Ultimate Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 4)

by Nancy Haviland

  Justin took his hand. “In a situation like the one I was just told about, yes, the ladies take precedence.” He was angry but controlling it. “I’m sorry your uncle was injured.”

  “Thank you.”

  With as much friendliness as he could muster, he patted Sacha’s friend on the shoulder and moved aside. As the attorney took Sacha up in the same kind of hug Caleb had just given Eva, Alek met his woman’s eyes and released the last vestiges of resentment he’d been harboring for the time he’d missed with Lekzi. It became as simple as focusing on everything ahead of them, rather than what was behind them.

  Back to the swinging doors his attention went, and the ten-minute reprieve from the anxiety gnawing through his guts was over. He blinked when Eva passed in front of him, her nails tapping against each other in a nervous habit she had. She was pale, her eyes were puffy, and the tension lines bracketing her mouth wobbled every few seconds as if she was trying not to break down.

  “Mother. Fuck,” Maks breathed as he stared at his phone, his eyes wide. “What the hell is he doing?”

  “Who?” Gabriel asked tiredly as if he didn’t want to deal with anymore.

  “Vlad the Impaler incarnate.”

  Maks passed the phone around—to the men only—and when it came to Alek, his jaw locked up as he looked at the ten-second movie clip that played over and over on a loop. It was his cousin, impaled on a twenty-foot spike that was stuck in the ground in the front of Lucian’s Southampton home. Sergei would twitch and then go limp, making it clear he was still alive. Because the place was secluded, the grisly sight wouldn’t be seen by the general population, but still. Holy fuck.

  “I’m no longer worried Fane will kill him too quickly,” Maks muttered as he took the phone back.

  Almost as if it were planned, everyone’s phones started vibrating at once. Apparently, Maks wasn’t the only one who’d gotten the gif, and reaction to the torture of Vasily’s nephew was coming in from their people. Then, questions started trickling in from powerful Bratvas based in Houston, Chicago, Miami, L.A., Montreal, Toronto, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Paris, London, Madrid…the list went on and on.

  Lucian Fane was sending a broad and deadly message to even the darkest corners of the organized crime world. But what was it? A warning not to fuck with the Fanes? Or was he informing them that he’d lost his goddamn mind?

  “He has every right,” Alek said as Sacha came over to give him a warm hug. She had no clue what he’d just seen, so it had to have been appreciation for him not kicking her friend out. “Sergei needs to suffer for what he did,” he added, accepting a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He pressed his lips to her hair as Gabriel agreed.

  “Same. Markus deserves—”

  “Markus deserves to be alive,” Eva interrupted. Her voice was raspy in her exhaustion, but the suppressed anger burned through. There was a hardness in her eyes that had never been there before. “So does my mother. But they’re not, and all because of an incident they had nothing to do with. If I also lose my father to that man…”

  Alek didn’t think she was aware of it, but Gabriel sure as fuck was when she winced, and her hand went down to rub across the underside of her belly.

  She laughed in a watery burst. “Do you want to hear something stupid?” she asked her husband. “I’m wondering if this was how Stefano felt after Adrianna was killed?”

  “He hasn’t been killed,” Maks growled with a steely glare.

  Eva met that glare head on. “If he dies, I will want someone to pay for it. For the first time in my life, I get it. I totally get this need for vengeance that I’ve never understood. Not even when those people took my mother. But now? I’m identifying with this thing that lives inside all of you. If my dad dies not even a year after they took my mom, what will I do with that fire burning my chest? How will I get past what Sergei has taken from me?”

  “He hasn’t been taken,” Maks said louder. The note of pure agony that weaved into his voice had Sydney sliding the tray of sandwiches she’d just brought in from the kitchen onto a low table. She gave up on seeing to everyone and tucked herself into Maksim’s side.

  “You’re not hearing me, Maksim!” Eva snapped as she lifted a shaking arm and pointed an onyx-pained fingernail at the door. “If Tegan walks out of there and tells me my time with him is up already, I’m going to want someone to pay for that but he’s already as good as dead! Who will I make suffer then? Who?”

