A Love of Vengeance

by Nancy Haviland

  Okay. That wasn’t comforting. “So he broke into your apartment and waited on the off chance that I’d show up this morning? Caleb, come on.” She dropped her head to the back of the seat and stared at the ceiling as a city bus passed by, leaving a trail of fumes behind on the hot air. Why did it feel like something was going on, but she had no idea what?

  “Let me see what I can find out.” Caleb’s voice was hard. He was pissed, and she accepted defeat, knowing by that tone that she wasn’t going to get any more out of him until he’d done some digging. “I’ll call you.”

  She sighed, her departure from New York suddenly not something she was dreading.

  “Fine. I’m going home. The mafia goons are all yours.”

  Sitting at his desk, Gabriel Moretti, or Moore as he was now publicly known, lifted his gaze from his laptop screen to stare out his office window. Cloudy skies over a choppy Puget Sound went unseen.

  “I want your word that you’ll see this through for me.”

  “You have it.”

  That stupid, stupid affirmative had been a no-brainer. No way could he have refused Vasily’s request. A daughter. Vasily’s daughter. His friend and mentor’s child who happened to be a lovely—fucking exquisite—woman. His body reacted as it did every time thoughts of Eva Jacobs entered his dirty bastard of a mind.

  He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, hating that his stomach was now one big knot of lust. But goddamn . . . it was understandable considering what she looked like. He was screwed. And not in a good way. Had been from the moment he’d looked at that goddamned photograph. And it had only gotten worse, much, much worse, since he’d seen her in the flesh.

  He tipped his head to the side and cracked his neck before settling deeper into his chair. Any attempts he’d made to smother this obsession had been in vain. After returning to Seattle seven weeks ago, following his meeting with Vasily, he’d spent a miserable few days watching the beauty attempt to cope with the staggering loss of her mother. She’d been destroyed at the funeral. Not surprising, since Kathryn Jacobs had been the only parent Eva had ever known. And as the days went by, turning into weeks as she’d returned to college to finish out the semester, Gabriel had followed her back to New York and watched, falling harder and harder. In lust. With his charge.

  How the hell had he not thrown in the towel and approached her? Taken her?

  Simple. Eva was Vasily Tarasov’s daughter. And Gabriel held no one on this earth in a higher regard than that man. Respected no one like he respected the Russian leader he’d known since he was a kid. A man who’d always been there for him. A man who’d guided him through the murky waters of the organized crime world in a way his own father never had—advising him, showing him that there were paths beyond the crooked, depraved ones many of their associates traveled.

  He tossed his pen onto the cluttered desktop and leaned forward to scrub a weary hand down his face. How would he ever face Vasily again if he were to act on his primal urges? He’d be breaking golden rule number two on the metaphoric list they’d always followed. It would obliterate all the trust the man had in him.

  Sisters, cousins, even good family friends . . . off-limits. Spectacularly so when it came to a goddamn daughter, no matter how exceptional she might be.

  Straightening, Gabriel pulled back to his desk. He had work to do. This daily merry-go-round head-fuck that Eva was causing him wasn’t going anywhere. It’d be back tomorrow. Probably later today, he thought, as he once again read the e-mail he’d been mulling over earlier.

  Along with Ms. Jacobs’s, I’ve attached three other resumes. Let me know who you choose.

  Natalie

  He scoffed. Since the position had been created especially for his charge, there was no choice to make. Ms. Jacobs it was. As TarMor’s very own associate business manager, whom he’d get to see every day. Up close and personal. Finally get to speak with, every day. Maybe even touch on occasion. Just a casual brushing of their fingers as she handed him a contract to sign. Or maybe her sleek, mouthwatering body would sweep against his as he held a door open for her. And she’d smile . . . as he backed her up against the nearest wall, peeled away the sexy suit she’d no doubt be wearing, and did every single dirty thing he’d been dreaming of doing to her for the past seven weeks.

  Yeah. Not happening.

