Avenge: #3 Romanian Mob Chronicles (5 page)

A
nton

W
hy did you touch her
?

That thought was my constant companion as I drove from Christoph’s to my own house, changed, and then went to the meet destination. Going to the house had been a whim. I’d had some notion that seeing Christoph would center me, remind me of the rules and promises I had dedicated my life to.

It had, in a way, but the effect was muted to almost nothing when I touched her, my fingertips tingling where they’d rested against her shoulder. I hadn’t even touched her skin, but the contact had my body alive, all of it wanting her.

In those few moments, I hadn’t seen an interloper, a caregiver, a distraction. All that had been there was a woman, one who I desired with an urgency that bordered on need, one who tested my equilibrium without even seeming to try.

I’d shown up several hours early, and now waited, consciously turning my mind from Lily—the nurse, I corrected quickly—to the task at hand.

That dampened any thoughts of the nurse and reminded me of how bad this had the potential to be. I’d always thought Christoph Junior was the smart one. We’d had many a drink over Petey’s antics, had talked about whether the renowned Constantin intelligence had simply skipped over him.

But Christoph Junior was quickly proving my original opinion wrong. Sure, he had always been spoiled, petulant, but I hadn’t expected anything less. He was the first son—first legitimate son—and had been accustomed to being treated as such. This, though, this was pure hubris. A tiny taste of power had gone to his head, and right now, I was stuck making sure he didn’t make a mess, knew it would fall on me to clean it up if he did.

A stir of activity drew my attention, and I watched as four guys went to the designated spot. No surprise they came in numbers. I would’ve done the same, not that I would have ever put myself in this position.

Still, I watched, observing. They seemed off, nervous. And they shouldn’t have.

Despite the recent upheaval, the Peruvians were no strangers to the drug trade. At worst, this should have been an average, ordinary day. That it wasn’t told me all I needed to know.

So I waited, watched, making sure I was unseen. And as the minutes passed, their agitation increased. More than one phone call was made, and though I couldn’t quite hear them or understand what was said, I sensed the urgency in the call.

At two, an hour after our scheduled meeting, a black SUV pulled up, and a man emerged.

He had
cop
written all over him, and after a quick conversation with the four, he got back into the car and sped off.

It had been a setup.

Just as I had suspected.

In that moment, I was more than grateful for my natural caution, knew that waiting here at the meet location, observing who was there before I offered myself up on a silver platter, had been my salvation, at least tonight.

I shook my head in disgust, grateful that I had listened to the instinct that had told me to be wary. I waited for forty-five minutes after the Peruvians left, and then I drove, headed directly to Christoph Junior.

He wasn’t at the club, so I went to the house, hoping he was there despite the hour. All was quiet, still, though I sensed an undercurrent of tension in the air. I walked down the hall toward the old man’s room, and when I heard Christoph Junior’s voice, low, insistent, filled with anger so like the anger that coursed through me, I knew I had to act.

I ran down the hall.

L
ily

“
W
hat are you giving him
?”

I glanced over at Christoph’s son, who stared at me with scorn and suspicion.

“Fentanyl. Something stronger for the pain,” I said as I continued to fix in place the gel patch that contained the pain medication.

“Why? You think my father is weak?”

His words had a dangerous edge, one that was out of proportion to the conversation, and one that put me on edge.

“No. I think he’s very strong. But even the strong feel pain. Agony, probably, for someone in his condition. And the morphine isn’t working anymore. This new medicine may not even help much. But it’s the best we can do.”

After I finished, I lingered, hand on the gel patch, but then, I finally turned to Christoph Junior, keeping my eyes averted, not cowering, but trying to be nonthreatening as well. This was an unexpected development, one that made me both happy and worried.

Christoph Junior was nervous, anxious, and anything that made him suffer, made any of them suffer, was welcome. But nervous could also mean dangerous, and right now I was the focus of his attention. I stayed still, calm as he watched me, knowing that whatever he saw, was thinking, had little to do with me and more to do with another problem, hopefully a big one.

He watched me, his face unreadable save the clear anger, the slightly unhinged air that I had somehow missed before.

I wouldn’t give Christoph Junior, any of them, the satisfaction of looking away, but his scrutiny was unnerving. When the door opened, I almost cried out in relief, but the sound died in my throat when I looked at Anton, saw his anger, the expression unlike the usually unruffled look he most often wore. Even his clothing was different, the expertly tailored suit replaced with dark cargo pants and a dark T-shirt.

My gaze lingered on his shoulders, and though I told myself it was only to avoid looking at his face, the clench in my womb at the sight of the shirt stretched tight over his shoulders, clinging to his chest so that the sculpted muscles underneath wouldn’t let me believe the lie, and instead said that I lingered there for the pleasure of the sight alone.

