Vengeance Unleashed (The Wanted Men Series Book 1) Read online

  “Not until after midnight. Actually, it’ll be after nine your time.” She stepped out of the elevator and made her way down the threadbare hallway, sandals snapping. “I’ll Uber home from SeaTac and hopefully see you tomorrow…?” If Kevin allowed it.

  “I’ll come early and help you clean. If I can get away this afternoon, I’ll go over and open the house up. It’s going to be stuffy. Sorry I can’t come to the airport—”

  “Nika, don’t worry about it. I know how things are.”

  “Yeah.”

  Eva rested the box on the handle of Caleb’s door to give her arms a break and frowned at the helplessness coming through the line. She’d met Nika in middle school, and they’d remained close all the way through their time at Seattle Pacific University. Nika had gotten her accounting degree and headed straight into the workforce after grad, but Eva—at her mom’s prodding—had continued her education by coming to New York to attend Columbia. Over the last couple of months, she’d never regretted a decision more.

  “Listen, I’ll be home in no time and, even though I know nothing needs fixing, we’ll fix everything right up. Okay?”

  “Okay. I’m dying over here without you.”

  Her nose instantly stung, her eyes watering. Shit. She couldn’t deal with that tone. It was bad enough she was feeling the same thing herself; stark loneliness. Sure, she was going home, but “home” without her mom was just an empty house that Eva now owned by default.

  “Same. But I’ll see you in the morning. ‘Kay?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Hanging up, she tucked her phone away and sniffled, thinking the grief counselor she’d forced herself to see at school needed to find a new line of work. So much for the assurance that Eva would snap back after making it through the five steps of grieving.

  Step one hadn’t lasted long. The moment she’d seen the burned-out shell of their MINI Cooper, there had been no denying a car accident had taken her mom’s life. Dental records had simply confirmed Kathryn Jacobs had been the only one in the vehicle at the time.

  Coming back to New York after the funeral, Eva blew through step two, anger, like a champion, studying for her finals—acing every single one so as not to fail her mom—while raging over the fact that this had happened to them. Okay. To her. It had happened to her, because she was the one left suffering.

  She’d swiftly moved on to check the remaining three off the list, bargaining, depression—she was excelling at that one—and acceptance.

  This shouldn’t be so difficult for her. She didn’t struggle through shit. She sailed. She succeeded. She worked her ass off, did everything right, and succeeded. The perfect student. Perfect friend. Perfect daughter. She normally excelled at everything she did.

  So why couldn’t she master grief?

  She shook her head, wondering if the issue was somehow hereditary. Who knew? She couldn’t ask her mom. Certainly couldn’t ask her sperm donor, who’d abandoned them when she was only a couple of months old. The asshole could be dead, too, for all she knew.

  And if he wasn’t, would he even care that his daughter was alone in the world now, she wondered again, as she’d done so often lately.

  Yet another fruitless way to pass the time in her head.

  Snorting, she shoved the rich Russian prick out of her thoughts and got her ass in gear in case the Uber driver gave up on her and left.

  Taking out Caleb’s key, she unlocked and entered the apartment she’d spent a lot of time in since Nika’s brother had moved to New York. Just like the last time she’d been there, an array of blackened bike parts and the skeleton of a Harley sat in front of the window. Too bad Caleb wasn’t on the floor working on his latest project. His presence would have made it a little less awkward when she jumped after noticing two men standing by the sink.

  Closing the door, she smiled. Caleb had a lot of friends, though these two didn’t look familiar. Only one of them had that biker vibe she’d come to recognize.

  “Good morning,” she offered as she put the box on the couch and listened for any sounds that might indicate their host was in his bedroom or the bathroom. “Is Caleb around?”

  The suit, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, was handsome in an Italian gangster sort of way with his black hair, olive skin, and dark eyes. The edge of cruelty that entered in his expression as he studied her sent a chill down Eva’s spine.

  “You seeing this, Vincente?” he murmured in lieu of answering her question. Or politely returning her greeting.

  She glanced at “Vincente” and saw his darker gaze was centered somewhere over her right shoulder. He had sculpted features, long black hair, and hiding a big, hard body was the expected beat-up jeans, leather jacket—no ODMC patch—and heavy boots she’d come to associate with Caleb’s boys. He was good-looking, somewhat familiar, but too killer-for-hire for her taste.

  “Where’s Caleb?” she asked again, trying to ignore the suit now giving her that invasive once-over she couldn’t stand. When he lingered a moment too long on her breasts, she hid a shudder and forced her eyes not to roll. So obvious. Without even trying, he’d just made the jeans and black tank she’d thrown on that morning feel indecent.

  “What’s your name, bella?”

  Clearly he was the higher up of the two. Maybe the long-haired guy didn’t talk. “Eva,” she supplied. “And you are…?”