  His cell buzzed, and he snatched it from where it sat on top of an article written in the Seattle Times about a large function being held at the Crown Jewel tomorrow night.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey. You’re not gonna fucking believe this.”

  He sat up at the what-the-fuck he could hear in Vincente’s tone. “What.”

  “Aw, goddammit,” his friend’s frustrated voice ground out. “Gotta go. Make sure you talk to Alek.”

  Click.

  Fuck. Sudden good-byes were nothing new from Vincente. Especially since he worked with Gabriel’s brother, Stefano, and could be pulled away from a call at any moment. But this one had sounded important.

  Gabriel brought the phone down just as his office door opened. He looked up to see Jakson Trisko, the left brain of his security team, blocking the view out into the long hallway with his tightly muscled body.

  Over six feet of ex-military badass, Jak was one of the only two in Gabriel’s Seattle crew that he trusted with Eva’s care. They’d known each other from their New York days, going all the way back to junior high. After leaving high school without graduating, Jak had headed off to join the service. After returning more than a decade later, he’d looked up Gabriel and they’d reconnected. But beneath the arrogant smart-ass he showed the world, the guy was different. And not just in the scars that now peppered his body, most notably his face, where a reminder of war started at the top of his right ear and went in a straight line to the corner of his mouth, no corrective surgery in sight. In fact, it looked as though he’d been slashed in a back-alley brawl and had had only enough time to glue the sides of his cheek back together before heading into the fray again. And with Jak, that would be believable.

  But aside from the obvious, the guy was harder now than he’d been before. No doubt from witnessing his share of horror during his time overseas. Gabriel had hired him on the spot, and Jak now headed the short list of men whom he knew would have his back no matter what.

  “Alek is heading this way,” Jak informed him.

  “Really.” Just the man he wanted to see.

  “Yeah. You good for company?”

  “I’m good.”

  Gabriel’s best friend and business partner—and Eva’s cousin, since Vasily and Alek’s late father were brothers—shoved past Jak, landing a solid elbow to the guy’s ribs before striding across the office and dropping his lean, muscled frame into one of the black leather chairs that sat in front of Gabriel’s desk. His bearing was all about lazy relaxation. A careless ease.

  It was a lie. He was lethal.

  As Jak muttered something unintelligible—but full of profanity—about Alek’s jab and closed the door, Alek’s icy-blue eyes scanned the bookshelves that covered most of the available wall space in the office. His face held little expression, as was the norm. His enjoyment of life had hit the bricks when his love life had fallen apart last year, but Gabriel was pleased that he’d at least started trying again.

  He plowed his hand through his disheveled dark-blond hair to push it off his forehead just so it could fall back like it always did. “You sent some stuff to the house.”

  Gabriel followed his gaze to the barren shelves. “Figured I might as well start.” He’d been in Seattle five years and it still wasn’t home. The house he shared with Alek, Maksim, and Vincente in Old Westbury, a village not far from Long Island, was.

  “The library is already full. Don’t know where we’re going to put anything else. Guess you’ll have to do the same shelving in the Manhattan office.”

  Gabriel nodded and extended his legs, relaxing back in his chair. “Vincente
just called. He said I should talk to you. I thought you were heading back to New York today.” He tapped the heavy ring on his right thumb on the knuckles of his left hand in a steady rhythm, which stopped when Alek sat forward, his mouth firming into that grim I-got-some-bad-news line. After so many years held captive in a business where that look usually meant something had happened to an associate, you were wise to fear it.

  “It seems Stefano dropped in at the biker’s place this morning.”

