yet here he was, Comedy Central. What a keeper.

  With a weak shove, he sent the comedian toward the counter and went to stand like a statue at the front door. “Answer the man’s questions,” he barked, trying like hell not to look at Vex, who was trying to smother a grin.

  Stefano pocketed his phone. “What do you know about the guy nailing your friend?”

  That sucked the humor from the room like a Dyson, but Stefano didn’t give any fucks as he sauntered over to the coffee table where he picked up an issue of Soldier of Fortune. Paynne’s fingers closed into fists as the boss started flipping through it, and this time Vincente couldn’t hold back a grin. The magazine looked brand-new. If it had been his and he hadn’t had a chance to look through it yet, he’d be pissed, too.

  Or maybe Paynne was cranky about hearing G was bedding Vasily’s daughter. Fuckin’ balls on his boy for not clearing it with the Pakhan, but whatever.

  Glancing his way, Paynne flashed him a grim look but said, “All I know is his name; Gabriel Moore.”

  Stefano’s demeanor changed like it always did when G’s name came up in conversation. Guy had one helluva hate-on for his brother. “This a serious relationship? Or is she just getting some grind.”

  Paynne popped his jaw, the muscle under his swiftly swelling eye twitching. “Couldn’t say. Not really in the habit of asking my sister’s friends if they’ve found love.”

  Surprisingly, Stefano ignored the sarcasm.

  Or not, V thought, priming to step in as the boss reached into his inside pocket. But instead of pulling out his nine and attempting to blow a hole through the two gearheads, he withdrew what looked to be a couple of folded eight-by-tens. He placed them face down on the counter next to the Stella bottle.

  “Thanks for the info, friend. Next time I need something, I expect you to be a little more accommodating.”

  Wishing he knew who was being threatened—the photos couldn’t be about anything else—Vincente reached out and opened the door as Stefano came toward him. They left without another word.

  † † †

  Caleb Paynne watched Gabriel’s brother and his capo—who was much more impressive—leave his soon-to-be-vacated place. How the hell the Reaper could stomach playing that guy’s heavy he didn’t know. Fit the role, though, tough bastard.

  When the door closed, instead of going back to raging over where the fuck Eva and Nika were—he couldn’t get a hold of either of his girls—he finally allowed himself the weakness of reaching up to touch his throbbing eye. Fuck. The swelling had already started. He grabbed a leftover bag of corn from the freezer so he could stick it on his face.

  “Fucker,” he muttered as Vex came over. His Pres shoved the veggies aside and grabbed his chin, surveying the damage. “Considering we’re on the same side you’d think he’d have relaxed a little on the follow-through.”

  Vex dropped his hand with a snort. “Think about the easy two-fifty behind that fist, my brother,” he said dryly. “He was relaxed. Was your hard-on for his hygiene habits necessary?”

  He grinned. “Couldn’t help it. Guy’s too serious. Wanted to shake him up a little.”

  “You did that. Could’ve sworn I saw his lip twitch.” Vex leaned over and picked up the papers Stefano had left on the counter.

  Caleb slam-dunked the corn in the garbage but turned back when Vex cursed.

  “What is it?”

  “Death sentence.”

  “Whose?”

  “Stefano Moretti’s.”

  Adrenaline coming online, Caleb stepped up and glanced at the papers, his hands immediately making a grab for the two photographs.

  “Time to head home, brother,” his Pres suggested.

  Caleb stared down into his little sister’s sad eyes. She was in what had to be her prick husband’s car, her bright head leaning on the passenger window, expression vacant.

  “Take me to the airport,” he rasped.

  † † †

  As Gabriel reached for his ringing cell that he’d thrown on the corner of his desk, he became aware he wasn’t alone in the office area of the suite.

  “Yeah.”

  “Just checking in,” Alek said. “She okay?”

  “Yeah. I think so.” The “she” in question was looking out the windows into the darkness as she slowly made her way over.

  “Good. No news yet. Later, brother.”

  Gabriel hung up and put the phone back.

  Eva didn’t look at him as she paused by the bar. “What was that about?”

  His attention was divided between that goddamn body of hers and the way she was now rearranging the bottles and decanters from shortest to tallest. “Alek was checking to make sure you’re okay.”

  She scoffed under her breath. “Another idiot,” she muttered, turning to face him now that she was finished her unusual task. “If he was truly concerned, he’d be in here kicking your ass for holding me against my will.”

  He had to force his gaze up from the perfection of her mile-long legs. “He’d like that.”

  Her brow fluttered. “Like what?”

  “You foolishly thinking he could kick my ass.”

  Her lips thinned as she drew nearer. “Is Gabriel even your real name?” she surprised him by asking.

  “Yes. My mother named me after her father.”

  “I don’t want personal details,” she snapped.

  He leaned back in his chair. Why? Because knowing shit about him made him less of a monster?

  “So, Gabriel Moretti.” She shifted the lamp on the desk so that its base was aligned perfectly with the blotter. “Does that mean TarMor is Tarasov/Moretti, and not Moore like the world thinks?” The two pens he’d thrown on some flyers were tucked into a half-fu
ll holder and the flyers were folded and placed neatly alongside his date book.

  “That’s right,” he said, totally engrossed in watching the beauty of her hands as she fiddled. “Alek and I grew up together, and we started the firm ten years ago. It was nickel-and-dime stuff for the first while, but at least it was ours. Once Markus came on board, we expanded, and it became more of a time sucker. But worth it because we found success without the requisite blood on our hands.” His bad. He’d let slip more personal details.

  “I quit, by the way,” she said as she flipped the pens in the holder so that they were all uniformly ink-tip down. “I know two weeks is courtesy, but I don’t feel that’s necessary under the circumstances. And would you consider getting me my own room? I could use the privacy.”

  The smile he felt pull up the corners of his mouth was smug. The enjoyment he got out of interacting with her he kept hidden. “Nah. You’re right where you belong. And I don’t accept your resignation.”

  Even though she wasn’t at a hundred percent—she’d obviously slept for a while—her eyes sharpened with afront. “You can’t force me to work for you, Gabriel.”

  Why did the simple sound of his name on her lips make him hard? He leaned his elbows on the desk so she wouldn’t see the outline in his pants. “Why not?”

  Confusion pulled her brows down. “Why not? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because every time you’ve opened your big mouth since I met you, all you’ve done is lie to me?”

  He gave her an impatient look. Were they back to that? “After everything I told you, about your father, his enemies, my brother, do you still not understand that I had no choice? Why can’t you see that I needed you close to me however I could get you there?”

  She was staring at his big mouth as she blurted, “You didn’t have to have sex with me.”

  Mmm. He leaned his head to the left and felt a satisfying crack in his neck. “Yeah, baby, I did. I just couldn’t help myself.” And that was the God’s honest truth.

  When her breath caught and her eyes widened, he got up and walked over to the bar to pour them some brandy. It was either that or strip and fuck her on the desk. For some reason, he didn’t think she’d go for that.