Her thoughts went to Caleb, that other lying, sneaky, betraying bastard. How could he have kept such a massive, and potentially deadly, secret from her?
She swallowed her anger.
So that was probably why Vincente Romani had seemed familiar at Caleb’s apartment. If he’d followed her around—Insane, her mind sang—she’d probably seen him at some point.
“How can he work for you and your brother?” she asked.
“Vincente doesn’t work for anyone but himself. He’s been putting time in with Stefano more as a favor to me, and he’s been with my family from the beginning, so the loyalty is there. He keeps an eye on things and lets me know when to get involved. Anonymously, of course.”
“If your brother wants to kill me, why didn’t he have that man do it tonight when I was alone with him?”
A pause. “Because he most likely wants to do the job himself.”
Her captor’s brother wanted to end her life. No. Her protector’s brother wanted to end her life, if what Gabriel said was true. Her father’s enemies wanted to end her life, like they’d done her mother’s.
Was there anyone at this point who didn’t want to kill her?
Gabriel, a voice in her mind whispered.
But he’d lied to her. Repeatedly. How could she possibly trust him now?
“You were born into this crime family?”
“Yes.”
“What kinds of things did you do when you were a . . . ?” What did you call someone in the mafia? A goon? An associate? A wise guy? “When you were in New York,” she finished.
Gabriel remained silent so long she wondered if he’d even answer.
“I did whatever my father tasked me with. Eventually, I gravitated toward taking care of the business side of things, which was a little more challenging—overseeing the gambling houses, document altering, dealing with our many chop shops and organizing the exports of refurbished vehicles. Our organization had, and still has, quite a . . . loan-sharking, I guess you’d call it, operation. Lending out money at exorbitant interest rates. But then my father, and now Stefano, predictably expanded into other seedier areas—contract killing, arms, organ and drug trafficking, embezzlement, prostitution.” He paused as Eva tried to take it all in. “I can go on, but I think you get the picture.”
Oh, yeah. She got a really clear, horrifying picture of a family filled with murdering criminals. She’d watched The Sopranos.
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Yes.”
“A lot of someones?” she pressed weakly.
“Yes, Eva. A lot of someones. But only when it was necessary. Not many of us kill for the sake of killing.”
She rolled over slowly and sat up to face Gabriel, the blanket falling to her waist, and really looked at him for the first time since the man with the Mohawk had called earlier. He looked as wiped as she felt. His mouth was set tight and strained, tension lines bracketing his tired eyes, his hair 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, sincerely curious.
“I’ve taken the lives of those who have threatened—and sometimes killed—someone I consider mine. I’ve also taken the lives of men who have beaten or killed their own children and wives. I haven’t filled the bottom of the Hudson, Eva,” he said dryly. “And, again, I’ve never taken a life just because I could.”
Overwhelmed, she shifted her gaze to a bottle of water sitting on the table by the bed.
“Want some?” he asked, following the line of her vision.
“Please.”
He uncapped it and offered her the bottle, and her chest swelled with emotion, her entire being straining to burrow into him, allow some of his strength to seep into her. She didn’t want to be angry at him. To feel betrayed.
She glanced around the room. Last night he’d given her such pleasure in this very place. But tonight . . .
Tonight she felt disoriented and betrayed. The man she wanted to accept comfort from was the very man who’d just destroyed her world as she’d known it.
So instead of burrowing against him, she took the water, ignoring the warm tingle that climbed her arm from where their fingers brushed, then downed half the bottle.
“That’s my girl.” After she handed the bottle back to him, he lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over her cheek, his ring cool against her flushed skin.
She ground her teeth. “I want to leave.” Could she even go to the police with this story without them locking her up and throwing away the key?
His hand dropped. “You can’t, sweetheart.” Something like pain flashed through the lingering shadows in his eyes.
“I want to leave.”
This time he pinned her with a harsh stare. “No.”
She watched as he turned away to place the bottle on the nightstand. She needed time to work through this. And she couldn’t do that while sitting in this freaking bed with him.
“Before you attempt to run again,” he said casually, “let me inform you that the boys know to make sure you do not leave this suite.”
Defeated, tears rushed to her eyes and she sagged into the mattress, dog-tired, beyond confused, overwhelmed. Every time she looked at Gabriel, her heart broke all over again. She’d given her virginity to this man. Had trusted him with . . . her!
Hell, had even agreed to work for him after finding out he’d lied to her the first time.