  “No one,” V murmured from his stance by the window. “You’ll learn to live with it the same way we have.” He drew Nika around from his back and wrapped her up against his chest. “And you’ll forgive Lucian for leaving you hanging over the pit, the same way we’ve forgiven Lore.”

  Because Lorenzo had been the one to kill Nika’s abusive husband, and in effect, steal from Nika and V the satisfaction of ending the man who’d caused her so much physical and emotional torment. Some of it because of Sergei.

  Something passed between the girls when Nika met Eva’s eyes over V’s shoulder. When they turned those determined stares to Sacha and Sydney, and the two held them without faltering, Alek was stunned by what he was seeing. He could practically feel the new bond form. A bond so strong and dangerous it nearly made the air snap around them.

  What if the ladies who held the most influential positions within the families were no longer content to linger in the background, oblivious to their partners’ world? Shit. In an operation as big as the Moretti family that would be meaningful. But if the women got organized and pulled in with the Tarasov Bratva while allowing Eva’s new need for vengeance to grow…

  Vasily Tarasov’s daughter and company would be unstoppable.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Striding out of the automatic doors, Vasily squinted against the steady drizzle that forever seemed to be falling when he landed at SeaTac. It didn’t bother him in the least. Made him feel good.

  “You know I don’t like this,” Dmitri grumbled.

  “I do know that. You tell me so every five weeks, and it does not change anything. Go. I’ll call you shortly.” He didn’t wait for a response but nodded at another of his men and took the key he offered. “Is Olin on duty?”

  “Yes. I tried to call, but he didn’t answer. When he gets in touch, I will tell him you’re on your way.”

  “Very good.” Vasily ducked into the car he used when in Seattle and drove away, leaving the boys to head to their hotel. He would have felt more comfortable if they were staying at Gabriel and Alek’s place, but if they checked into the Crown Jewel without him, Gabriel would be all over them like a dog with a bone, and there would go Vasily’s privacy.

  He smiled, something he did often when he first arrived for these mini-vacations. This was the only time anticipation and a feeling he might consider a form of happiness overtook the hollow ache he lived with. Though calling it happiness might be stretching it because he’d lived with the real feeling for a time, and this wasn’t it.

  But it was close. Because he was going to see her in the next few minutes. He’d watch his kitten through the window of her dress shop, and he would yearn for her. He would burn alive for this entire weekend that he set aside to be with her—without her knowledge—yet he would come back in another five weeks, without fail, to go through the agony all over again.

  His phone rang as he took his exit off I-5. The Bluetooth picked it up. It was Olin, one of his most trusted.

  Within seconds, Vasily was pulling to the side of the road as Olin’s words flew like shrapnel through his brain.

  Kathryn. Crying. Driving. Strange car. Accident. Explosion. Fireball.

  He sat in his car, his seatbelt strapped across his still chest, what was left of his heart shredding with the screams of a thousand agonies. This visit wouldn’t be like the ones he’d been making to Seattle for the last twenty-three years. He wouldn’t be parking and settling in with his disguise firmly in place. He wouldn’t be moaning in pain at t
he sight of her slight body and soft blonde hair, his fingers itching to touch as he watched with fascination her smile and laugh as she spoke to a customer. He wouldn’t be struggling to remain in place when she passed by his car on her way to the deli on the corner to buy a salad that would consist of only lettuce and cucumbers. So often, when he’d see she was on the phone, he’d opened the window a crack so he could hear her musical voice, usually tainted with a sad, wistful note that led him to believe she was talking to their daughter.

  Instead of experiencing those small joys, Vasily sat there picturing all that Olin had just described. Kathryn had left work early, hunched over as she rushed to her car, openly crying. She’d driven erratically and had been hard to tail. When they’d reached a stretch of road Olin had never seen her travel before, another car had come out of nowhere. The hair-raising tale had ended with both of their vehicles being run off the road. When Olin had regained consciousness, he’d seen that his car had survived; Kathryn’s hadn’t. All that had been left was a charred, smoking shell.

