Avenge: #3 Romanian Mob Chronicles (3 page)

L
ily

“
S
leep well
,
Mr. Constantin
,” I said as I smoothed the covers over the old man’s chest.

“Thank you, Lily,” he replied, voice slightly slurred, soft from the morphine I had only just convinced him to take.

Before I’d closed the door, he was drifting, wrinkled face slack, eyes almost completely closed. He reminded me of so many others I had cared for, close to his end but still fighting. An errant flare of admiration sparked before I stifled it completely.

He was a monster, a killer, had had a hand in destroying my world. I wanted to destroy him. There could be no sympathy for him.

For any of them.

I walked as quietly as I could down the hallway and found Adela Constantin in the living room, and another flare, this one of pity, sparked before it too was snuffed.

I felt for Adela, could see the sadness that she tried to hide and understood all too well how painful it was for her to watch her husband fade day by day. But no matter how much I understood, there could be no sympathy, no mercy for her either. She was as culpable as the rest, if not an active participant, then a beneficiary, more than deserving of her pain and my wrath.

“He’s resting?” she asked when she glanced up at me, her expression pained.

“Yes,” I replied.

She glanced away, but I didn’t miss how her eyes were clouded with that familiar worry I had seen too often in others.

Too often in myself.

It was an unpleasant reminder, and despite my admonitions, I felt another bloom of sympathy, one I didn’t stamp out quickly enough.

“I’ll stay tonight,” I said suddenly. She turned her head sharply. “You know, in case he needs more medicine.”

Adela stared at me, and I could see her refusal on the tip of her tongue, but at the last second, she changed her mind.

“Thank you,” she said.

I nodded and headed toward the small bedroom where I slept and where Christoph’s supplies were stored. I lowered myself into the stuffed armchair and sighed.

What the hell had I been thinking? Offering to help, letting my idiot sympathy, the good part of me, the part that Christoph and his family had tried to destroy, rear up and take control?

I should be reveling in his pain, in hers, not trying to relieve it.

Leaning back in the chair, I looked at the machines, the medicine, all in neat rows, the finest that money could buy, and that cold anger, the feeling that had been my only companion, the thing that had sustained me through the years, came back, slow at first, but growing with every moment until that sympathy had passed.

He
had had none of this, had had no one to care for him, while Christoph Senior’s dirty money bought him only the best. Where was the justice in that?

I jumped to my feet, the anger making it impossible for me to stay still. My weakness, the vestiges of the person I used to be, had made me offer to stay, but I’d use this opportunity to my advantage. The house was dark, quiet, and I had the perfect excuse to look around.

Pacing the floor as I waited only seemed to make the time pass more slowly, but sitting was not an option, so I traced a pattern on the intricate brocade rug with even-spaced steps, my cheap black clogs contrasting with the fine woven material.

And as I walked, I thought and planned.

I’d seen nothing inside of the house, but I knew well enough to look below the surface.

I’d known Christoph’s reputation before I’d arrived, and nothing I’d seen, or, rather, hadn’t seen, so far had dissuaded me.

The house was usually teeming with activity, the men who came and went uniformly tattooed, uniformly menacing, and uniform in the way they overlooked me. It was a part of the plan, after all, me presenting a caring, nonthreatening front. And it was working on everyone.

Except him.

I paused as the image of the one man who’d disrupted the pattern popped into mind. I started again, but the man’s image didn’t leave me.

He was suspicious of me, and had made no effort to hide the fact. That didn’t bother me, though. I’d expected—and prepared for—suspicion and worse.

What I hadn’t prepared for and probably couldn’t have prepared for was my reaction to him. I’d thought of him far too often since I’d seen him, had pondered the picture he cast, huge, intimidating, the patches of skin at his wrists inky with tattoos, his physical form so at odds with the fine, tailored suit he’d worn.

And just as often I’d thought of being close to him, touching him to see if he was as strong as he looked, wondered how he might look stripped of those fine clothes, wondered how the scowl that had covered his face might change if I touched him.

