Wreckless Intentions

by K. Marie

  I believe it was for that reason, my father and my relationship changed that day.

  It wasn’t necessarily that he’d cheated on my mother; any man could have a lapse in judgment, it wasn’t even that he was controlling and determined to dictate my path in life. No, it was mostly the fact that he’d allowed that asshole madman Luka to treat his son like shit—to suffer the wrath for something he did. Something that Viktor was innocent of. Also, I resented him having made me an accomplice to that crime.

  Yes, it would have destroyed my mother to know. Especially, considering the five miscarriages, she’d suffered before finally giving up on having more children. Having an affair is one thing, fathering a child during that affair, another entirely. Romanovich wanted to keep his indiscretion and private shame a secret. But did the ends always justify the means? Should Viktor have suffered for the sins of his father? Should he still be suffering now? Did he not deserve to know that piece of shit Luka wasn’t his father? That I’m his brother?

  I’m no judge or jury, I can’t say for sure Romanovich’s actions—the way that he decided to handle things, was wrong. I genuinely believe he’s spent the years since, trying to atone for it. However, I also believe that every day he allowed that lie to fester, both he and I paid a toll for it.

  The Viktor issue would always be a point of contention between us. Nevertheless, I still love my father despite his faults. Which is why I was currently sitting in the back seat of the Escalade as it drove towards the runway of a private airstrip northeast of Miami. Camry sat on the other side of me, and Roman’s car seat rested in between the two of us.

  “Are we getting on the plane?” she asked curiously, just as the car rolled to a stop a short distance away from the silver Gulfstream. Its engines were already running and preparing for takeoff.

  “Yes, briefly, this won’t take too long,” I assured her.

  When we got out of the car, I saw Camry’s gaze oscillating between all of the men standing guard around us. In addition to our four, three of my father’s guards stood at attention outside the plane. It was at moments like this; she undoubtedly reflected on the normality of her life before marrying me. Too damn bad—she was a Vidov now, she’d get over it eventually.

  “Give us a moment,” Romanovich ordered the two men already present when we entered the plane.

  I nodded at Borya—my father’s longtime enforcer and clapped Semion—one of his oldest friends and his personal lawyer, on the shoulder as they exited. When I placed Roman’s cocoon-like contraption of a car seat on the leather chair next to Romanovich, his eyes instantly brightened.

  “Thank you for bringing him,” he said, taking a peek at his grandson.

  “You’re very welcome,” Camry graciously replied. “We would have come sooner, except, three strong tough-guys couldn’t figure out how to install a car seat. Thank God, I was there to show them,” she added, lips curled into a smug smile.

  “You don’t intend to ever let us live that down, do you?” I questioned sourly.

  “Nope,” she confirmed, smug smile morphing into a shit-eating grin.

  Romanovich looked on in amusement.

  “Would you like to hold him?” Camry asked, moving closer to where Roman rested. Not waiting for a response, she began to unbuckle the restraints securing our son then gently removed him from his seat.

  My father looked a bit hesitant, but lifted his arms in compliance and carefully accepted the tiny bundle. I worked damn hard to suppress a snort of laughter at his awkward discomfort, I doubt he even remembered how to hold an infant.

  “I had forgotten how remarkably small babies were,” he murmured, more so to himself than us. A beat of silence followed as my father studied Roman, then lifted his eyes to mine. “It’s been over thirty years, but if I didn’t know any better, I would think I was holding you as a detka.”

  “Detka means baby, right?” asked Camry.

  “Yes, that’s right, Roman is almost identical to his father as a baby. Now, we must wait to see if he will be just as obstinate,” answered Romanovich, the amused gleam in his eyes suggesting he couldn’t wait for me to get a taste of my own medicine.

  “Surely, I wasn’t that bad,” I protested.

  “Wasn’t—as in the past tense? You say that as if anything has changed,” he countered.

  “Oh, wow…it’s so wonderful to have someone truly understand what I have to put up with,” Camry said with a wondrous shake of her head and laughter in her eyes.

