Ultimate Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 4)

by Nancy Haviland

  He let her worry for a moment and greeted the priest’s brother. “Lorenzo. How are you, son?” They shook as Tegan moved around them to give Father Michael a hug.

  “Getting by,” Lore said, his features tight. “You here about Markus?”

  “Markus,” Tegan said, looking between them. “What about Markus?”

  “He was killed yesterday. Shot in the parking garage at TarMor.” Vasily’s delivery of the news was deliberately harsh in the hopes that he would rattle her cage. She didn’t have to come to her senses today. But the sooner she realized the boys she loved could be taken from her at the drop of a hat, the better. They needed her in their lives, and she needed them.

  She grasped the side of the pew, squeezing the fragrant wood. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. Then looked contritely at Father Michael. “Sorry. Oh, my gosh,” she corrected before shooting a disbelieving stare at Lore. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she was asking Vasily, “How is Lucian? Oh, my gosh…Gabriel and Alek. They must be devastated. And Eva? She and Markus were growing so close. Oh, no…”

  “They’re all having a tough time. Alek especially since the police think the shooter might have been targeting him but got Markus instead.” For once, he was glad the authorities were involved, if only so he could speak freely of the incident in front of Lorenzo.

  Tegan lowered herself to the bench and Lore glared at Vasily as he brushed by to sit next to her.

  Vasily went a little further. “The visitation is tonight at seven. If you can make it, I know your presence would help tremendously.”

  “Yes,” Tegan murmured, her eyes unfocused. “Of course, I’ll be there.”

  “T.”

  She looked at Lorenzo. “Yeah?”

  “Maybe you should give this one a miss.”

  “Why? Markus was killed, Lorenzo. It’s his visitation and funeral. Why would I give that a miss?”

  Her disbelieving tone had Father Michael nodding his goodbyes and moving off down the aisle toward the back of the church.

  Vasily stayed right the fuck where he was. He wanted to hear this.

  “You don’t need to be around…that kind of thing right now,” the detective said, his tone kind but a touch impatient.

  “Oh? Hmm. What kind of thing is that, Lore? Death? Grief? My friends who need me?”

  “Your friends.” He didn’t scoff, but then, he didn’t have to. It was implied.

  Tegan’s shoulder’s bowed, and she hesitated slightly before confirming, “Yes. My friends,” she said tiredly. “Yours, too, at one time. Remember? Those men? They’re men, Lore, just like you.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “There really isn’t anything to talk about.”

  They looked at each other as if neither understood where the other was coming from.

  “Tegan understands something better than many others, Lorenzo,” Vasily offered, explaining something the kid should already be well aware of. “Because she feels it. She’s invested, right from her heart. She can’t turn her back on them because she loves them, and is loyal to them. There is no halfway when that word comes into it. It’s all or nothing. You’re either loyal. Or you are not. How can that be confused?” He wasn’t thinking of the young doctor anymore. “You cannot adopt the practise only when it suits your purpose. Would you like to know why? Because it lives in those of us lucky enough to grasp the concept. It’s alive. It’s a part of who we are. Tegan will forgive her friends because they’re a large part of who she is. She knows that, and I think your nose is out of joint because you know it, too, and nothing you say to her will change it.”

  He clapped his hand on the detective’s hard shoulder to end the lecture, then reached out and gave Tegan’s hand a squeeze. “Seeing you there will give everyone a boost they all desperately need right now. They’ve been grieving your absence from their lives just as they’re now grieving Markus’s.”

  Tears filled the girl’s eyes as Vasily walked away.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Lucian sat in the front row at a funeral home on the Upper West Side, his cousin Gheorghe next to him, Gheorghe’s sister Daria further down. Claude was on Lucian’s right, acting as security. Lucian had asked him if he would prefer to be acknowledged as Markus’s partner but the man had given one shake of his head.

  “Markus wouldn’t do that to you in life. He certainly wouldn’t appreciate me doing it to you in death.”