I stopped again, chided myself internally. There was no room to wonder about him in any way, especially not that one. There was also no room to worry, to question. My goal here was clear, my plan laid, and any deviation, no matter how intriguing the cause, would get me killed, or worse, jeopardize the outcome.

Purpose again firmly in place, I grabbed the doorknob and turned it slowly, listening for any sounds of life. Christoph Junior was out, and I knew Adela liked to watch TV in the evening but wore headphones so as not to disturb the old man. I hazarded a look out of the door, saw and heard nothing, and risked stepping out.

There were always men here, at least two at the front and back entrances, one in the garage, but so far, at least during the day, they seemed to stay outside, leaving Christoph and Adela be. I’d prayed for this chance, and I wouldn’t let the fear that had my stomach in a death grip, the coward’s voice that whispered in my mind that I could be caught, stop me.

So I stepped out of the room, trying to appear casual, relaxed, like I had every right to be here.

And not at all like I was searching for a way to destroy them all.

I knew the layout of the house well by now, and I followed the main hall toward the heart of the house. No one usually went upstairs, which meant I was primed to search it, anxious to see what I might find. But for now, I would focus on the common areas downstairs.

I walked swiftly, hoping that the urgency in my steps would provide cover should someone discover me, a readymade excuse on the tip of my tongue should my apparent hurry not be sufficient to stop further questioning.

The dining room was my first stop. It was Adela’s domain; I couldn’t ever recall Christoph Senior even entering, but I was determined to explore every inch of this house before my time here was done.

I walked into the room, was again struck by how normal it seemed. The dark wood credenza that held delicate-looking china, the low sideboard, the long ten-person dining table in the middle of the room all things that could have been in any house, anywhere. The expensive but ordinary furniture suggested a wealthy couple lived here but gave no hint of the monsters who lurked inside.

I opened the drawers on the buffet and found patterned plates that looked even nicer than those displayed in the cabinet. And even though I knew little about the finer things in life, I knew that these plates had probably cost enough to fund a year of Braden’s care.

The plate cracking sounded like a gunshot in the room, and I glanced around wildly, waiting for someone to come.

But no one did, and by paces my heartbeat slowed. The plate felt heavy in my hands, the deep crack that split the center silently taunting me for my loss of control. I slid the plate back into the drawer, hoping that I would be gone before it was discovered or that Adela would write it off as an accident.

In either case, this was a warning, a wake-up call. I would have to be careful, and most importantly, I would have to stay in control. It didn’t matter that my gut churned with rage at the thought of Christoph and his men eating off these fine plates, not a care in the world, while Braden wasted away, his mind gone but the shell of his body left behind to torment me.

My chest rose and fell with my heavy breaths, the anger squeezing my lungs so tight I could barely breathe around it.

“Stop this, Lily. Focus,” I whispered to myself.

There was no alternative.

I’d spent the last seven years insinuating myself into this world. I’d started small, patching up a stab wound or two when the victim wasn’t interested in the questions the hospital might ask. Then I’d gotten deeper, provided more and more care, including procuring some of the more embarrassing prescriptions and tending longer-term illnesses. Then three years ago, I’d gone in completely, left my nursing job for full-time criminal care.

All of it had been dangerous, and had I been caught, I would have probably gone to jail. But I didn’t care. Each bullet hole I sewed, every pill I distributed got me closer to Christoph. And now I was here, so close to my endgame I could taste it.

But this would all be for naught, and I’d end up dead, if I slipped again, didn’t stay in complete control.

And Braden deserved better.

Renewed after my little pep talk, I finished searching the dining room. When I found nothing, I swallowed the disappointment that had settled in my throat and headed to the kitchen.

What had I expected? That he’d keep a list of his crimes and associates neatly tucked in the dining room just waiting for me to find?

No, Christoph had been at this for decades, and, as far as I knew, had never had to account for his crimes.