  “My mother has always said I was just like my father, so…” I said with a shrug, pinning Romanovich with a challenging look.

  His eyes glittered with mirth as he gazed back at me—and maybe with a hint of approval as well. Or, no, perhaps it was a hint of pride I saw there. “Your mother has always been a wise woman,” he allowed, just as Roman gave a small whimper of displeasure.

  “I’d better take him off your hands, he tends to get a bit cranky close to feeding time,” Camry explained, moving to retrieve our son.

  I watched with mild surprise as Romanovich placed a kiss on Roman’s forehead before handing him off to his mother. My father wasn’t an iceberg, but he wasn’t exactly big on displays of affection or emotion either. He typically expressed his care in other ways, like taking a twelve-hour flight to see his severely injured son at risk of imprisonment.

  As if to underscore that last point—just then, Semion hurried onto the plane wearing a grim look on his face. “We’ve got company headed our way, we should leave, now,” he stressed urgently.

  I shot up immediately from my chair. “We’ll be on our way. Camry, just carry him off,” I said as she went to place Roman back in his car seat.

  She looked alarmed but nodded in understanding. After rushing over to kiss her father-in-law on the cheek, Camry hurried ahead of me, and we both made our way off the plane. As we trekked across the concrete towards the Escalades, my eyes focused on the cars in the distance barreling towards us. Three police cars by the look of them.

  Camry handed Roman off to me as she climbed into the SUV. Once safely inside, I handed our son back to her and gestured for Igor to place the infant seat he’d been carrying in its base.

  All of that took less than thirty seconds, but by the time I glanced a nervous look back at the Gulfstream, all the men had entered, the stairs had been retracted and the door shut tight. I held my breath as the engines whined louder, and the police cars closed the distance.

  Shit.

  When the Gulfstream finally rolled forward, I still didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. The pilot was likely waiting for permission for an immediate takeoff, but, I needed that plane in the air right-goddamn-now.

  As the first police car skidded to a stop next to us, the Gulfstream taxied faster, until it was hurling along at a fast-enough clip that I knew it was preparing to lift off. I finally breathed a sigh of relief as it did. I knew the plane would be in Cuban airspace within minutes and out of the United States danger zone.

  Finally turning my attention to the ruckus behind me, I noticed three things at once. There were two Miami-Dade County cruisers, a gray unmarked SUV, and no FBI. Detective Broggs emerged from the SUV.

  It looked like the party was for me instead of my father.

  Shit got tense real fast when two of my men stepped in front of me as he approached. Two of the uniforms that had sprung from one of the cruisers stepped forward threateningly, hands going to the guns at their sides.

  “Please step aside,” Broggs demanded with authority.

  “Listen to the man,” I said in agreeance, stepping forward until Broggs and I stood roughly five feet apart.

  “Garland Vidov, you’re wanted for questioning in the murder of Natalia and Arsen Chvetski. I need you to come with us,” Broggs said with an intense look of hatred swimming in his eyes.

  One of the uniforms advanced with a pair of handcuffs at the ready.

  “Garland! What in the hell is going on?” Camry asked in alarm.

  “E
verything’s fine, sweetheart, call Michael and tell him to meet me at the station,” I said calmly, eyes never leaving Broggs’s.

  I turned compliantly and put my hands behind my back. The officer cuffed me and informed me of my rights. I knew that I wasn’t technically under arrest on charges—I could have refused to go along, but I wasn’t about to fight Broggs on it. This little display was meant as an exercise in humiliation. He wanted me to object or to resist, but I wouldn’t be giving him that satisfaction.

  “Detective Broggs, where are you taking him?” Camry asked, having climbed out of the car and come to stand next to me. Her voice was remarkably calm this time—laced with a bit of steel, even.

  “Your husband will be at the station on Biscayne, Mrs. Vidov, my apologies,” Broggs answered with transparent insincerity.