  “To me?” He’d wanted to vomit. “I would be proud to show people who my brother was.”

  Claude had looked pained. “I wish he could have heard that.”

  Lucian looked up from the crease in the pant leg of his Kiton. It wasn’t his favorite suit, which was why he’d worn it. He would dispose of it when he took it off later. The shoes, too. Those he would miss. Berluti. His favorites.

  A presence entering the room had his head slowly coming up. The feeling was one he couldn’t put a name to but had felt before. Once. In an art gallery in Queens. He wanted to look at the entrance but didn’t. He would give her yet another chance. To escape him. If she didn’t take it, then she was fair game.

  He continued to nod as the people passed by, and found his gaze moving down the line.

  He caught himself and faced forward again.

  Give her the chance she deserves, that soothing voice he now knew was Markus’s whispered.

  Lucian closed his eyes and savored it for a moment. When he opened them again, the faces in front of him were not the ones he’d been avoiding looking into a moment ago.

  Down the line he looked…

  His attention was fully engaged from one heartbeat to the next.

  Yasmeen Michaels.

  His prey.

  An enchanting, classy, incredibly charming art gallery assistant…whose first hours in life had been spent in a cardboard box on the stoop of an orphanage in the Bronx. The file Lucian had read—without Yasmeen’s knowledge—stated a worker had found the unidentified infant lying quietly on a cloud of dirty blankets.

  Lucian had had her for one night two years ago.

  One night hadn’t been nearly enough.

  He watched her wait in the queue, those mysterious eyes of hers that were as dark as night remaining downcast so he couldn’t get his fill. He waited until she was four people away before motioning Gheorghe to slide down the bench. His cousin didn’t hesitate but did shoot him a questioning look that Lucian ignored.

  Yasmeen still hadn’t looked at him, but she was aware of him because a small wrinkle marred her high brow when she saw the space appear next to him.

  “So sorry for your loss.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Fane.”

  “Sorry for the loss of your brother, Lucian.”

  “So sorry.”

  And then she was close enough to touch. Her eyes clashed with his and moved with him as he stood for her.

  “Yasmeen.”

  “Lucian.” She raised her cheeks when he bent to touch his lips to her silky skin that was the same light bronze color he’d admired in the middle of summer. “I have no words for you,” she murmured.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” More than she would ever know. “You should have worn your hair down.” Her scent was the same he enjoyed when his yacht was anchored off the coast of Portofino.

  For the first time since Dr. Singh’s phone call, images of brutality and murder left his head and were replaced by stills of how this woman had looked while she climaxed, her long raven hair spread all around them, her flawless body open and willing. Magnificent.

  She blinked up at him in confusion and brought her fingers to her bared nape. “I’m sorry. I, um, I was at work.”

  The lineup behind her was growing, as was her discomfit.

  “Sit.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Sit.” He showed her how and drew her down to his side.

  “I should really move on.”

  “No, you should not.”
/>   He took one of her hands and placed it on the top of his thigh, straightening her fingers and separating them until they were perfectly spaced. She wore two silver rings. An infinity symbol on her pinkie, and what looked to be the outline of a cat’s head on her forefinger. The bracelets on her fragile wrist were also cheap but pretty. Her nails were long, tapered, and real. Unpainted.

  People came and offered their condolences, and he nodded as though paying attention. He wasn’t.

  “You have beautiful hands.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Markus came with me to your gallery one evening. We stood on the sidewalk and observed through the window. You were speaking with a group of young people about a textured painting done entirely in gold.”

  “Really. I…didn’t know that.”

  “Of course, you didn’t.”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “You should have come inside. I would have liked to meet him.”

  “That’s funny because he wanted to meet you, too. But I spared you.”

  She looked at him and frowned. Her lashes were long and fanned. “From what?”

  He didn’t answer and stopped talking altogether. Every little while over the next two hours, he traced one of Yasmeen’s long fingers, lingering at the tip of her nail. He had to fight the need to bring her palm to his face to test its softness.

