Avenge: #3 Romanian Mob Chronicles (12 page)

L
ily

I
was
in a daze when I got home, so deep in regret—and my feelings for Anton—that I didn’t even notice the black luxury sedan parked in front of my building until I was on it. I moved to go around, my heart speeding, but when the door opened and Christoph stepped out, I stopped.

“Lily, I expected you at the house today,” he said.

I paused and then started to move, but stopped when he shifted to block my path. I swallowed hard, trying to push away the worry that had sent my heart beating triple time. That worry was not so easily deterred. So I swallowed again, exhaled hard before I dared open my mouth.

“I spoke with Mrs. Constantin, and she said your father was resting and that I should take the day off. Has something changed?”

“No, Father was fine the last I checked,” he said.

“So is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

He shook his head and smiled, the expression far too bright and so happy that it set me on edge. “No. Something I can help you with. After you,” he said, gesturing toward the open door.

No way.

There was no way I was getting into the car with him. Everything inside of me screamed that I shouldn’t. But then I looked at him, saw his hard, uncompromising countenance and questioned if saying no was even an option. I’d try though.

“Mr. Constantin, I—”

“No, Lily. I insist. And you’ll find this interesting and helpful. I promise.”

I’d thought this day was bad, and I had been right. I looked at Christoph Junior again, still saw no hint that he would relent. So I could take my chances, go along with him, or force the issue. Christoph Junior was not nearly as large as Anton, and I doubted he was as strong. But he didn’t need to be. I was more than familiar with my own limitations. I knew I had no chance against him.

I folded into the backseat, almost recoiled when he slid in next to me.

“This won’t take long,” he said, casually tossing an arm around my shoulder.

“If you’d just—”

“No. I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” he said.

Then he went silent, and each second that passed felt like an eternity, the weight of his arm on my shoulders getting heavier with each passing second. When we rode over a bump, the jarring of the car made me realize how tightly I gripped my purse, so I relaxed my hold, tried to get a handle on my fear.

My heart pounded so hard I thought he might be able to hear it, but even though I knew he was probably aware of how tense I was, I would do my best not to confirm it.

When the car stopped, he got out and then reached out for me. I stepped out of the vehicle, ignoring his outstretched hand. But he grabbed me anyway, hand on my elbow, his grip tighter than I would have liked, though any touch from Christoph Junior was more than I would have liked.

The building appeared to be a club of some sort, though it wasn’t open for business. The bars and decor confirmed it, but Christoph Junior kept moving, led me down a flight of stairs into a dark basement.

“Mr. Constantin, I—”

“We’re here,” he said as he opened a door and led me in, then closed the door behind him.

The room appeared to be an office, the desk and chair looking official, the stainless-steel door on the opposite side of the room anything but.

“This way,” he said, tilting his head to the door. I wasn’t going toward that door. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what was behind it, and more, I didn’t want to.

“I should go,” I said, making a step to retreat.

Christoph Junior cut off my path. “No. You should stay. The festivities have just begun.”

He glared at me, the smile on his face only enhancing the menace in his eyes.

“No. I think I’ll go…” I said, voice trembling as I trailed off.

His smile dropped. “I think you’ll stay.”

He grabbed my wrist, twisted my arm behind me, grip tight as a vise. Anton had done much the same before, his grip almost as tight, but not half as punishing. It occurred to me that Anton had had the power to hurt me but hadn’t, something that should’ve been obvious, seemed so now, but that I had missed at the time.

I missed it now, too, welcomed it as the alternative to Christoph Junior’s grip, his thick fingers squeezing my bones until it felt like they would give. I wanted to cry out, scream against the pain, but I didn’t, and instead looked wildly around the room, gaze landing on two men who stood in the corner, ones I hadn’t noticed before, dark eyes assessing me as if I were a curiosity.

There would be no help there, so I didn’t bother to ask, and instead said, “Christoph Junior, what do you want?”

