An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) (23 page)

“There is something in the prep area that needs your immediate attention.”

Paulo’s pale face and urgent stare had Luiz excusing himself immediately. Not that his wife took any notice. He moved at a steady pace around the filled tables, nodding to the odd familiar face, and dropped his social persona the moment he passed through the swinging doors.

“What is it?” he asked Paulo.

“Juan.”

One of the two he’d been told were missing from the meeting Eberto had had this afternoon. A snaky feeling slithered down his spine as they traveled through the busy kitchen and into the prep area, which was a separate room beyond where all the culinary action happened. He saw Eberto first, face puce with rage. Then two more of their men, and then Juan.

“What’s happened?” he asked as he toed his brother’s discarded cigar, glaring at him while he ground the still-burning tip under his heel. Disrespect, oh, how he hated it.

“This!” Eberto shouted. “This happened! Look at him!” He was pointing at Juan’s hands where they rested on his thighs, which on closer inspection weren’t hands at all. Those, in fact, were on the table in front of him, wrapped quite handsomely in a blue box with white—stained a light pink now—tissue paper. On his thighs were stumps wrapped in gauze.

He bent and came into Juan’s line of vision. “Who did this?” he asked, noting the pasty, sweating pallor of the man’s normally bronzed skin.

“Fucking Kirov did this!” Eberto shouted, his voice ringing clear.

“That’s enough!” Luiz barked at his brother. It was past time these tantrums of his ceased. “You shouting loud enough for my customers to hear you will aid no one. Now find some control or leave the room.”

Eberto’s pockmarked face shook with the effort it cost him to do as he was told.

Luiz went back to Juan. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I woke up . . . Kirov’s boy was there . . . took me to a place . . . Sal was there . . . They killed him . . . Said to leave Martin alone . . . my chest.”

“Those fuckers!” Eberto hissed. “Who the fuck do they think they are to do this? They killed Sal and now have the balls to warn us off that bitch who—”

Luiz held up a hand. He didn’t need a recap. “I’ve told you before, Eberto,” he said calmly as he reached out to undo the buttons of Juan’s cheap button-down. “You can’t take these things personally. It’s business. Why they went so far as to prove their strength when I’ve given them no reason, I don’t know. But I might have to take this as a lesson. Learn from them and do something similar the next time I feel the need. They have our attention—do they not?”

“That bitch is mine. That fucking troublemaking bitch who can’t keep her nose out of shit that doesn’t concern her is mine! I should have taken care of her long ago. Fucking troublemaker. She’s gonna be sorry . . .”

Before he opened Juan’s shirt and looked at his chest—if this was even what he’d meant—for all Luiz knew, he could be speaking of a treasure chest somewhere, he turned his attention to his still-chattering brother.

Sighing, he waited for a break before cutting in. “How long ago should she have been taken care of? We only found out about her double cross last month. And what do you mean she’s yours? Were you thinking I was going to share her with you had the Tarasovs not gotten involved? You should know better than that, Eberto.”

“So we just swallow this?” his brother spat without acknowledging anything he’d said. “On top of swallowing Kirov practically fucking her in front of us all the other night? How much are you going to take from them?” he demanded. “I say we get that bitch and her fucking kid alone, fuck them up, and send them back to the Russians in body bags.”

Luiz stepped around Juan, placing a hand on the guy’s trembling shoulder. “Call the doctor,” he said quietly to Paulo, who’d been hovering next to a stack of stainless-steel bowls. He moved directly in front of Eberto and caught his wild stare. “What kid?”

Eberto stood there and sniffed, and Luiz grabbed his hand when he went to shove it in his pocket.