It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. They weren’t supposed to turn out like this.
So how in the hell was she going to get away?
CHAPTER 14
Vincente held his breath as Stefano’s too-sweet 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 point of snapping.
The car ground to a halt, the ding of the bell sounding lame and sad from overuse. He gladly exited first, taking the lead down the empty hallway in Caleb Paynne’s former building. They’d stopped by the clubhouse to discover the biker they wanted was MIA. One of the other brothers had let them know—after he’d checked in with a higher authority—where Caleb was. Which had given Vex, the club president, and Caleb a heads-up that company was on its way.
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. The lock clicked and the door swung wide. The coldly resigned expression that met them made him want to smirk. Biker had to work on his poker face.
“Paynne,” Stefano greeted in that drawl of his that made Vincente want to scrape his ears out with a sharp blade. “How’s doin’?”
Paynne got with the program and looked them over as though trying to figure out why they’d come a-callin’. A round of hand clasps were exchanged.
“Step aside, gearhead,” Vincente ordered, his eye twitching in an almost wink.
With the perfect amount of hesitation, Paynne moved back a step so he and Stefano could enter the small, now-empty apartment, save for the bike parts still littered around. A big screen in the corner was showing a rerun of Vincente’s favorite FX series about a badass MC.
Stefano glanced around. Fuckin’ guy looked like he wanted to have his hands in the air, pinkies raised. “You should get yourself a garage,” he said. “Come work for me—I’ll set you up.”
“He already has a job. And a garage.”
They all turned when Vex, the president of the Obsidian Devils, walked out of the bathroom rubbing an oily substance into his grease-stained hands. Goop, no doubt. Shit worked wonders after tinkering with an engine. Guy was a good-looking sonofabitch with longish blond hair and a big body. Was wearing his color
s, which was the norm. Vincente always had a healthy respect for him, knowing exactly what the crazy street rat was capable of.
“Vex,” Stefano greeted with a slight sneer, as though his presence might screw with his plans. “You hanging with your subordinates now?”
His perfect set of pearly whites flashed, but the smile didn’t reach the guy’s baby blues. “Nah, just helping out a good friend and brother. 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 Vincente’s eye. Upper rocker read “Obsidian Devils,” the lower, “Manhattan.” Both in red lettering on a black background. In the center was their in-your-face emblem—an impressively fierce Grim Reaper wrapped in a black angel’s embrace with “MC” next to it. The “1%” square was there, natch, but that’s not what had his eyes narrowing. A crisp, new rectangular “V. President” was now affixed on the right breast, proud and visible.
Damn. Good on him. Gabriel sure knew how to pick ’em.
Vex caught his eye and gave him a look before sauntering over to Stefano, blocking the boss’s view of him and Paynne. “Heard through the grapevine you were missing some coin from one of your operations in Freeport.”
Perfect. Gabriel’s big bro started chirping about his annoyance with those who underestimated the family, and 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 haven’t gotten shit for a response. Where the fuck is she, V?”
Damn, the VP was shooting sparks.
“Furio got to her, but she’s covered now. I’ll get the details and let you know.”
Vincente had already moved a few feet away when Stefano tired of his and Vex’s conversation. He sidestepped the biker and focused on Paynne. “Wanted to ask you a few questions about the kitty I met here a few days ago.”
The biker put his beer down, jaw tight, and moved over to stand in front of the boss. “What were you doing in my place?”
“Doesn’t matter. I hear she hooked up with someone. Know anything about that?”
The resentment that scooted 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. Lucky Vincente knew he considered the girl his sister.
“Stupid, Paynne,” Stefano said, his face hardening. “Real stupid. I didn’t think I’d have to advise you to answer the questions. Not ask them. Vincente?”
As Vincente figuratively dragged his feet over, his respect for the biker grew. Paynne turned to face him, his look comically 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. Had to be Furio, since Alek had let him know one of the Berkman twins had bummed the evil fucker’s appendage before things had gone to shit. Never paid to relax your guard around bad apples like Furio. That bastard had one hell of a pain tolerance facing off with those twins, disabled as he’d been . . . and he’d won.
Not wanting to drag the “punishment” out, Vincente let loose a quick right jab that connected with Paynne’s left eye. Unfortunately, he had to make it convincing. 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, telling him to stay put. Guy was the shit.
Going right up in his grill, Vincente fisted the front of a sweet Affliction T-shirt and glanced over to make sure Stefano wasn’t paying attention. He was muttering furiously into his phone. “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?” Paynne’s voice was low.