He was my enemy. I hadn’t forgotten that, wouldn’t, but the woman inside me, the one I had neglected and ignored, didn’t seem to care.

Not even his stance, his always rigid posture just a little more rigid today, his always unsmiling lips turned down into more of a frown, his eyes, deep, almost fathomless but still bright with displeasure, could dissuade me.

“
Vreau să vorbesc
,”
Anton said.

Hmm. So Anton wanted to talk to Christoph Junior without me around to hear. Neither of them looked at me, but I could tell both, especially him, were acutely aware of my presence. And then they were gone.

I stood in the room, the sound of Christoph Senior’s machines faint under the pounding of my own heart. He’d looked so dangerous and so desirable when he’d stepped into the room…

No, I needed to focus.

I didn’t know what was happening, but whatever it was, I was going to find out. So, trying to push down the frustrating and unwanted lust that had sprung up when I laid eyes on Anton, I creeped to the door, poked my head out, and then followed the sound of voices before common sense could stop me.

They were easy to find. Or rather, Christoph Junior’s was easy to find. He yelled, loud, the sound interspersed with an occasional low murmur from Anton. Though he was quiet, I didn’t miss the anger, near rage, in his voice.

I crept ever closer, and their voices got louder. I cursed myself for not trying harder to learn Romanian. I’d picked up a conversational phrase or two, but outside of an occasional word here or there, I couldn’t follow what they were saying.

I stood next to the door, leaning forward as if being closer would help me understand.

And then suddenly, the door opened and Christoph Junior slammed out. I shrank back from his wild-eyed gaze, my heartbeat ratcheting, but he, after a beat, passed me by.

So I turned, intent on hurrying back to Christoph Senior’s side.

“Stop.”

The single word delivered in a deceptively calm voice froze me in my tracks. My heart, which I had thought was pounding before, sped so fast, it left me light-headed. My mind screamed at me to keep moving, but I couldn’t. I was stuck, frozen by the word.

The seconds ticked by like hours, the fear that raced through my blood was only intensified by his complete silence. It was only when Anton stood in front of me that I even realized he’d moved.

“What were you doing? Eavesdropping?”

As terrified as I was, I didn’t miss the gravelly sexiness of his voice. He spoke evenly, calmly, like this was a casual conversation, maybe even a seduction.

Nothing in his voice or in his stance gave away the truth of the situation. I was in a gangster’s home at three o’clock in the morning, and I’d been caught somewhere I shouldn’t have been.

This story wouldn’t end well, a conclusion that was only confirmed when I met his eyes.

I saw nothing there. No anger, no annoyance, just infinite-seeming patience. They were eyes that told me he was content to wait for as long as it took me to slip up. Eyes that told me he didn’t trust me.

And in that moment, I knew that my fate, my life, hinged on my answer.

I shook my head. “No. Not intentionally.”

I swallowed hard, forced myself to again meet his gaze.

“Then what were you doing?” he asked, voice still silky smooth.

“I heard voices,” I said.

He stepped closer to me, forcing me to crane my neck to hold his gaze. My vision narrowed, and all I could see was him, and all I could hear was his voice and the pounding of my heart.

“So you came to investigate?”

I shook my head. “I came to tell you to be quiet.”

Anton looked surprised. Tilted his head in question.

“You were disturbing my patient,” I said in response to the unasked question.

I watched him, searching his gaze for any hint of a reaction, some clue as to what he was thinking. But after that brief moment of surprise, he had closed his expression down completely, left me with nothing but his imposing physical presence and the unknown of how he might respond.

“You’re that dedicated?”

The words were phrased as a question, but I heard the denial and disbelief. I lifted eyes I hadn’t realized I had lowered to meet his. “It’s my job. To make sure Mr. Constantin is comfortable. As comfortable as I can keep him.”

After I’d spoken, I realized that wasn’t a complete lie. Yes, I had been eavesdropping, and yes, I wanted ill for these people, but yes, I did want to keep Christoph comfortable. And that thought was wrenching. Almost wrenching enough to make me forget how drawn I was to Anton.

“Why are you here, Lily?”

My name on Anton’s lips, uttered in his voice, sent chills over me.

And not of fear.

I sighed deeply, the motion making my breasts brush against his chest. And he reacted. It was fleeting, barely perceptible, but I saw it nonetheless.

“I told you. I’m just here to do my job. To take care of your father,” I whispered.

Whatever moment had been passing between us shattered in an instant. His eyes, which had softened, went hard, ice cold.