“Not now. Before that bump, I think it’s time you told me why you’re so passionate about this situation with Ms. Martin. Is there something going on between the two of you that you failed to mention to me?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Because unless she has personally screwed you over in the worst possible way, you should not be talking such nonsense about sending anyone to the Russians in body bags. Not unless you’re willing to end up in one yourself.” As if this situation was worth the trouble a move such as that would bring. “This is the Tarasov organization we’re talking about,” he continued, “with the Moretti family thrown in as an added layer of protection. And remember, it’s the younger brother running things now, not Stefano, so it’s a whole different game. Did you not see Gabriel’s guard dog the other night at Rapture? Vincente Romani is exactly as he looks. Malefic. He’s dangerous. They all are, and you’d be wise to remember that.” He found himself chuckling. “That was quite an impressive showing, though, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eberto cut in, looking confused as he jerkily moved away a few paces, putting his back to the room so he could withdraw his vile to fill each of his nostrils despite being told not to. Forever ready for an ambush, Luiz thought around his growing anger as he waved a hand to dismiss their conversation.

“What child did you refer to a moment ago?”

“Martin has a son.”

He stared at his brother. “A son. How do you know this?”

“I checked her out.”

“Quite thoroughly, it seems. Have you had her under surveillance?”

“Yeah. For a while.”

“Personal surveillance, Eberto?” he inquired with a sinking feeling. “Eberto?” he pressed when he didn’t receive an answer.

“Sometimes.”

Dammit.
“And who have you had watching her those other times?”

His brother blinked. Caught. “Okay. So what? I watch her. So?”

“Why?”

“Because she fucked us—”

“It was business,”
he stressed firmly, without waiting to hear the usual nonsense as a cover for what had clearly become another fixation. He went back to Juan and reached forward to draw the panels of his shirt apart.

The sympathy he was feeling for the man, and everything attached to it, disappeared. He could have sworn he smelled sulfur in that moment, and his vision shook with true fear.

Every one of Luiz’s living family members, each name, had been carved into Juan’s flesh, right down to Luiz’s five-year-old boy.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he spun to see two more of his men enter the room, interest in their expressions. Realizing his reaction was being observed, Luiz gathered himself as best he could and brought his focus back to Juan’s face. Eberto, having noted his alarm, had come around and was now standing next to him, staring at that list of names. All Luiz held dear.

“Why did they send this message to me?” Luiz asked Juan, hoping the man wouldn’t pass out before he offered some answers. As it was, he was weaving on the chair and now sweating profusely. Clearly whatever meds the Russians had administered were wearing off.

“The b-bomb.”

Luiz frowned around his thudding heartbeat.
The bomb. What bomb?
“What?” He must have misheard.

“Do you really have to ask why they’ve done this?” Eberto spat. “Because of that bitch.
She’s
the one responsible for this. If we take her out of the equation, everything else will go back to the way it was.”

In his head, Luiz raised a gun and shot his brother point-blank through the heart for the utter stupidity he’d just spouted. As he begged his mother’s forgiveness for his thoughts, he counted to ten.

When calm enough, he bent again to Juan. “What bomb?”

“Luiz, I mean it—who cares?”

Straightening with a snap when his brother interrupted again, he rounded on him. “What have you done?” he demanded. “Your continued interference reeks of guilt. What. Bomb?”

When Eberto simply glared at him with that curled upper lip he so hated to see, he made his fantasy a reality and lifted his SIG Sauer, pointing it right at his brother’s throat. “Have you gone over my head, Eberto? Have you forgotten what I told you the last time you did that? Remember when I had to deal with the Asians on your behalf? I told you I would kill you if you ever put me in that position again. But I may not get the chance if I can’t salvage this. And I can’t salvage this if
I don’t know what you’ve done!
” he shouted. Luiz did not normally raise his voice, and the fear that entered Eberto’s expression proved it. “Now,” he said, quiet once again. “It seems you’ve brought two powerhouse organizations down on me, and I’d like to know how and why you did that, my brother.”

He lowered his weapon and waved his men out, hoping the privacy would get him the whole story. Once they got Juan mobile and gone, Eberto took out a fresh cigar that he did nothing but play with for a minute. Strangely, he then shook his head and went for the door, but Luiz, naturally, stepped into his path. There was a dejected, beaten look in Eberto’s eyes that he’d never seen before.