  With a calm brought on by denial, Vasily gave his instructions and got moving again. He went straight to the coroner’s office, and acting as the hair-brained detective who’d forgotten to check for identifying jewelry, he received confirmation that the only occupant of the vehicle, a female driver, had perished.

  He walked outside and stood next to his car for a moment, concentrating on his heart as it beat in his chest. How was it still doing that?

  Within minutes, he was at the compound, standing next to what remained of Kathryn’s vehicle, and not long later, he was back at the morgue. He sat in the parking lot, ignoring his constantly ringing phone. He wanted to go in and hold her lifeless body. But there wasn’t even that.

  His kitten was gone. An image of her burning alive played continuously through his mind, vividly, taunting him, drilling home the fact that it all could have been avoided had he kept her by his side where she belonged. He could have protected her from her fiery death. He should have protected her.

  It wasn’t until the sun was coming up that he started his car and drove to the hotel. He went in without exchanging words with anyone but to ask Dmitri if they’d managed to intercept any of the men responsible for this tragedy. When he was told two had been killed during the altercation but they managed to bring the third back and he’d already been questioned, Vasily asked for him to be brought in.

  Moments later, the sound of the door registered as he stared out over the gray, churning waters of the Sound. She was gone. He couldn’t accept that. How would he ever accept that? Evangeline would be getting the news anytime now. His daughter was alone in New York, and she would be receiving news that her only family had been killed. She would have no idea that her father was the reason behind it.

  She might be crying right now, calling out for her mother.

  His child. In pain. Her mother, gone.

  His Kathryn. Burned. His kitten. Dead. Forever.

  Turning, he took his hands from his pockets, locked eyes with the dark stare of a Baikov soldier, and started forward. He didn’t stop until he had the man pinned to the wall next to the door. Vasily could smell the fear emanating from him.

  He could also smell pennies.

  As his mind roared in agony, English became a thing of the past, and he reverted to the type of Russian his grandfather used to speak. A guttural, rough dialect that worked well at that moment.

  “What have you done?”

  He put more pressure on his arm and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent rushing up his nose as the man moaned.

  “Do those who sent down this order have any idea what they’ve started? If they wanted to provoke a reaction from me, they succeeded.” He twisted his hand and felt a rush of warmth soak his knuckles. “They succeeded by taking from me something I cannot live without. And they will pay for that for years to come.”

  He pulled back and jabbed with more force than last time. The sharp blade in his grip hit something hard, but he drilled through it, causing the man to howl. Vasily savored that as a puddle began to form at their feet.

  “The members of the Baikov Bratva will pay, right down to their sixthes. I will know when it is only those errand boys that are left, because, with every spare moment I have from here on out, I will hunt you down and take your lives the same way you took mine.”

  He pulled back and stabbed into the hole a dozen times in quick succession. Blood splashed, and a wet sound filled the room. But all Vasily could hear were Kathryn’s screams as the flames consumed her. How long had it taken her hair to singe, her silky skin to welt, her flesh to incinerate and her small frame to become visible to the naked eye?

  “It is done. Stop now.”

  Dmitri’s voice came from far away. It made Vasily pause and rest his arm. He was gasping for breath as he stepped back and let the mess he’d made fall to the floor. He stared at what used to be a man’s torso. It was now unidentifiable, and his fury grew exponentially because destroying this man hadn’t helped. It hadn’t lessened his pain. It hadn’t taken away his anguish. It was just one more thing he’d done for nothing.

  Such as leaving his helpless woman on her own, to live without him when they should never have parted. They should have lived their lives together. They should have laughed and cried and loved every single day from the moment they’d met. They should have raised their precious child together. They should have expanded their family and surrounded that sacred unit with their love and acceptance.