  Caleb Paynne was a member of the Obsidian Devils MC, the infamous motorcycle club known throughout the world, with chapters in every major city in every major country. After feeling the biker out, and receiving a solid gold referral from the president of the Manhattan chapter of the club, whom Gabriel had known for years, it had been “strongly suggested” that Caleb return to New York to keep an eye on Eva. Given his connection to her, he seemed an obvious choice. Paynne had proven successful in his job of “casually hanging,” keeping a closer eye than a perfect stranger could have without throwing up a field of red flags. But the close relationship Eva and the biker shared had recently started to burn Gabriel’s ass. Just one more reason he was glad she’d successfully completed her stint at Columbia—something he respected, having graduated from there himself years ago—and was returning to Seattle. Today. He glanced down at the Breitling on his wrist to gauge how long before she was due to arrive at SeaTac. He frowned, not happy. She hadn’t even left New York yet.

  “And?”

  “Eva stopped by on her way to the airport to drop off some of Paynne’s things.”

  Roots of jealousy burrowed in Gabriel’s chest. What “things”? And why the hell had these “things” of Paynne’s been left at her apartment?

  “Stefano was still there. Waiting for her.”

  Gabriel showed no outward reaction whatsoever to the added bombshell. But deep down? Oh, deep down he was dealing with a hurricane of holy fuck.

  His brother. In the same room with Eva.

  Goddamn.

  “She okay?” She’d better be okay. Otherwise the world was going to see a bloodbath of epic proportions within the organized crime realm. If anything had happened to Vasily’s daughter, within hours the Moretti organization would no longer exist. The Tarasovs and their Russian counterparts would move in and clean house. But before they could, Gabriel himself would beat them to it and take that fucking abomination he used to call brother down to the blood-soaked ground.

  “She’s fine,” Alek confirmed. “At JFK waiting for her flight as we speak.”

  A sweet relief speared the base of Gabriel’s skull and spread throughout his body. She was safe. Thank God. How could a woman he’d yet to have a single conversation with have this powerful an effect on him? He just wanted to have sex with her, for fuck’s sake. “Did you ask Vincente if they’re looking for some extra muscle? Maybe Paynne was the go-between.”

  Alek shook his head. “The Moretti organization currently has nothing going with the bikers. Not since that weapons deal they did last New Year’s Eve.”

  “So, nothing to do with Paynne. Or the bikers. Or business. Everything to do with her.” His worst fear confirmed. Gabriel had been tasked with keeping her safe from the Russian mob, and he’d turned around and served her up to the Italian one instead. This wasn’t happening.

  “Exactly. Vincente said he couldn’t interfere in the meet without it looking suspicious,” Alek offered, “but she was totally safe. Didn’t turn his back for a second. Said she handled herself beautifully and left after telling them she was heading to the airport.” He raised a hand. “Made no specific mention of Seattle, but Stefano seemed to get this was where she was heading. Asked about a lover. Start to finish, it lasted less than ten minutes.” He sat back in his chair. “So, I guess the question is, how does he know about her?”

  “He still has eyes on me.” Gabriel ignored the urge to hammer his fist on the top of his desk. Disgust at his carelessness attempted to rise up, but he slapped it away. Didn’t have time for that shit. If he hadn’t been so distracted by a killer body and a flawless face, he’d have paid more attention to the things going on around them. And if he’d paid more attention to what was going on around them, he’d have nailed the peeping fuck—whoever he was—and cut off the reports making their way back to New York. “Does Vincente have a lead on who Stefano’s mole might be?”

  “He said they were seeing a private investigator today that he thinks might be our guy,” Alek offered, his tone hopeful. “And I agree. Stefano’s visit today was about recon. If he suspected you were fucking her, he’d have played it smarter and not brought Vincente with him. My cousin would be dead, and Paynne would be tagged as the murderer.”

  Harsh, but all true. His brother had gotten close enough today to kill Eva in the same violent and sadistic way he’d taken the lives of at least three other women Gabriel had slept with. To the rest of the world, the murders had seemed like random killings, three more unsolved crimes for the Seattle PD, as was the way in their world. He and Stefano had kept their business their business. But the photographs his brother had sent Gabriel had let him know who was responsible. And who would be responsible for the next ones, because the calculating lunatic wasn’t going to stop until he’d followed through on the threat he’d made the last time he and Gabriel had spoken five years ago.