His breath was hot against my neck as he pushed me to walk forward. “‘Christoph Junior’? Are we friends?”

He waited as if he expected an answer, and I bit my tongue to hold back the words. Holding my tongue hurt me almost as much as his grip, but to speak now would forever rob me of the chance to repay him, rob me of the chance to see Anton again, so I stayed silent, hoped that my face and body didn’t show the rage that threatened to consume me.

“No, we aren’t friends,” I said, lifting a hand to the cold door when he stopped.

“That’s right. You’re Anton’s friend, aren’t you?”

I said nothing, just gripped the door as tight as I could.

“You mute now,
iubită
?”

I recognized the word from when Anton had used it, but instead of pleasure, from Christoph Junior it filled me with fear, set off a tingling in my spine that I didn’t want to acknowledge, but that was there nonetheless.

He chuckled, the sound stoking my rage, and then released my arm and palmed the back of my neck, holding it so I was forced to look straight ahead.

I looked through the window, and my gaze was immediately drawn to the middle of the room where he stood, his back to me, his shoulders flexing with movement, though I couldn’t see what he was doing with his hands. I told myself it was impossible to miss him, that my gaze hadn’t been drawn to him by the pull I felt. But whatever made me look, I knew that my eyes were pleading, begging that he turn around.

That he come and save me.

“He can’t see you, can’t save you. But what’s important here is that you see him,” Christoph Junior said, his body pressed against mine, his breath tickling my ear.

I tried to twist out of his grasp, his body touching me, the sickening smell of his cologne making my stomach roll.

He tightened his grip, pressed his face close to my ear. “Behave,
iubită.
You’re not my type, but I can make an exception.”

I shuddered when he kissed the shell of my ear, my skin prickling with the need to wipe at the spot he’d touched, but his grip on me making it impossible.

“I don’t… Why are you doing this?” I whimpered, hating the pathetic whine in my voice, but hoping it would sway Christoph Junior.

“It’s a favor. A courtesy. A nice girl like you doesn’t know what she’s getting into. Falling in with someone like Anton. You two have gotten close lately, haven’t you?”

When I said nothing, he squeezed in warning. “Haven’t you?”

“He’s…kind,” I finally said.

Christoph Junior laughed, the sound rich, full-bodied, the vibration of it reverberating through him and into me. “Kind? Anton?”

He laughed more, and then went quiet, watching as I did as the men below squared off, Anton across from another man. Anton was shirtless now, his face rigid, lips flat in a tense line.

“Watch. See how kind he is.”

Only a few seconds passed between the end of Christoph Junior’s statement and the first punch. The smaller man hit Anton dead-on, connected with his jaw, his body shaking with the power that he put into the blow.

Anton wasn’t fazed at all.

Face still set in the almost placid expression that I had always seen, he stood, silent, waiting. When the man swung again, he caught his fist, squeezing it in his own.

“What do you think so far? Wait. Don’t say anything. You have to see how it ends,” Christoph Junior said, voice buzzing with glee.

I wanted to close my eyes, to turn away, but I couldn’t. Not when Anton twisted. Not when the man’s shoulder collapsed, bending at an unnatural angle. Not when the man fell to his knees.

And I didn’t look away when he dropped the man’s arm. Or when he put one hand on top of the man’s head, the other on his chin. Didn’t look away when he twisted until the man’s head lay atop his neck in a same unnatural angle as his shoulder.

Anton stood, chest heaving, expression still serene. Then he lifted the limp man, flipped him over. I cried out when I saw the man’s face.

It was Paul. Christoph Junior’s lover.

Anton’s victim.

“Almost done. Anton is very efficient,” he said.

I jumped, somehow having forgotten that he was there even though he still held my neck. When Anton picked up the ax, I finally closed my eyes, the truth weighing on me as heavily as the horror I had just witnessed.

I had fallen in love with a monster.