  Vasily fell to the floor and let his grief and regret flow from his throat in an agonized howl that made the top of his head feel as if it were being sheared off. He took a breath and did it again. And again. And again.

  And still his pain didn’t lessen. That’s when he knew it never would. Because she was never coming back.

  His last effort, his final imploring wail to reach her, came in the form of her name.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The boys were all stone-faced, and every female had her ears covered, trying to block the sounds coming from the operating room. Alek fisted his hands and ground his teeth to nubs as his uncle’s hoarse shouts continued.

  “What the fuck?” Maks growled. “Did the goddamn anesthetic wear off?”

  Eva pushed out of G’s arms and rushed to the doors to try to see in the window for the hundredth time. Vasily’s voice was losing its power, but it was still plenty loud enough for all of them to hear his final rough, mournful call.

  Eva’s mother’s name.

  At hearing it, their daughter broke down completely. As her fear found the outlet it had been seeking, her husband’s strong arms were there to shelter her. They were replaced often, each of them taking turns holding her, talking with her, or just sitting with her, offering whatever she needed. Nika, Sacha, and Sydney continued to keep Lekzi entertained as they fetched food and drinks that no one touched—Gabriel force-fed his wife just enough to keep her sugar on the level. Calls came in that no one answered, and those doors closing them out were continuously under observation.

  At last, four and a half hours after he’d gone in, Yuri shoved through the swinging panels looking as if he’d swam the length of a swimming pool to get there. He was red-eyed and soaked with perspiration, but otherwise appeared unfazed.

  “We finally found those damned bleeders. He’s stable. Give me twenty to get rid of the gore, and you can come in two at a time.”

  He disappeared again. No one celebrated. They just silently thanked whoever it was they’d been praying to. Sacha left Eva and came over with Lekzi. The baby leaned away from her mother and into him. Remembering Kathryn’s name coming from behind those doors, Alek took his baby and wrapped her up tight. He couldn’t look at Sacha as he dreaded the coming days.

  He had to offer her a choice. Voluntarily give her an out.

  But how could he?

  Then again, how could he not?

  THIRTY-THREE

  A couple of long, quiet days later, as Grigori drove the May
bach into the underground parking garage of her and Alekzander’s apartment building, Sacha tapped her fingers on the front of her purse.

  They parked next to Alekzander’s new Range Rover. It was identical to the one Markus had last driven; only it was black. As were the clothes Alekzander continued to wear, and would for the traditional forty-day mourning period as was the custom in the Orthodox religion.

  And mourning he was. Many times over the past few days, Sacha had looked up from feeding Lekzi in Samnang’s welcoming kitchen to see Alekzander sitting out back on a lounger next to the covered pool, the snow falling around him as he looked out over the sprawling lawn. She’d left the baby with one of the girls the first couple of times and gone out to make sure he was okay. He’d nodded, kissed her hand, and told her he was visiting with Markus. It had reminded her of a time shortly after they’d met and she’d caught him drifting during a movie they were watching. She’d asked him if he found the film boring. He’d smiled and told her he’d just gone off to visit with his mother for a moment. She’d loved him for that. Just as she loved him for so many things.

  Loved him so much she’d finally taken a hard look at this life and put things into perspective.

  In the time she’d known the Tarasovs, there had been three instances of violence against the women and children in the family, and two of those hadn’t involved Sacha in any way. She hadn’t even known about them until well after the fact; Eva’s mother’s death, and Renee and Evan’s death. And all three instances, when she included what had happened since her return, had been the result of one man’s actions. One hopefully-dead man’s actions.

  She knew things went on within the Bratva all the time, but rarely were Alekzander or his uncle directly involved. Not that being in their position made what she suspected went on acceptable, but she wasn’t the morality police, and she couldn’t pretend to be. She’d known who Alekzander’s family was the moment he’d told her his uncle’s name, and wrong or not, it hadn’t swayed her. She’d fallen in love and built a life with her Russian anyway.