“I need the file so you’ll understand. It’s in the car,” Eberto said.

“What file?”

“The one the PI that I hired a couple of years ago gave me.”

Realizing this was much more involved than he’d originally thought, Luiz moved aside. As Eberto went out to get the information he felt he needed to explain this disaster, Luiz wondered if he shouldn’t start making arrangements to have his loved ones brought to the airport and put on the first flight to Mexico.

It wasn’t until five minutes had passed and then ten, those ten turning into fifteen, that Luiz knew he’d been snowed. By his own flesh and blood. Again.

His rage battling with trepidation, he took his phone out and started making calls, putting off the most important until he’d put his affairs in order.

Talk of business reigned, and, during a lull, Maksim asked Caleb about his sister—as he always made sure to do in order to let the biker know he wasn’t shying away from his sins against her. Caleb, the dagger tattoos on his neck warping as he cracked away some tension, was gruff with his response. The fresh scar across his forehead that reached from his hairline to his right eyebrow wasn’t the only one he’d been left with after his time with Kevin Nollan. There were invisible ones, too. Guilt emanated from him, and that was understandable since Nika’s husband had originally targeted her because of Caleb’s refusal to accept him as a brother in the motorcycle club.
Poor sucker
, Maks thought as the biker grew quiet and slumped down with only his beer for company.

Maks took that as his cue and checked his watch as he said his good-byes. It was 3:45 a.m.
How the fuck is it already 3:45 a.m.?
he wondered as he entered his office.

Shrugging on his coat, he headed out, not looking forward to the drive to Old Westbury. He had some clothes in the bedroom off his office but not complete suits. Plus there were some research sites he wanted to visit—hack—from his home IP address, which had been rerouted to within an inch of its life. It could not be traced.

And he would never admit this to a soul, but he was in need of the familiar. His basement. His stuff. His monitors and keyboards and equipment. All those little things that brought him comfort.

Remembering Vasily’s warning at the last minute, he went back into the club and dragged Micha away from a quiet card game being played at one of the tables tucked away to the side of the bar.

“Safe house?” Micha asked as they settled into the Hummer.

“No. Her house.”

Maks drove down the alley and pulled out into the sparse traffic, heading for Club Pant.

“We’re going to Pant?”

“Yes. I need some information that she’s not willing to give. So I’m taking it.”

“Oh. So we’re going to invade her privacy by breaking into her place that’s currently closed because of a car bomb someone planted in her vehicle in an attempt to kill her?”

Maks frowned, feeling a thin layer of shame settle over him. Had Sydney felt shame when declaring herself to her boyfriend after having come in Maks’s hand? “What’s with the recap?” he snapped as they rounded the corner onto Sydney’s street.

“Just clarifying.”

For nothing, it turned out, because the police presence around the club was four officers too many for Maks to comfortably risk his ass for information he was just going to have to demand Sydney give him herself.

Hopefully by morning he wouldn’t feel the need to tear into her for her deception. As it was, if he had her in front of him right now, he’d give her a lesson in loyalty she’d never forget.

Driving past her darkened club, he turned the stereo on and aimed for the freeway that would take him home.

CHAPTER 13

NYPD Detective Lorenzo Russo entered the emergency department of Coney Island Hospital, tired and ready to call it a night, his jaw hurting, his teeth hurting—both from grinding. He wasn’t looking forward to this. Had agreed to do it, in fact, only because it fell under the shadow of “the job.” But this favor for a buddy in a neighboring precinct veered over into something a little too personal for Lore to be completely comfortable with it.

Ridiculous, but he felt . . . disloyal.

He scoffed quietly as he came up to the desk that had a half-dozen milling nurses behind it, Kirov’s voice ringing in his head.
If the shoe fits, asshole
, Maksim would say. Had they still interacted with each other, that is. Which they didn’t.