  “Lucian?”

  He lifted his head, giving up his study of the delicate bones that made up her knee.

  “Yes, Yasmeen?”

  “I should go.”

  Wondering if what he felt at her words was sadness, he didn’t try very hard to identify it. He nodded and helped her up. The place was slowly clearing out.

  He left his spot to walk her to the entrance. She came up and kissed his cheek, and he found himself memorizing her scent. She was the darkest waters of the deepest seas.

  “Will you come to the church tomorrow?” He forced himself to pose his demand as a question.

  “Oh, uh, I’d assumed it would be a family service.”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then. If you’d like me to be there…”

  “I’ll send a car for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Lucian.”

  He cupped her jaw in a light hold and rubbed his thumb along her high cheekbone. The exotic slant of her eyes was incredible. “I don’t have to do anything, Yasmeen. I do only what I want. A car will be in front of your building at ten.”

  He saw a flash of wariness flit across her face. “All right. My address is—”

  He brought her forward and placed a light kiss on her lips. “I know your address, draga. You will sit with me tomorrow, yes?”

  “If you’d like.” More wariness.

  “I would like,” he confirmed as he released her. “You are free to go.”

  She hesitated. “Um, will you be okay tonight? I mean, I don’t want to come across as…um…” She grimaced. “What I mean is, if you’d like to share a meal or a glass of wine to keep your mind busy, well, I’ll be home all night. Please know you’re welcome to drop by. Or I can meet you out if you’d prefer…anyway, bye.” A mortified smile flashed even white teeth before she spun away.

  Lucian was pleased to see she hadn’t ruined one of his favorite things about her. Yasmeen’s pearly canines were sweetly pointed. He still remembered how much he’d enjoyed feeling them sink into his shoulder on that night two years ago.

  He should have felt a softening in his heart at her offer of company. He didn’t. He felt something else. Something that would scare this exquisite girl into running from him.

  Not that she’d get far.

  He watched her walk through the foyer, lingering over the perfection of her body. When the door closed behind her, he waved his driver over. Sorin came in closer, too.

  “You’ll be picking Ms. Michaels up tomorrow morning at ten,” he instructed Isaac as he ignored his caretaker’s hovering. “She will attend the service. When it is over, rather than take her home, you will bring her to the airport.”

  As expected, a low grunt of disapproval came from Sorin. Isaac knew better because he nodded and left.

  “Is Ms. Michaels aware she has travel plans in her immediate future?” Sorin asked.

  “No.”

  The big body that had prevented Lucian’s death more than once came around to block his way when he would have gone back to take his place on that uncomfortable bench.

  “Will she be made aware of them?”

  Lucian perused the room. He detested every single soul present. The one he wanted in his life was gone. The one he needed. “When she wakes in Rasnov she will be.”

  “Lucian.”

  He looked at Sorin, holding that dark gaze without conscience. “Yes, Sorin?”

  “Just so I am clear. You are taking Ms. Michaels to Romania without her knowledge?”

  “Yes, Sorin,” he murmured as he strode away.

  THIRTY

  Markus’s funeral and the days that followed were some of the most difficult Alek had ever been through. He’d attended too many memorials in his short life, had lost more people than an average thirty-three-year-old, but he’d never been directly responsible for any one man’s death. Regardless if Sergei had mistakenly shot Markus in place of Alek or if the psychotic sonofabitch had targeted an innocent man for his own reasons, no one could deny Markus had been in the parking garage that night because of a task he was performing for Alek. Which meant he was responsible for his friend’s death.

  Even though he accepted it, he couldn’t deal with what it meant at this time and he eventually had to shut it down and switch over to autopilot. He buried his emotions. He would bleed for his friend, he would mourn him, he would grieve, but not now. Not when Markus’s murderer was still out there, possibly preparing to take another of Alek’s loved ones.