  As the officer led me towards the cruiser, Camry pointed to both Igor and Dez. “Stick with that car and make sure he gets there in one piece,” she commanded the two men twice her size. Then to Broggs, she said, “I hope you’ve enjoyed the show because I promise you, it’ll be your last performance.”

  My heart warmed with pride…the woman learned her lessons well.

  Twenty-Eight

  C A M R Y

  WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON?

  My fists clenched and unclenched with anxiety as I paced the ivory carpeted floor of our bedroom. Almost two hours had passed since Garland was arrested. When last I spoke with him, Michael advised against me coming to the station—had assured me that Garland would be home within the hour, but he hadn’t yet made it.

  I thanked God that I’d made the decision to leave Autumn at home with Theresa. I didn’t think it an appropriate time nor the ideal circumstances in which she’d meet Garland’s father for the very first time. I also wanted him to have that moment alone with his grandson. I’m glad I went with my instincts. Autumn would have been both frightened and confused to see Garland dragged away in handcuffs.

  I was still in the dark as to what was happening and had been growing increasingly antsy. I was no idiot; it didn’t take a mathematician to solve this particular equation. Viktor was shot last night. Garland was being questioned for murder today. The two had to be related.

  Something big was at play and I was trying real-damn-hard not to give into the bone-chilling fear that threatened to consume me.

  Simply put, I was afraid—and if I’d needed a concrete reminder of precisely what I should be fearing, my father-in-law’s appearance had cemented everything nicely. I was married to the fucking mob. So, yeah, I’ve got big-ass problems.

  I halted in my tracks at the thought. Squeezing my eyes shut tightly to squelch the sudden barrage of uncertainty, I whirled towards the bed and sank my butt down on it. Dammit. I knew Garland’s history—had accepted it, however, everything that’s happened the past week has made it all too real. My mama bear instincts had kicked in, and I was having a tough time not acting on that instinct by grabbing my kids and running to safety.

  This was supposed to be my safety—our safety, right here at home, with Garland. So, why was I feeling suddenly unsure? Was the constant threat of danger now my new normal?

  You can do this, Camry, keep your shit together…you can do this. I told myself, elbows resting on my knees as I rocked back and forth.

  What else was I supposed to do? It’s not that I didn’t trust Garland to keep us safe, it’s that I was now reminded of his own mortality in light of his arrest. What if something happened to him? I believed that to be my greatest fear of all.

  Pushing away the thought, I hopped to my feet determined not to dwell and to do something purposeful.

  I texted Joe. He’d stayed at the hospital with Viktor while Garland and I went to the airfield. After Joe texted back that everything was good, I felt a modicum of relief. With Garland indisposed at the moment, Viktor was my responsibility; there was no one else.

  Laying my phone on the dresser, I hesitated, before determinedly marching over to the closet and stepping inside. It was a large space—probably the size of a small bedroom, and had a door that connected it to the master bathroom. It also held a wall safe.

  Walking over, I pushed the row of clothes aside that was obscuring it and pressed my thumb to the scanner to unlock it. Both mine and Garland’s thumbprints were programmed into it. The safe held all the expensive jewelry that Garland had given me, some cash, and a few important documents. Mostly mine. Garland kept all of his important papers in his office safe.

  Gripping the black accordion file, I removed it from the safe and flicked the clasp back with my thumb. After fingering through the passports and other documents, I found what I wanted. The crisp papers and photos looked to have barely been handled, there were no crease marks or fingerprint smudges. This is the first time I had actually seen the images, following the aftermath of the ambush on the night of my party, Garland placed them inside the safe and I hadn’t had the presence of mind to retrieve them.

  Dropping down onto the carpet and folding my legs, I looked over the photos of the Greek island my husband gifted to me. It even had a name, Kai, which meant ‘keeper of the keys’ in Greek. The symbolic key that had accompanied the property deed made perfect sense.