There had been no way things could have stayed the same after that final summer spent hanging out around their old neighborhood in Queens. That last day they’d been sitting on the front stoop of Lore’s family’s brownstone, shooting the shit, when the mailman had come by. Lore, who’d been eighteen then, same as the others, had taken the mail out of the box and flipped through it because he’d been waiting for something. He’s been unable to hide his excitement when he saw it had arrived.

What’s that?
Gabriel had inquired, his big body relaxed, leg swinging over the ledge he’d been sitting on.

Lore’s excitement had dimmed in the face of the announcement he knew he had to make; he’d looked around at the faces now waiting for an answer: Gabriel, Vincente, Maksim, Alek, Jak, and Tegan—the only girl privileged enough to be allowed in their group. This had been his crew for years, and now, because of an itch he couldn’t ignore, he was about to ruin his relationship with his best friends.

It’ll be my acceptance into Nassau County Police Academy.

The disbelief on their faces had soon turned to shock, and then everything had gone still. Lore would have sworn betrayal had a scent, and in that moment his nose had been full of it. A glare or two had been settled on him as they stood. Not from Gabriel and Tegan—though in her case that had been because she’d been paying more attention to Jak than anything else, as was usual. Gabriel had come down a couple of steps to put them at eye level.
Is this your choice, or your old man’s?
he’d asked.
Mine
, Lore had told him. G had then put his hand out and waited until Lore took it before saying,
Then congratulations. I hope you’re happy with it.
He’d spooked the fuck out of Lore then by grabbing his nape and kissing both sides of his face.
Stay safe, Lore
, the underboss-in-training had murmured before walking away. Vincente and Jak had also shaken his hand and muttered their congratulations. Alek, too, though his had been gracious and had accompanied a sad smile. Tegan had descended the stairs and given him a hug and a wink.
They’ll come around, Lore. Don’t worry. Good luck in training
, she’d said before joining the boys a few yards up the sidewalk, where they were waiting for Maksim. The big guy had come down and stood there, towering over him, shaking his head.
It sucks to feel like you have been fucked over by someone you trust
, he’d drawled in his say-it-like-it-is way. His Russian accent had been thick back then. He’d leaned down and, in a tone reminiscent of the Hudson in February, had delivered a warning instead of congratulations.
Do not come near my family when you get your shiny badge, Russo. Because I do not care who you are; I will do whatever is necessary to protect them.

Slamming the trapdoor on his happy memories, Lore caught the eye of one of the male nurses. “Dr. Mancuso on tonight?”

“You’ll probably find her on her way back from the cafeteria. She’ll be finishing up her four-minute break.”

“Thanks, man.” He tapped the desk and walked off, heading through chaos toward the artery that would eventually branch off and get him where he needed to be.

He took out his phone and looked down at his notes, scrolling through, and, yeah, this could get awkward. Did he have the skin to head to Club Pant if this didn’t pan out and play friend to his now enemies as he’d decided to do? It was the only real option he had if he wanted to help. As he put his phone away, the Australian owner of the club came to mind. Sydney Martin, possible partner to Maksim Kirov—brave girl—according to the Manhattan precinct. Lore doubted she was a dummy. Probably wouldn’t even see him if he didn’t casually drop the personal connection. He also doubted he’d be doing much but sitting there listening to a pretty mouth rattle off a whole lot of I-don’t-knows if he came across as just a concerned cop. Even if he did stress it was off the record, he thought as he rounded a corner.

“Well, they’re both in my ER, Jerry. You have the blood and pee, so forget about your break and get me—oomph!”

Lore shot out a hand and grabbed the bitching doctor, who was too busy looking at a chart—while she held a phone to her ear with her shoulder—to watch where she was walking. She’d just slammed into his chest, making the scent of berries surround him as her phone clacked to the floor along with the chart in her hands. He held fast to her upper arm, saving her from falling on her ass from the impact of their collision.