A
nton

T
oday had been tiring
, but I still buzzed with energy, a natural consequence of the day’s activities. When Christoph Junior had given the order, I’d agreed. But I’d also investigated. I didn’t trust Christoph Junior enough to kill on his word alone, doubted that I ever would.

But Paul had been dirty. Had betrayed Clan Constantin by using the club to run his side business without consent and without sharing the profits. Sandu had confirmed it, and Paul had confessed as much, so I’d had no qualms about eliminating him, though I didn’t enjoy Christoph Junior’s smug, self-satisfied smirk when I went back to the office after Paul’s body had been disposed of.

“Good work as always, Anton,” he said, looking like he wanted to pat me on the head.

“I’m in no mood for games today,” I said, not bothering to modulate my tone or make any attempt at being respectful.

“You’re in the mood for whatever I decide, whenever I decide. Today proved that,” Christoph Junior said. Then he swiveled his chair, telling me I was dismissed.

I stared at the back of his head for a few seconds, and then I turned and left. No other man would dare treat me as such, and my first impulse had been to slam his head against a wall till he realized the mistake.

I clenched my fists and walked a little faster, my loyalty to his father and to the family keeping me in check. I tried to remind myself that I was doing this for them and not for him. But I didn’t know how much more of this act I could take. I already had my hands full enough keeping the rank and file in check, no easy feat with Christoph Junior seeming intent on riling them up at every turn.

The only silver lining was that at least if he was screwing with me, he wouldn’t have time to piss off the people who made sure we functioned.

Somewhere along the way, I turned into a fucking mediator, a role I doubted I was suited for. But there was no one else, so it was on me to make sure that this transition went as well as it could.

I was so engrossed in my ruminations, I didn’t realize I had set off in the opposite direction of my home until I saw Lily’s street. I’d purposely decided to stay away. I’d wanted to go to her, badly, but I’d told myself not to, not after today. I didn’t want to taint her home, taint her with the death that I’d wrought. I’d go back to her, of that I was sure, but not when Paul’s blood was still so fresh I could almost feel it on my hands.

However, as her building came into sight, all of those thoughts fell away. A smile burst forth before I could stop it, but I tried to ignore the warmth that bloomed in my chest. This was unprecedented, a feeling I hadn’t expected or had any capacity to deal with, but I wasn’t going to question it.

It was too good, too precious, and I would hold on to it for as long as I could.

I parked and was at her door without too much delay. I knocked, anxious for her to open, and in that moment, I decided she would come live with me. She’d protest, I knew, but I’d eventually have my way. In the meantime, she would give me a key to her apartment. I didn’t like the idea of anything, even something as simple as a locked door, separating us.

After my second knock, she opened the door and I entered, wrapping her in an embrace with one arm as I closed the door with the other.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her, not until I touched her, and her body was in my arms, her warm, soft curves filling a piece of me I hadn’t realized was missing.

I squeezed her tight, and then kissed her, putting the emotion into the touch that I couldn’t say with words.

She returned the kiss, her soft breath and the way she held my arms only giving it that much more power.

But then she broke away, looked up at me with clouded eyes.

I cupped her smooth cheek, stared down at her. When I saw her pinched expression, the angst on her face, concern creeped up my spine.

“What’s happened?” I asked, tightening my hold on her.

She frowned, and then pulled away, moving across the room. And the alarm that I had felt spiked. Everything about her was wrong.

The way she had wrapped her arms around herself as if trying to ward something off.

The way she wouldn’t look at me.

“Lily,” I said, the word hard, as rough as I could remember ever speaking to her since even the very beginning.

She responded to my command, turned her honey-colored eyes to me. And the expression I saw there chilled me.

“What has Christoph Junior done?” I asked.

I waited, mind racing with thoughts of what I would do. I didn’t care who he was, the role that he held. If he had harmed her, he would suffer.

Then he would die.

“What do you do, Anton?” she said, eyes glittering in the darkness, her voice as it always was save the suspicion that silently accused me.