Vincente 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 hell? The dum-dum’s skull probably felt as if it were about to melt from the hit and here he was, Comedy Central. What a keeper.
With a sad little shove, he sent the comedian toward the couch 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.
“So, what do you know about the guy nailing her?” Stefano asked as he pocketed his phone, picking up the conversation as if there’d been no interruption. The crude question sucked the humor from the air like a Dyson.
The boss turned from the window and sauntered over to the coffee table, where he picked up an issue of Soldier of Fortune. Paynne’s fingers closed into fists as Stefano started flipping through it, and this time Vincente couldn’t hold back a grin. The magazine looked brand-new. If it had been Vincente’s and he hadn’t had a chance to look through it yet, he’d be pissed, too.
Or maybe Paynne was cranky about hearing Gabriel was bedding Vasily’s daughter. Fuckin’ balls on the guy to screw with the Russian, but whatever.
Glancing his way, Paynne flashed him a grim you-fucking-sure-about-this?
Vincente nodded once.
“Guy’s name is Gabriel Moore.”
Stefano dropped the magazine. And, holy hell, he had a hate-on for his brother. “Is this a serious relationship? Or is she just getting some grind?”
Paynne popped his jaw, the muscle under his swiftly swelling eye twitching.
Come on, brother. Keep it together.
“Far as I can tell, it’s serious. I’m not really in the habit of asking my sister’s friends if they’ve found love.” Caleb sneered.
Surprisingly, Stefano ignored the sarcasm. Or not, Vincente thought, priming to step in as the boss reached into his inside pocket. But instead of pulling out a bullet tosser and attempting to blow a hole through the two gearheads, he withdrew what looked to be two folded eight-by-tens. He crossed the room and placed them facedown on the counter next to the green Stella bottle. A cold smile settled on Stefano’s face. “Thanks for the info, friend. Knew you’d come around. At least we won’t have to go there.” He nodded to the papers. “But don’t forget. I will if I have to.”
Dammit. Who was in the photos? Fuck, there was nothing Vincente hated more than not being in the loop.
He reached out and opened the door as Stefano came toward him. The boss threw over his shoulder, “If I need anything else, I’ll let you know,” before they walked out.
Caleb Paynne watched Stefano Moretti and Vincente Romani—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. And what a fucking arm.
Forcing himself to stay in the now—otherwise he’d once again lose his shit over the fact that he couldn’t get either of his girls on the phone—he finally allowed himself the weakness of reaching up to touch his throbbing eye. Dammit. The swelling had already started. He grabbed a leftover bag of corn from the freezer so he could stick it on his face.
Where they hell were they? Both Nika and Eva were MIA.
“Fucker,” he muttered as Vex crossed the room to stand before him. His prez 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 and gave him a look. “Think about t
he easy two-fifty behind that fist, my brother,” he said dryly. “He was relaxed. Didn’t help that you got a hard-on from the guy’s hygiene habits.”
“Couldn’t help it.” Caleb grinned widely. “He’s too serious. Wanted to shake him up a little.”
“You did that. Could’ve sworn I saw his lips twitch.” Vex leaned over and picked up the papers Moretti had left on the counter.
Caleb slam-dunked the corn in the garbage, and then stilled when he heard what sounded like an animal growling. He turned. What the fuck? Never had he heard a sound like that come out of his best friend’s throat before.
“What is it?”
“Death sentence.”
“Whose?”
“Stefano Moretti’s.”
Adrenaline already pumping, Caleb stepped up and glanced at the papers, his hands immediately making a grab for the two photographs.
“Time to head home, brother,” Vex said, his normally insouciant tone now dark and serious.
Caleb stared down into his little sister’s sad emerald 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.
Gabriel’s phone went off and he straightened his leg to retrieve it from his pocket. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, Eva once more lying with her back to him. “Yeah.”
“Just checking in. She okay?”
The sincere concern in Alek’s voice had him feeling for the guy. Eva was his family, after all. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Good. No news yet. Later, brother.”
Gabriel tossed the phone away.
“What was that about?” Eva asked.
“Alek was checking to make sure you’re okay.”
“Another idiot,” she muttered, turning to face him. “If he was truly concerned, he’d be in here kicking your ass for holding me here against my will.”
He had to force his gaze up from her mouth. “He’d like that.”
“Like what?”
A Love of Vengeance Page 21