“I’m so sor—” Eyes as blue as the Mediterranean flashed with recognition, and the sorry that had been forming on an even prettier mouth than the Australian’s morphed into his name. “Lorenzo?”

Something in his groin perked up, looking to say hello, but he willed it away. “Tegan. You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh, no, actually I’m not. I’m dealing with a husband who just wrapped him and his wife around a telephone pole. He’s high; I know it but can’t yet prove it. And I’m this close to having to release him.” She put her finger and thumb an inch apart.
Pretty hands
, Lore noted for some odd reason. Her nails were short and neat, painted with a brown-and-orange pattern in honor of Thanksgiving, which was fast approaching. The nails on her ring fingers had white flecks added to make them look like turkey tails.
Cute.

“Did you call the hospital’s NYPD contact so he could go through the car?”

Those blue eyes connected with his again, and one blonde brow rose with a haughtiness that had his lip quirking. “Of course,” she said as she went down. “I also remembered to make sure he was present for the urine sample.”
Sarcasm.

He went down with her, picking up the chart while she gingerly turned her phone over to see a screen like a spiderweb.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, fuck,
fuck
.” Her head whipped up, and she looked at him as if she’d already forgotten he was there.
Flattering.
“Sorry. I mean, your brother . . . Oh, forget it.” She held her hand out for the chart, and he passed it over, but not before he saw her blinking rapidly, as if she was trying not to cry.

Tegan Mancuso? Crying? Seriously?
He didn’t believe it.

They straightened and moved to the wall as an empty gurney was pushed by. It came to a stop, and the attendant, a big guy who reminded Lore of Barry White but meaner, looked down at Tegan.

“You gonna be at the court later, T?”

Fucking guy
sounded
like Barry White, Lore thought, not really surprised.

“Not today, Perry,” she mumbled with a shake of her head that had her golden hair shimmering in the fluorescents.

“Chin up, baby.” A big hand came out to clip her gently under the chin, and she looked up, head tilted, and smiled at the goon. “The big man upstairs has a plan for all these souls you lose. They’re better off up there than we’ll ever be down here. Don’t forget that.”

She nodded. “Thanks for the reminder.”

As the guy left with his gurney, all four wheels of which were surprisingly steady, Tegan looked up at Lore. “Did that sound familiar to you? It should have,” she said without waiting for him to answer. “Perry and his family are in Michael’s congregation. If I’d have said you were the Father’s brother, you’d have had your ribs broken just now in a hug sent straight from heaven.”

Lore’s brother had that effect on people. “Thanks for saving me the bill.”

She smiled faintly. “No problem.” After a slight pause, she let him know where her head was at. “The wife was five months pregnant. We lost the little peanut.”

Her patients.
“I’m sorry, Tegan.”

She nodded as she slipped her cracked phone into the pocket of her white lab coat and sighed long and low. Lore identified with that sound.

“I hear ya. My night was the same,” he admitted before he could catch himself.

She looked at him for a moment, her gaze funnily enough lingering on his mouth for a second too long. “A lot of death tonight,” she said quietly, her tone far, far beyond sad. “I hate nights like these. Two heart attacks, that little guy taken before he even had a chance, a drowning victim, and a suicide I couldn’t save. Makes me wonder why I do what I do.”

Having grown up with a little sister who wore her heart on her sleeve, Lore was somewhat at ease comforting an upset female. He didn’t even think about it before reaching out and running a hand up and down Tegan’s upper arm. With Ashlyn, he’d always found that a light touch worked wonders. Most times she just wanted to talk. Get things off her chest. Staying silent and simply listening was something he’d perfected. And since he and Tegan were old pals, it felt like the right thing to do.