Lily was no idiot, far from it, so she had to know at least some of what we did, what
I
did. But the way she stared at me told me that this went beyond an ephemeral awareness of Clan Constantin.

This was specific.

That thought was chased away by another.

Paul.

She shouldn’t know, couldn’t, but the look in her eyes told me she did. She was waiting for me to respond, searching for any hint of a confirmation, maybe a hint of a lie.

And the lie was there too, the reflexive denial that a lifetime of secrecy had bred. It was anathema to me to speak of Clan Constantin with outsiders, as forbidden as disobedience and betrayal. But what was more anathema, more wrong, was the idea of being dishonest with her.

So I wouldn’t.

I didn’t know how she would respond, couldn’t imagine that it would be good, what I would do after, but I wouldn’t lie to her. But I wouldn’t tell the truth either. Not all of it.

“What do I do?” I asked, repeating her question, perhaps only to buy time.

She nodded.

“Bad things, Lily. Sometimes terrible ones,” I replied.

She didn’t even blink.

After I spoke, I moved closer to her, staring at her intently. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, how she was responding, but she hadn’t run from me, screamed at me to leave and never come back, so tiny wisps of hope started to spring up.

“Thank you for telling the truth,” she finally said.

Not at all the response I was expecting, but I was grateful for her calm. But also on edge that we were having this conversation in the first place. And beyond furious at Christoph Junior for what he was costing me.

“How do you know this? What did he do?” I asked.

“I have to tell you something,” she said instead of replying.

When she looked at me, unshed tears shining in her eyes, my gut churned. I went to her, grasped her hand.

“You’re in trouble? Who is it? Tell me, and I’ll take care of it.”

I meant it, too. I would destroy anyone who harmed her. Anyone.

She shook her head, dropped her arm to her side, disentangling us. Then she met my eyes again. “I can imagine how you’ll take care of trouble,” she said.

There was no censure, no judgment, but the words sliced through me like a knife. Whatever she’d thought of me, whatever she’d believed, had changed. For better wasn’t an option. The only question was how much for the worse.

I grabbed her hand again, squeezed it and then waited for her to pull away, knowing that when she did, it might shatter me.

She didn’t, though. She stayed still, her hand, small, fragile-feeling but possessed with a strength I’d seen in action, laying in mine. It should have been enough that she didn’t push me away. But she didn’t return the squeeze, acted as if I wasn’t touching her at all, as sure a sign of distance as any.

“Lily…” I started, stopped when she blinked and a faint shimmer of tears wet her eyes.

“The thing is, I
am
the trouble, Anton,” she said finally, her face clouding even further.

“Tell me,” I said, squeezing her hand again. Her somber expression, the tears that threatened to spill, told me that I needed to somehow prepare myself, but I didn’t know for what, or how. So I waited, not knowing what she was going to say, but knowing without a doubt I would never be the same.

“I have a brother,” she said.

I nodded, though I was confused. Her family, who Lily was, intrigued me, but the revelation of a brother didn’t warrant the somberness and tension of this moment. “Okay.”

She didn’t seem to hear me as she continued. “His name is Braden. He’s in a permanent vegetative state.”

“I’m sorry,” I said and then went quiet again.

She stayed quiet too, didn’t speak for so long that my patience started to fray. But rather than yelling at her to hurry, I nodded again, sensing that she needed to do this in her own time.

“I never told anyone how he got there,” she said.

“So tell me,” I said simply, wanting to give her what she needed, and in this moment it seemed she needed someone to listen. Whatever she was about to tell me was important to her, which made it important to me.

“It was just us, you know, and he was the best brother, took care of me. But he had his own life, his own secrets that I didn’t know anything about. That seems clear now, but back then I never thought about where the money came from, how he took care of us. I just assumed…” She trailed off, glanced up at me after she’d looked away.

“Christoph Senior did that to him,” she said.