So this wouldn’t be easy, and I couldn’t expect such. Lord knew how hard it had been so far.

I searched the kitchen quickly, found nothing of interest. Not this time. I swallowed that disappointment, too. I was familiar with disappointment and not afraid of it. No, what I feared was failing.

And I couldn’t fail, would do whatever it took to get Braden the justice he deserved.

Even if it cost me my life.

A
nton

“
H
e’s sleeping
,”
Adela said
, not looking up from the spot where she sat next to Christoph’s bed, one she’d been in more and more often recently.

I said nothing, just looked at the old man, tranquil for once, the wheezing he fought to hide, the pain that he could not, both gone, at least for the moment.

“That nurse. Where did she come from?”

Adela looked at me, her expression harsh, unwelcoming, the one that I knew best from her. “We secured her services.”

“And did someone check her out?” I asked, wondering if her answer would differ from Christoph Junior’s.

“That is your primary concern right now? A nurse?” Adela asked.

A part of me marveled at her. She had a rare gift, her ability to make concern a sin, a simple inquiry into an imposition.

Clan Constantin was renowned and feared for its ability to inflict pain, and Christoph himself had taught me a variety of ways to do so, had trained me in the practice until I was an expert. But even among us, Adela was unique. She had the power to inflict torture without ever lifting a finger, could use a person’s emotions against him, find the slightest mental weakness and pounce. It was an ability I had experienced firsthand.

But the time when Adela, when anything, could reach that soft, vulnerable part of me had passed. That part of me was gone now, unreachable, and I shrugged off her intended insult.

“It’s a dangerous time. We have to be on alert.”

“My family takes care of itself, Anton. We always have.”

She turned away then, her message loud and clear.

One final glance at the old man and I left.

Adela seemed as unconcerned as her son, and she’d never had any use for me or my help. But I paid her no heed. I had sworn an oath, given my word, and I would protect my clan for as long as I could, even if some of its leaders didn’t want me to.

I walked down the hall of the house that had never been my home, stopped at the small room at the end of it. I went inside, looked at the supplies that lay there, the machines and medicines that helped keep Christoph’s end at bay.

It usually felt cold, sterile, but there was something different today. I closed my eyes, breathed in the faint cinnamon scent that still lingered in the air.

Then I opened them, glanced around the room until my gaze landed on a bright pink handbag tucked discreetly in a corner. Not that discreet was possible, not in this room that was heavy with impending death and ever-present sorrow.

The bag stood out like a beacon, a warning, almost blindingly bright in the drabness of Christoph’s makeshift hospital.

I stepped over to the bag, grabbed it, turned it over in my hands. The material was a stiff approximation of leather, one that belonged here just about as much as its owner, which was to say not at all. I unzipped the bag and rummaged through it.

Sunglasses, dental floss, an e-reader, two pieces of peppermint candy. A bright pink wallet the same color as the purse.

I dropped the bag and opened the wallet. Thirteen dollars and some change in cash. A debit card. A grocery store discount card. And finally, her license.

Lily Holan.

The name fit her, I thought.

And then I remembered that I shouldn’t care about her name at all. I took note of her address, gathered any other information that might be useful, but then an awareness, almost a real, tangible thing, started to tingle at the back of my neck. A split second later her hushed, honeyed tones filled the space.

“If you tell me what you’re looking for, perhaps I can help you find it,” she said.

L
ily

M
y first thought
when I saw him standing there, broad back to me, my silly pink wallet cradled in his huge hand, the contrast between it and him almost comical, was that I should run.

My second thought was he would catch me.

So I stayed, prayed that gall and a little bit of bravado would get me out of this. Or at least throw him off the trail long enough for me to do what I needed.

Which was why I had made that ridiculous statement, one that seemed even stupider when he turned his icy eyes on me, the flatness there, the lack of any reaction at all, enough to ignite a shiver strong enough to make my bones rattle if I gave in to it.

But I didn’t.