“Then do that. Take care of him. And do nothing else,” he said, the last words an undeniable warning—and promise. “And he’s not my father.”

He was halfway down the hall, broad shoulders filling the space, before I even moved.

A
nton

I
stalked to the kitchen
, trying mightily to calm myself.

First, Christoph Junior had been his usual, obstinate self, not at all caring about the risk and danger he’d exposed all of us to. And in his state, I couldn’t make him see reason. Wondered if I could have anyway. I frowned. But I had to, no matter how stubborn Christoph Junior might be. Clan Constantin’s future depended on my ability to do so.

My frown deepened. And there was the matter of the nurse. I’d caught her, seen the little embers of fear in her eyes, but when I heard her voice, everything in me told me to believe her.

And then she’d said that…called Christoph my father.

The words had been innocent enough, but still shocking, shocking enough to throw off my equilibrium, one that I was desperately seeking to regain. No one called him that ever, which was attention-gaining enough. But coming from her and combined with her ability to affect me, I was thrown off my game.

Then I heard her approach, the soles of her shoes muffled on the floor but still unmistakable, as was the sweet-and-spicy cinnamon scent that came with her.

“Mr.…”

She spoke softly, tentatively, but her voice curled around the base of my spine, lit a feeling that had nothing to do with Christoph Junior or Senior, Clan Constantin, or anything else. It was solely related to how she made me feel, how she made me want her.

I exhaled and then turned to her. She watched me with hooded eyes, the bright fluorescent lights in the kitchen dampening the warm brown glow of her skin but doing nothing to take away her beauty.

“Just Anton,” I finally said, happy when my voice came out relatively even.

She nodded. “Anton, I’m sorry about earlier. But Mr. Constantin sleeps so fitfully now, and I want him to get whatever rest he can.”

“Think nothing of it,” I said, struggling mightily to keep my voice from revealing the depth to which she had shaken me.

“Thank you,” she replied as she stepped into the kitchen. Then she lifted a small tin. “I have a peace offering anyway.”

I tilted my head. “What?”

She opened the tin and rooted around in it until she retrieved a small packet. “Here we go.”

“Is that tea?”

“Yep,” she said.

“No, thanks,” I replied.

“Trust me. You’ll like it,” she said as she moved to the electric kettle and turned it on.

She looked comfortable here, though I supposed that made sense. She’d been spending more and more time here, would spend even more until the end, so she should know the place, if not seem completely at home.

And she didn’t, not quite. Perhaps it was my scrutiny, but I didn’t miss the little hitch in her movements, the unspoken awareness that told me she was watching me watching her.

But it didn’t hamper the effect, didn’t stop the fleeting thought that had me picturing her in a home, our home. I shook my head, trying to shake the thought loose. It had no place in my mind, in my life, but that didn’t keep me from wanting it. Imagining it.

She filled a mug, dunked the tea bag in it, and then set the cup on the counter. Then, finally, she looked at me.

“Do you have a last name?” she asked suddenly, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Not one that matters,” I responded.

My voice was gruff, unwelcoming, but she seemed nonplussed and continued to stand, watching me. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but I didn’t dare ask.

I also wanted to touch her, badly, stroke my fingers against what I knew would be velvet-soft skin, wanted to see her body, see her serene expression replaced with one of passion. Passion that I had put there.

“Here you go,” she said, her voice jarring me out of the spell.

My gaze was drawn to her hand, which held the cup extended. Then I looked back at her, watched the way she firmed her lips into a thin line. She took a sip of the tea and then extended the cup again.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said.

“I didn’t think…”

She smiled, her face brightening with glee. “Yes, you did, but I assure you, no poison here unless you have a serious aversion to peppermint leaves.”

Despite myself, a smile turned my lips. Then I took the cup from her, took a small sip, and then looked at her as warmth spread through my chest.

“That’s pretty good,” I said, taking another sip. “What’s in it?”

“Peppermint, some other herbs,” she said.

“And what does it do?”

She smiled again. “It’s supposed to promote relaxation and mental clarity.”

I took another sip. “Do I seem uptight, mentally unclear?”

“Uptight, perhaps. Mentally unclear, not for a second. But the tea is tasty, and it can’t hurt,” she said, smiling.

I again found myself smiling back at her, and we stood, sipping tea in an almost friendly silence.

“Good night, Anton,” she said a few moments later, and then she left as I listened to the sound of her retreating down the hall.

I set the empty cup on the counter, pondering this turn of events. Not at all how I’d expected this day to turn out, and not at all unpleasant.