As she spoke, it was like she transformed; the person that I knew, that I loved, wasn’t even present. Instead of Lily, I saw pain and rage so acute that it made me want to step back.

“Why do you think Christoph Senior was involved?” I asked instead.

“I left that morning, like every other morning. He said good-bye, talked about something we had planned for the weekend, I can’t even remember what now.”

I frowned, and I didn’t doubt that she sensed my impatience, but she continued.

“He wasn’t home when I got back, though that wasn’t unusual. But when he wasn’t there the next morning, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know where to look, or even how to look, but I did what I could. I told myself we would laugh about this after he yelled at me for going through his stuff. But I did it anyway, needed to find him.”

She swiped at her face, seemed almost angry at the tears that fell.

“I didn’t find him. But I found a number. By then it was night, and I was desperate. So I called. Christoph Senior answered the phone. Asked who it was. I was scared, too scared to even speak. And he told me, he said, ‘Don’t ever call this number again.’ Then he hung up.”

She shivered, and I could tell she was lost in the memory. And as crazy as it was, I wanted to comfort her, promise her that it would all be better. But I could sense that this story had just begun.

“How did you know it was Christoph Senior?”

“I didn’t. Not for a long time.”

“Tell me,” I said flatly.

“Braden never came home. I went to the police station the next morning. I expected them to blow me off, say that he was out partying or had decided that he didn’t want to be responsible for a teenage girl anymore. But they didn’t. After I gave his name and description, the officer looked solemn, and that scared me more than anything else.”

She drifted to the sofa and sat, but then immediately stood. Then she circled the small living room, body practically vibrating with her emotion.

“They took me into an interrogation room, like one of those on TV, and they asked me all about him, our parents, his friends, how he made money. I don’t remember everything they said, but they eventually told me that they’d found him in a hotel room. He’d been unconscious, presumably from a blow to the head, that he hadn’t woken up, and he was at the hospital now. I refused to answer any more of their questions until they took me to him. I regret that,” she said, finally stopping to stare at me.

“Why?” I whispered.

“I thought that not knowing was bad, and it was, make no mistake. But seeing him, hearing the doctors tell me that he’d probably make it, or his body would, anyway, but they couldn’t say about his mind, couldn’t promise me that he’d ever wake up again, it was horrible. Worse than horrible.”

The tears flowed freely now, and she made no attempt to stop them.

“And so there he was, stuck between life and death. My brother’s body, but not his soul. It was cruel, still is.”

The little heart that I had left broke when I looked at her, my precious Lily alone in the world and carrying a burden that would have broken many far older than her.

As much as it hurt to see her this way, as tragic as her story was, it didn’t answer the question, and instinct told me that there was yet more.

“That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“Part of it,” she replied.

“So tell me the rest, especially why you think it was Christoph Senior on the phone.”

She breathed deep, wiped the tears from her face, and began again.

“So that was it. He was in the hospital for a while, and then he went to long-term care, and I tried to figure it out as best I could. That was a very difficult time. Very…” She trailed off.

“Christoph Senior,” I said.

“It was about a year after…after they’d found him. I was visiting Braden in that horrible place. And the TV was blaring like it always was. I didn’t pay attention until I heard that voice. It was like someone had shocked me. Everything fell away, and I turned, saw him, the man I only later realized was Christoph Senior. He was leaving a police station, and reporters had shoved what seemed like hundreds of microphones in his face, the media crowding around him. It was just a moment, just a low, whispered, ‘No comment.’ But I recognized that voice anyway. Knew he was the one who had answered that phone.”

I remembered that time well. It had been the only time Christoph Senior had been close to capture. He had gotten ambitious, a little sloppy, and had been caught up in an ATF raid. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place, and it had taken resources, time, and the liberal application of pain to make that go away, all of which I had been a part of. I’d been surprised by the oversight and afterward had worked hard to ensure that Christoph Senior and Clan Constantin never faced such a risk again.