I swallowed that shiver, pushed down the ones that threatened to come after it, and kept my eyes on him. I couldn’t meet his gaze, not if I wanted to keep my wits, so I focused on his massively broad shoulders.

Their strength had been apparent earlier when he’d worn a jacket, but now, only in shirtsleeves, I could see the outline of those shoulders through the material, allowed myself to look down to see where the fabric pulled tight across his biceps and the wide expanse of his chest.

I managed to stop myself from looking farther, and instead lifted my eyes up to rest near his neck, but not before I had caught the glance of the dark shadows under the shirt.

I knew what he was. What they all were. The others, even Christoph, displayed their markings with pride. I wondered if he did, too, wondered what story his tattoos would tell.

Then I mentally shook myself, disgusted at how I had managed to lose sight of what was happening, of who had just been rummaging through my belongings.

He’d find nothing. I made sure of that. But that he’d even felt compelled to look…that meant trouble, something I couldn’t afford. My lungs squeezed a little tighter, anxiety threatening to overtake me.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be looking?” he asked, his voice deep, gravelly, unconcerned, placid enough to lull someone who wasn’t me into as much comfort as would be possible with him.

“Common decency. You’ve heard of it?” I replied.

That last bit had slipped out before I thought about it, and I waited for a heavy moment, breath frozen in anticipation of his response.

“Yes. I’ve heard of it. But I don’t believe in it.”

I’d bet he didn’t. Didn’t seem like the type. Straight to the point, which could bode good or ill for me.

I had no idea which, so I decided to play it straight, because I could somehow sense that any attempt at subterfuge would only rouse his suspicions further.

“So what does that mean?” I asked.

“It means,” he said, as he returned my license to its slot, stuck the wallet back in the purse, and returned the purse to its original home, “that decency, whatever you might think that is, won’t spare you. Not if I find out you’re doing anything other than precisely what you were brought here to do.”

He was suspicious, a trait that was essential in his line of work. But rather than pointing that out, I said, “All I’m doing is caring for my patient. Nothing more.”

He stepped toward me, covering the distance between us in two long strides, strides that only emphasized his power, the barely leashed strength that he didn’t need to display for me to know it was there.

When he stopped in front of me, I lifted my gaze to his, unable to do anything else. He stared back at me, eyes practically piercing my soul. Something told me that if I had blinked, backed away, that I would be over. So as hard as it was, as much as I wanted to wither under his scrutiny, I stayed put, waiting.

“Caring for your patient?”

His deep voice was a low rumble, one that stirred me in ways that had nothing to do with fear and everything else to do with feelings I didn’t dare contemplate.

I nodded.

“Make sure it stays that way, Lily Holan.”

I licked my lips and immediately regretted the nervous gesture. His words had been a threat and not even a veiled one, but the raspy tone with which he’d spoken them curled low in my belly, potent enough to distract my mind from what he said and tune my body to how he’d said it.

I licked my lips again, the action deliberate this time, an attempt to buy some time to gather myself. And, though the shift of his eyes was faint, almost imperceptible, I noticed he followed the motion. I couldn’t tell what he thought, but he’d reacted, no matter how mildly. That knowledge gave me the strength to continue.

“You know my name. What’s yours?” I asked, happy that my voice came out strong.

“Anton. Pray you’ll soon forget it.”

And then he was gone, the room feeling almost huge without his presence there. After a moment, I heaved out a sigh, relaxed the hands I had not realized I’d clenched until just then and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.

Anton.

A complication. I could see that clearly. Both because of his own suspicion, and, more importantly, because of the way he made me feel. My breath came out faster and harder than it had before and my body tingled with awareness, a feeling too close to desire for my liking.

I couldn’t desire him because I despised him and those like him. If I did, what did it say about me, about my mission? I breathed out slow and hard, trying to center my thoughts. That I had to do so only underscored the problem this man presented.

He would be my most formidable challenge.

I breathed out hard again.

But I would meet that challenge, and any others that came with it.

Because I would have my vengeance, and Braden would have his justice.