  Meetings were had, and discussions took place as they tried to figure out how to get one step ahead of the turncoat he and Vasily were ashamed to call family. And as more and more of Sergei’s activities came to light, their shame grew right along with the pile of bodies.

  Anyone Sergei had been partnered with in the years he’d spent in the States was now gone. According to Yuri’s estimates, the deaths had all occurred around the same time Markus was killed, which meant, within twenty-four hours, Sergei had gone from location to location and quietly murdered eight men.

  That’s when it became apparent he was trying to erase all evidence of his life in the U.S., and that’s when Maks suggested they worked to figure out where Sergei had spent most of his time. Where would his memories take him next?

  Aside from the home he’d shared with Renee and Evan, which had been checked the day they’d learned Sergei was the mole, they narrowed it down to the Brighton Beach warehouse, Rapture, and Vasily’s house. With the warehouse already gone, they’d sent in teams of sweepers to meticulously go through the two remaining places.

  Late last night, in the basement of Rapture, Micha and two others had found what they’d hoped not to; clear evidence Sergei had intended the club to be a target. Small packs of RDX—that wasn’t theirs—had been hidden among crates of stored HMX. Thank Christ the job had been abandoned. They’d found no connectors or ignition which would have signified completion. Had Sergei had the time to do this one right, there would have been nothing but a crater to mark where Rapture had once stood.

  That final discovery proved without a doubt any location Sergei had access to in the last month could not be deemed one hundred percent safe. Which was why a mass evacuation was currently taking place.

  No one wanted to separate, but the boys understood it was the smart thing to do. Gabriel was taking Eva north, Vincente was going west with Nika, and Maksim, who’d appeared torn in half when he’d left Vasily’s house a little while ago, was going south with Sydney and the kids. With Vasily’s full blessing, they were each taking a team of Moretti men with them, as well as their usual muscle.

  “Lekzi, if your beautiful
mama doesn’t move her ass, your papa is going to go fucking crazy.”

  Alek was in the bedroom, holding his daughter in front of the mirror on the dresser. He’d learned she enjoyed bouncing up and down while staring at herself, and he’d spent so much time in this very spot over the last couple of days his footprints were permanent marks in the oval rug.

  He looked to the walk-in where he could hear Sacha murmuring to herself as she packed enough to last a few weeks. He, too, had decided to take them to their friendly neighbors up north. He figured the Canadian side of Niagara Falls would be a good place to lay low. Honeymoon capital and all that shit. Maybe while he was there, he could convince the mother of his child not to leave him. He shouldn’t. But he was damn well going to pull out every stop he could think of to change the decision he could see she’d already made.

  “I can see your mama’s fear,” he whispered to the baby. He’d found himself confiding in her more and more. “I know what she’s thinking, but I can’t let her take you away from me. To lose you both would be unbearable, and I won’t let it happen. So how about you tell your papa how I convince my love this is only a temporary nightmare?”

  Lekzi answered him with a happy squeal as she bounced up and down on legs that had the sweetest Michelin Man rolls. She slapped her bare feet on the surface, tinkling the miniature wind chimes on the porcelain Tudor style house Sacha had placed at one end of the dresser.

  He looked into the mirror and met her pale-blue eyes, then shifted his attention to meet the gorgeous gold of her mother’s as Sacha came out with a big bag over her shoulder. His chest constricted. He couldn’t lose them.

  He cleared his throat. “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Anton brought the other bags out earlier. If you take her, I’ll grab that. Yuri is waiting in the infirmary.” Yuri had insisted on giving the baby a final once over before Alek took her away.

  He placed his hand on Sacha’s lower back as they left their room. He’d have cuffed their wrists together but figured it best if he kept his hands free.

  As they made it to the main floor and crossed the foyer, Alek saw Anton in his regular spot in a chair to the side of the archway that led to the kitchen. Grigori had trailed down behind them since he’d been stationed in his cubby at the top of the stairs. The guy was diligent, even when they were in the house.