  He came over. Up close his looks were without question good, but there was an emptiness in his eyes that spoke of either loss or madness. And, was it her, or had the other guy moved closer as well?

  “Stefano Moretti.” He announced himself with expectation, as if Eva should recognize his name.

  She didn’t. “Nice to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” he murmured as he looked into the box she’d brought. “Making a delivery?”

  “Uh, yeah. I had some stuff to drop off on my way—” She shouldn’t be volunteering information here. Caleb would kick her ass if he heard her after all the warnings and safety tips he’d drilled into hers and Nika’s heads. “Why are you here, Mr. Moretti?”

  “Please, call me Stefano.”

  As he moved away, she glanced at the door, wanting to bolt. But she couldn’t. What if they’d hurt Caleb?

  The quiet guy, she noted, was standing motionless next to the kitchen counter. Actually, not motionless. He was moving. His face anyway. It softened slightly as he gave her what looked to be an attempted smile that barely curved his lips. The quick wink that followed was odd.

  Was he flirting? Did he have something in his eye? Was the wink meant to reassure her that they meant no harm?

  Or was he attempting to lull her into a false sense of security before the assault?

  Twisting her fingers together to stop the sudden sound of her nails clicking—stupid habit—she tried again, this time turning her question into a demand. “Where is Caleb.”

  “If I had to guess,” Stefano finally offered in a bored voice, “I’d say at the clubhouse. Please, sit for a minute. I won’t keep you long.”

  Sweet relief flowed through her. If they knew about the MC and that Caleb spent a good deal of his time at the clubhouse, they must know him pretty well. But she still couldn’t stay.

  “No. I mean, no, thanks,” she corrected, striving to be polite now that she suspected he and Caleb were friendly. “I have to get to the airport.” Bending, she kept them in her periphery as she slipped Caleb’s apartment key inside a back issue of American Rider that was tucked in beside the old carburetor in the box. Not that hiding the key was necessary—since they were already in the apartment. “With the way security is these days, I’m cutting it close as it is.”

  “Taking a vacation?” Stefano inquired when she straightened, making her realize she’d fucked up and volunteered information after all.

  “No.”

  His lip twitched at her one-word response. “Running?”

  She couldn’t swallow her sound of surprise. “Running. From what?”
r />   He shrugged. “Maybe you have something to run to. Or someone. A lover, perhaps? It’s all right,” he said when she blanched. “We’re all adults here. You can speak freely.”

  If she spoke freely, she’d tell him to fuck off, so she kept her mouth firmly closed. And as if she’d casually blab to them about her personal life. More laughable was the idea that she’d ever run to any man. Pfft. After witnessing what love had done to her mom, seeing the misery that had forever lingered in the back of her eyes, Eva had vowed long ago to steer clear, thanks very much.

  “I have to go,” she stated coolly, at the same time heading for the door. She kept them both in her periphery as she left with a muttered, “Have a good one.”

  Stefano Moretti’s dark eyes watched her until the very last second, his parting words slithering through the crack of the closing door. “See you soon, Eva Jacobs.”

  Not if she could help it. Rushing toward the stairs—screw waiting for the elevator—she winced at the racket her sandals made as she traveled the gloomy stairwell—

  She nearly missed a step when Stefano’s goodbye registered.

  He’d called her Eva Jacobs. He’d used her full name. One she hadn’t supplied!

  With the hair on her arms standing straight up, she pulled her phone out and called Caleb.

  “Hey, Priss. Didn’t expect to hear from you until—”

  “Are you aware there are two men in your apartment?” She didn’t bother protesting the nickname he’d been using since she was thirteen that labeled her a Prissy Princess.

  “What. Who? How the fuck do you know that?”

  “I just left them.”

  “What? Are you okay?”

  Not really. “I’m fine, just confused and a little freaked. I came by to drop your things off on my way to the airport and there they were. The one who asked all the questions said his name was Stefano Moretti.” She’d made it down the four flights to the main floor and paused, attempting a smile, as an older woman with a yipping poodle passed her in the foyer. “I can’t remember the other guy’s name. Huge, long black hair. Scary as hell.”

  As she pushed out into the sweltering summer heat and dodged the foot traffic to reach her Uber, the silence in her ear stretched out. Not a good sign. Having settled into the role of protector early on—his and Nika’s parents had both been taken from them by cancer before Nika had turned eighteen—Caleb’s brotherly, hurt-the-girl-and-you’ll-bleed wing had extended to include Eva. The security he offered had always been a comfort. Even if it had made dating in high school a total nightmare.

  “Caleb? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” he growled in his rumbly voice. “I’m here. You should’ve just dumped that shit.”