“I’ve been waiting for over an hour for a simple drug test that should have taken twenty minutes but didn’t because some lazy ass wanted to take his allotted break early just because he can. Why are people so selfish? And now I have to leave because my shift is over. Effing chief of staff is on my ass about too many hours.” Her eyes widened, mouth forming a little
O
, and the front of his jacket and his gray long-sleeved tee, as well, were grabbed in a completely unprofessional way. “You could help me. You’re still on duty, right? Go to the lab and stand over Jerry’s lazy ass and tap your watch. Wear that I’m-not-going-to-take-your-shit expression you perfected when we were fifteen, and I’ll have my screen in no time. I can’t let that asshole walk out of here, Lorenzo. He killed his child,” she finished in a hushed tone.

The sight of her upset, the sudden glimmer of tears on her lashes, had him pulling her in. Again, hugging a crying female was ingrained. “If it won’t get me kicked out of here on my ass, I’ll take a walk and see what’s taking so long.” She laid her head on his pec, face in, so that her breath warmed his throat. And, uh, this didn’t feel as it did when he offered Ashlyn comfort. Not at all. “I know this is annoying to hear—because I hate when my chief says it to me—and it’s probably going to come out sounding condescending, but I’m going to say it anyway. You’re tired, and shit’s getting to you. If you go home and rest, clear your head, it’ll all come together when you get back in. The loss will be there still, but you’ll be better able to handle it.”

She shook her head and looked torn between anger and sympathy. “It won’t come together for that woman staring up at her husband with a mix of love and accusation in her eyes. She knows, and I think she’s going to stand by him. As much as I get that, it still makes me furious.” She drew back with a pat to his ribs. Her fingers stayed to play with the zipper on his jacket pocket. “I’d like to give her a shake and tell her to open her eyes.”

Yeah.
Lorenzo understood the urge.

Tegan shook her head hard, causing the scent of berries to plume again. “Know what? You’re right. I should listen to my boss and get gone.” He saw the effort she was making as she smiled up at him. And fake or not, the expression was a winner.

A chuckle escaped him. If she were vomiting on his shoes, he’d consider it a win when it came to this girl. She’d always had that effect on him. All through high school he’d been attracted to her. But then Tegan Mancuso was a funny, beautiful, cheerful girl who’d attracted everyone with no effort at all—guys and girls alike. One just wanted to be around her, soak up her positive vibe, or whatever they called the good feelings she let off. Lore was finding nothing had changed in that department. Not even fifteen years later.

“You’re heading home?”

She nodded.

“You have anyone there for you?” He seriously wasn’t digging; he was honestly concerned about her going home alone feeling as she did. One never knew when the pressure would become too much. He’d experienced overload himself a time or two and knew it wasn’t wise to be solitary when it hit. The worst thing one could do was settle into his or her own head.

She drew away from him completely, and he frowned when she fingered his badge that was clipped onto the waistband of his jeans. “I can go out to Old Westbury, but I’m not up for the drive.” Her arms fell to her sides, and she shrugged. “I’ll just use my place nearby. There’s no one there, but all I’m going to do is try to sleep anyway because I’m back on in twelve.”

Fuck.
That was a sound bite from his life. And no, he didn’t get a sick feeling at the Old Westbury comment. He knew whose house she was talking about. Still didn’t know whose room she slept in, though. At the reminder, he should fuck off down that hallway and not look back. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t even picked her brain about the bombing that had taken place this morning. Also, and more importantly, he found he couldn’t walk away from her when she looked as though she was taking every death she’d seen tonight as a personal failure. Her compassion as a human being was a beautiful thing.

“Do you want me to drive you to your place?” he asked.

She shook her head again. “It’s only a few blocks. I walk.”

“Then I’ll walk with you. Go get your things, and I’ll meet you on the sidewalk outside the ER.” He turned her and gave her a nudge with his knuckles on the small of her back.

“You don’t have to do that, Lorenzo.” She turned back and tried to smile again, but it came out a distracted half attempt. “You’re probably as wiped as I am.”

“If you go grab your shit without another word, I’ll take a swing by the lab and light a fire under your buddy’s ass about that drug screen.”