  Leafing through the photos, I marveled over one breathtaking view after the other. Surrounded by mountains and the beautiful blue Aegean Sea, the island was hilly in parts and topped with lush greenery. On the lower lying part of the island and to the east was a stretch of sand that looked to go on for at least a mile. I paused when I got to the photo of the buildings; there was a total of four structures in varying sizes dotted throughout. But there at its center, was what looked to be a house of mammoth proportions. All white in color and with a red tiled roof, it stood in stark contrast to its green surroundings up in the hills. I ran a finger across the glossy photo—for what purpose, I wasn’t sure, but something about the house called to me.

  “Planning a trip somewhere?”

  I startled—nearly dropping the photos when Garland appeared in the doorway of the closet. “Jesus, Garland…” I muttered, breathing a sigh of relief. Placing the pictures on the carpet, I climbed to my feet and wrapped my arms around his waist when he came to stand next to me.

  “Your suitcase is lying on the bed, are you going somewhere?” he repeated.

  Dropping my arms from around his waist, I stepped back to look up at him. “I guess that depends.”

  “Depends on what?” he quizzed, dark brow arched curiously.

  “I want answers, Garland, and you’ve yet to give me any!” I snapped impatiently. “Do you have any idea how frightened I am right now? In the past week, we’ve been shot at—Viktor was actually shot, and the police were just questioning you regarding a double murder! I deserve an explanation.”

  Garland regarded me calmly, before grasping my hand and pulling me from the closet. “Have a seat,” he said after leading me over to the bed.

  Once I’d complied, he sat down next to me. “It is a regrettable failure on my part as your husband, that I haven’t assured you I am fully capable of keeping you safe,” Garland stated solemnly, eyes troubled.

  “I didn’t say that—that’s not what I meant. I’m afraid because I don’t know why all of this is happening, you’ve not communicated that to me,” I corrected.

  “I promised I’d always be honest with you—agreed that if you asked a question, I would answer it. I never promised I’d volunteer that information.”

  I stared at him silently—flummoxed, perhaps even a tad bit impressed. How in the hell did he always manage to twist shit around with a play on words? Garland is a fucking master chess player when it comes to strategically maneuvering around tricky conversations.

  “You’re technically correct—but I won’t play your ridiculous word games, Garland. I expect honesty from you at all times; especially relating to anything regarding my safety or that of our children. You’ve failed to meet that expectation,” I informed him, standing up from the bed.


  “Sit. Down.” He commanded with steel in his voice.

  I froze. Turning my head to look at him, I eyed him defiantly; communicating my refusal.

  “Please,” he added grudgingly, remembering his manners.

  I wanted to be stubborn but reluctantly complied. I didn’t want to fight with Garland—not on this, being a dictator was in his nature. However, I wouldn’t allow his bullshitting me to go unchallenged.

  “I’ve not lied to you, Camry, and I haven’t intentionally withheld information. I don’t yet have all of the answers myself, but I’ll tell you what I do know.”

  After explaining the situation with his former business partner, Andrei Chvetski—and everything that happened afterward, I finally understood the whole Broggs connection. I also realized I didn’t need to know any of the particulars. No way was I asking if the niece’s or Broggs’s claims were correct. Nope. Not asking. Didn’t want to know. I’d clap my hands over my ears if he dared tell me.

  “So, the attempt on our lives—that was the niece? She paid those men to kill you?” I asked disbelievingly.

  That’s nuts.

  “Yes, that was the niece; she used a third-party to arrange it. That same third-party is where Viktor was when he got shot.”

  Ah…yet another little detail I probably shouldn’t inquire about. Why Viktor was there, is likely something I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to know the why of everything—why this was happening, I didn’t desire to become the incriminating evidence vault.

  “It seems Broggs might be a little unhinged, how did he even know where to find you? Should we be worried about him?”

  “Detective Broggs has absolutely no evidence connecting me to a crime—nor did he have the authorization to set up surveillance or haul me in for questioning. I’ll be seeing to it personally, he loses his job after today’s stunt.”