The sane, suspicious side of me had called out a warning, one that had told me to keep my guard up, but the other, apparently bigger part had ignored that warning. Being with her like that, close enough that I could have touched her, close enough that I had seen the sparkle in her eyes, close enough that I’d seen the faint sheen of sweat on the brown skin on her smooth neck, all too easily letting myself pretend it was me who’d put it there, had been too good to walk away from.

And so I’d stayed, had ignored my good sense in favor of a few fleeting moments of closeness. Unacceptable, and I couldn’t let it happen again. Told myself I wouldn’t, though a quiet voice whispered that I might not be able to do otherwise.

After a few more minutes, I drifted down the hall and looked in on Christoph one last time, saw he was sleeping, saw his son passed out in the chair next to him, and then I turned to leave. Christoph was getting worse, would be gone soon, and his son was already doing his best to destroy his father’s life’s work.

Once I left the house, I headed straight for Priest’s. As I’d expected, he was awake, seemed to be waiting for me, which, if I knew him, he probably had been.

“Anton,” he said, looking at me with no expression on his face.

“Priest,” I replied, sitting when he gestured at the chair across from him.

“So,” he said, cutting to the chase as he always did.

“The Peruvians are working with the cops,” I said.

He didn’t bat an eyelash, didn’t respond at all, which, even for Priest, was out of the ordinary. The attention of law enforcement was something we all wanted to avoid, even him, so his lack of reaction was noteworthy, and I was very happy I had come here.

“What makes you think that?” he finally said.

“You’re taking this news well, Priest. Too well,” I replied, my suspicion again roused. He knew something about this, and he would tell me what. “What have you heard?”

“I heard that Christoph Junior was expanding Constantin business,” he said, ignoring my statement.

I stayed silent, unwilling to discuss our business with an outsider, including one as familiar as Priest. Perhaps he would be more forthcoming if I was, but then again perhaps he wouldn’t be. It wasn’t in my nature to take the risk.

“You saw him, eh?” Priest finally said.

“Saw who?” I replied, not intending to be coy but unwilling to reveal anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary.

“A man who looks like a cop. But he isn’t a cop,” Priest said.

“So if I saw that man, and I’m not confirming that I did or didn’t, who is he?”

“A threat to us all,” Priest said, being as direct as I’d ever heard. A fact that shifted my suspicion to concern that edged to worry. An open Priest was rare, a worried one unprecedented.

“Care to be more specific?” I said.

“No, but I can give you a friendly word of advice.”

I nodded.

“I’d keep your clan far away from the Peruvians right now, and away from anyone who’s looking to get involved in the drug trade. Something’s coming, and you don’t want to be anywhere near it.”

“That’s very cryptic,” I said, “but I appreciate the warning.”

“You’ll convey it to Christoph?” he asked.

“I appreciate the warning,” I repeated. Then I stood and left.

So Christoph had almost rushed us headlong into something worse than the cops, something bad enough to have Priest giving helpful hints, which meant it was worse than I’d thought.

I’d talk to him again, though I didn’t expect to get anywhere with the conversation. But more importantly, I’d talk to the men. I was undermining him, and by extension his father, but there was no alternative, not if Christoph Junior was intent on following this path.

Which left me in a position I’d never wanted to be in. I’d given Christoph Senior my word, sworn that I would aid his son and kill anyone who tried to undermine him. Now it was I who would be doing the undermining.

For all the right reasons. I had no doubt about that. But my intentions were unimportant. How many times had I heard that very thing? How many men had tried to explain away their offenses with the purity of their intentions?

More than I could remember.

And how often had those explanations fallen on deaf ears, Christoph Senior’s and then mine?

Every time.

Now I would be one of them, one of those men I held in contempt, a traitor to my word and to my leader, a circumstance that wasn’t softened by the fact that I was doing so for my clan.

As I drove home, I watched the sun break the horizon, the night fading into day. It had been a long night, would probably be a longer one tomorrow, but for now, as amped, agitated as I was, I would go home and rest.

I looked around quickly, checking out my house, a habit I had picked up, though no one had yet invaded my personal space.

As I undressed and showered, my thoughts were filled with Lily. Not Christoph, Senior or Junior, not the mystery man who’d shown up at the aborted meet, not how I would protect Clan Constantin from Christoph Junior while still respecting his leadership.

All I could think of was her.

How angry I’d been when I had caught her in the hall. How hard it had been to resist pulling her into my arms when I’d stood in front of her, her eyes never wavering from mine. How her simple statement, the way she’d called Christoph my father, had set off an explosion inside me.

I lay in bed, searching for sleep, but instead of rest, all that was there was her.

One hour passed, two, but I was no closer to rest.

I stood and was dressed and headed to Lily’s before I could stop myself.