ONE
SEVEN WEEKS EARLIER…
“Holy shit, it’s him…”
“Goddamn…it’s the other one…”
“Hell froze? I hadn’t heard…”
“Is it me or is he even bigger than I remember…”
“We need to get gone. You know who that is…”
Fear and respect colored the murmurs that flowed like a cresting wave through the exclusive Manhattan gentlemen’s club where Vasily Tarasov sat staring at the melting ice in his vodka. When he looked up and saw the newcomer commanding the entrance, he felt the tension in his neck and back ease for the first time in twenty-four long, devastating hours.
Gabriel Moretti—currently going by the name Moore—was the youngest son of one of New York’s most notorious crime families. Currently flanked by two men known to inflict maximum damage without breaking a sweat, the trio were the epitome of effortless intimidation. They all owned it, but not quite so comfortably as the formidable Italian causing warmth to blossom in Vasily’s grief-laden chest. Like the others in their inner circle, Gabriel was loved and respected. He was a brother, minus the sharing of parents. Trusted.
Which was why he’d been summoned.
Vasily got to his feet as they approached and, even though he knew it made most of his boys uncomfortable—not fans of open displays of affection—he bestowed a warm embrace and a kiss to each of Gabriel’s cheeks. As they sat, he nodded at the protection who’d gone to join Vasily’s byki—bodyguards—at the bar.
“Good flight?”
“Sure. Never did get to the work I brought with me.”
“Oh?”
A flicker of amusement flashed on Gabriel’s face. It was mild and didn’t last as he explained, casting a fleeting look around, “One of the flight staff was very entertaining.”
Ah. Of course. Easy sex came with good looks and a lot of money. Both of which Gabriel had. Though, it appeared the mellow mood that normally lingered after sex had fled during the drive into the city.
“You’re not happy that I asked you here,” Vasily guessed.
“Not particularly. I touch down at JFK and feel like I should be covered in Kevlar and armed to the teeth. Seattle doesn’t do that to me.”
“No. I’m sure it doesn’t.” Vasily couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t aware of the invisible target that was front and center on his chest. He raised a hand to signal the waitress for two fresh drinks. “Did you tell the boys you were flying in?”
“I talked to Vincente when I landed.”
Vincente Romani was one of Stefano Moretti’s trusted capos; Gabriel’s estranged brother was the current boss of the family Gabriel had turned his back on five years ago.
“They’re in Brownsville tonight. Recruiting.”
Vasily’s mouth twisted as he pictured the degenerates gathering in some underground location, hoping to get a foot into a family that no longer made any sense. The longer Stefano held power, making one bad decision after another, the more confused Vasily and his associates became.
He and Gabriel leaned back as their drinks were placed in front of them, and even though they were in friendly surroundings, they waited until they were alone again before continuing.
“Why am I here, brother?”
Anxiety and sorrow churned in Vasily’s gut at the blunt question. The sorrow was expected. The anxiety was fucking annoying considering he was Pakhan to one of the most powerful Russian Bratvas on the Eastern Seaboard. Since when did he feel anything other than expectancy when asking for a favor?
“I need you to do something for me.”
A strobe light glanced off the heavy platinum ring on Gabriel’s thumb as he downed half his drink and thunked the glass onto the tabletop. “Huh. And here I thought you were just starved for company.”
Soon, he would be. “I need to know if you’re in or out.”
Curiosity shone in Gabriel’s eyes as he leisurely crossed heavy arms over his parking lot of a chest. “If I’m able, you know damn well I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
Vasily nodded once and picked up his phone. He hit send on an already prepared email. “I’m leaving for Moscow when we’re through here,” he announced as Gabriel palmed his own phone to show he’d received the message he didn’t yet open. “While I’m gone, I need you on someone. You’ll protect her with your life, if necessary.” Christ, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “I’ll take over her care again after I wipe out the pieces of shit who killed her mother last night.”
“Whose mother?”
Bracing himself to reveal the precious secret he’d kept for more than twenty years, Vasily gave his answer around a feeling of pride like no other. “My daughter’s.”
Gabriel froze, his leg comically raised midair because he’d been in the process of hooking his ankle on his knee. He slowly lowered his size fourteen Ferragamo and blinked for a minute as if waiting for a punchline.
“Your daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Yours.” The Italian’s tone was heavy with suspicion.
“Yes.”
“You wanna tell me when the hell you had a kid? And how the fuck do we not know about her?”
The kid in question was actually a grown woman. Evangeline was as captivating as her mother, although in looks she was much more Vasily than Kathryn…
Coughing through the agony his love’s name caused as it drifted through his thoughts, he pushed out more words. “No one knows about her. Or they didn’t, until recently.” The reminder that his enemies now knew of Eva’s existence turned his heart to stone. “I filled the boys in earlier, so if for some peculiar reason you’re in need of a hand, they’re now informed.”
Gabriel’s head was bobbing. “Yeah. Okay. Unless you want to see my head explode, you have to start from the beginning. Because I’m in the Twilight Zone. You have a kid.”
The beginning. If only he could go back there, he thought, imagining the charred remains of the woman he’d loved and had created a child with so many years ago now laying in a cold, silent morgue in Seattle. He’d have done so many things differently.
“I’ll get to the details in a minute.” No, he wouldn’t. “First, I want your word that you’ll see this through for me.”
Gabriel waved his hand impatiently. “You have it.” As if it were a stupid request. “Of course you have it. Goddammit, Vasily.” He shook his head. “Out of curiosity, why are you putting me on this? What about Maks or Alek? We both know they’re more than capable. Not to mention here. She is in New York, isn’t she? Who’s taking care of her now? How old is she? Is she even out of diapers? And, again, just out of this raging curiosity that’s kicking my ass, why the hell isn’t she in your life?”
“At any other time, I would trust my nephew with this, but not in the shape he’s been in since Sacha left. Maks? Of course, but I just don’t want him.” The idiot would try to have sex with Eva—who, at twenty-three, was very much out of diapers—and Vasily would have to permanently maim his beloved Avtoritet. Perhaps castrate him. He didn’t want to do either. “Anyone else in our circle will lead the Baikovs right to her. It has to be you.”