  The day I hear you’ve found the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with . . . I’ll be there to take her away from you. The same way you took Adrianna from me.

  Never would he forget looking across that dark warehouse at the raw hatred on Stefano’s face. Guilt was a nasty companion that Gabriel had lived with ever since. Because, inadvertently or not, he was the one responsible for the explosion that had killed his brother’s woman.

  He’d left New York, and “the life,” that same night and hadn’t looked back. He’d always had a hard time finding fault in Stefano’s thinking. Yes, he hated the years-long vendetta—not that he and Stefano had ever had a close relationship. Yes, the looking over his shoulder and the casualties were all one large pain in his ass. He respected it, though. Understood it. Would probably do something similar if the tables were turned.

  But . . .

  Stefano’s vindictive nature was once again reaching out to wrap around others. Involving them in something that should never have extended beyond the key players: him and his brother. Eva should not be in the equation. Knowing she was being pulled in made it clear Gabriel could no longer ignore the vendetta.

  Stefano coming into contact with her today hadn’t just crossed the line; he’d obliterated it. And Gabriel would not allow him to do so again.

  CHAPTER 3

  Stefano Moretti sat back in the cheap, uncomfortable chair in front of the PI’s paper-strewn desk and opened one of the folders he’d just been handed. Thing smelled like French fries.

  Preston wasn’t the most glamorous private investigator Stefano had ever run across, but his work was unparalleled.

  “Pics and info on the other one you wanted to know about,” the PI wheezed through his flabby throat. “Wasn’t easy. The husband keeps her locked up good and tight.”

  As it should be, Stefano thought absently as he scanned the top page in front of him, which was a short bio. Flipping it over, he checked out the photos of a girl with fiery hair, smooth ivory skin, and green eyes.

  It had been Furio, Stefano’s underboss, who had suggested putting the PI onto gathering information on Caleb Paynne. He’d been right. Dangling a threat over the biker’s little sister would keep a lid on any hurt feelings he might have regarding Stefano’s B and E. And she might come in handy if he was in need of information only the biker could give him. Always smart to have insurance.

  Closing that file and flipping open the other in his lap, he narrowed his eyes at the image of Eva Jacobs crossing the street in Morningside Heights, her jet hair flowing over her shoulders and down her slender back.

  She was stun
ning.

  “That’s who you and Vincente had to see before you picked me up?” Furio asked as he looked over Stefano’s shoulder.

  A shared masculine interest surrounded his underboss’s question. “She’s something, no? Gabe sure knows how to pick them.” He hated to compliment his brother but couldn’t fault the guy’s choice in women. Even though something was off with this one. It had taken a while to notice the common theme in the many photos the PI had taken of Gabriel during the past couple of months. But once Preston had identified the unifying thread, he’d brought it to Stefano’s attention. Going back through the file he kept on Gabriel, he’d seen for himself. Eva Jacobs had been somewhere in the background of too many shots for it to be a coincidence. Way too many. The strange part was, they were always in the same area but never really together.

  And even stranger?

  Gabriel’s eyes were glued; Eva Jacobs’s were not. In fact, it was as if she didn’t know he was there at all.

  Something was up. For his self-banished brother to break his own golden rule by repeatedly coming back to New York just to trail behind a woman as she went about her business? Never speaking to her, never in any contact whatsoever?

  What were they missing?

  “Still no connection?” he asked Preston.

  “Nothin’. But I’m workin’ on it,” came the quick promise.

  Standing, Stefano tucked the folder under his arm. “Work harder. You should already be on a flight to Seattle.”

  As he left the stuffy office, Furio fell into step beside him. “I don’t think we should wait,” his underboss said, volunteering his opinion as freely as he always did. Stefano didn’t mind. Saved him from having to solve all of their problems himself.

  “Preston’s close.” As they headed down the narrow staircase, he tried to speak and hold his breath at the same time so he wouldn’t inhale the stale, heavy odor of urine. “We’ll give him a day or two once he reaches Seattle—”