  Yanking open the car door, she fell onto a seat with zero springs and nodded for the driver to go. “I would have, but I had your apartment key, so I figured I’d drop everything off since I had some time to spare. I thought you’d be home.” Goosebumps popped up on her arms and she lowered her voice to a near whisper. “That guy, Stefano, he knew me, Caleb. He asked my name and I told him Eva, but when I was leaving, he said, ‘See you soon, Eva Jacobs.’ I didn’t mention my last name.”

  An impatient groan sounded. “Aw, for fuck’s sake, Priss. How many times have I told you not to give out your real goddamn name? You didn’t know these fuckin’ guys—”

  “Well, they knew me,” she cut him off again. “Which means they’d have known I was lying anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

  “Yes, it does, Leila,” he insisted, using the stripper name he’d chosen as her alias if she ever needed one. “You should have done as I told—”

  “Listen.” If she let him, he’d lecture her right through her boarding time. “Do you know Stefano Moretti?”

  There was a tense pause. “Yeah. He heads a big organized crime family. Anyone who hangs out in our world knows the name. Never met him personally, but he’s been to the clubhouse. Maybe he saw you there or something.”

  She frowned at the weak suggestion, not buying it. “Why was he in your apartment?”

  “I don’t know. I gotta make some calls and get back to you on that. Get your ass to the airport and get on your plane. Go home. You’ll be good there.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What does that mean? Should I be worried?”

  “Not unless you crossed him in some way or owe him money,” the dummy answered distractedly. “Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe, fuck, I don’t know, Priss,” he repeated, “Could be he spotted you around my building and wanted to check you out.”

  Okay. That wasn’t comforting. “So he broke into your apartment and waited on the off chance that I’d show up this morning? Come on.” She dropped her head to the back of the seat and stared at the stained ceiling as a city bus roared by.

  “Let me see what I can find out. Give Nik a hug for me.”

  She sighed. “Okay. Be careful.”

  “Uh-huh.” He hung up.

  Eva tucked her phone away, and for the first time in weeks looked forward to leaving New York.

  † † †

  Sitting at his desk, Gabriel Moretti lifted his gaze from his laptop screen to stare out his office window. Cloudy skies over a choppy Puget Sound went unseen as Vasily’s voice once again echoed through his head.

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

  And then his own.

  You have it.

  That motherfucking affirmative had been a no-brainer. No way could he have refused his friend and mentor’s request.

  A daughter.

  Vasily’s daughter.

  Her captivating image drifted through his mind and his body reacted. He was screwed. Had been from the moment he’d looked at that fucking photograph of her. And it had only gotten 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. Following his meeting with Vasily, he’d spent a miserable few days watching Eva Jacobs attempt to cope with the staggering loss of her mother. She’d been destroyed at the funeral. But upon returning to New York, he’d glimpsed the Tarasov in her when she’d moved beyond the loss to finish out the semester at Columbia.

  Now, she was on her way home.

  And Gabriel had to get a grip on this. Had she been anyone else, he’d have long ago approached her and scratched the itch.

  But she wasn’t anyone else.

  Tossing his pen onto the cluttered desktop, he leaned forward to scrub a weary hand down his face, reminding himself that he couldn’t break number two on the metaphoric list of rules they all abided by. Sisters, cousins, even good family friends…off-limits. Especially when it came to a goddamn daughter. Disregarding the tenet would obliterate the rare, absolute trust between him and Vasily, and the fallout would no doubt extend to the boys, too.

  Straightening with a jerk, he pulled back up to his desk. He had work to do. This daily merry-go-round head-fuck 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 grunted. 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 fucking day. Maybe even touch on occasion. Just a casual brushing of their fingers as she handed him a contract to sign. Or maybe her 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.

  A knock sounded before his office door opened to show Jakson Trisko, the left brain of Gabriel’s security team, blocking the view out into
the reception area and long hallway.

  Over six feet of ex-military badass, Jak had reconnected on his return to the States from his decade-long stint overseas. He’d gone to high school with Gabriel and the boys in Queens. They’d been tight back then and were even tighter now.

  “Alek is heading this way.” The light from the window glanced off the scar that started at the top of Jak’s right ear and went in a straight line to the corner of his mouth. No corrective surgery for their soldier. Fuckin’ guy looked like he’d been slashed in a brawl and had only enough time to glue the sides of his cheek back together before heading into the fray again. And with Jak, that was a distinct possibility.

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

  “You good for company?”

  “I’m good.”

  Gabriel’s friend/brother/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 frame into one of the black leather chairs that sat in front of Gabriel’s desk. Alek’s bearing was all about lazy relaxation. A careless ease.

  It was a lie. He was lethal.

  As Jak 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 lately. His enjoyment of life had hit the bricks when his love life had fallen apart last year, but at least he’d started trying again.

  “You sent more stuff to the house,” Alek said as he plowed a hand through his disheveled dark-blond hair to push it off his forehead just so it could fall back like it always did.

  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 on the North Shore of 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.”