Wreckless Intentions Read online

  Signaling to Viktor, he approached the door and threw it open—executing a rolling dive onto the roof.

  I followed behind him using the door as my shield; expecting bullets to fly, though none came.

  Viktor bounded back to his feet as I cleared the door—both of us scanning the roof for Mance.

  “We’re approaching the roof, Viktor, what’s your position?” asked a voice over the comms.

  “Near the entrance, heading west!”

  When Viktor pointed straight ahead, I slipped the goggles back over my eyes and moved forward. It was pitch-black out, but the half-moon hanging above provided a swath of light in between the moving clouds.

  “We’ve got movement at the southwest side of the building!”

  Both Viktor and I took off in that direction.

  The roof was long and wide, with large HVAC units interspersed throughout. Once I’d cleared two of them, I saw a ghostly looking figure running a couple hundred feet ahead and to the right.

  I went after him.

  Unless Mance was about to sprout wings and leap off the building, there wasn’t any place else for him to run. However, I wasn’t taking any chances.

  Taking aim at my rapidly moving target, I pressed the trigger.

  Mance stumbled as he took a hit to the leg, but didn’t stop.

  Nevertheless, my shot had the intended effect, which was to slow him down.

  As I gained on him, he turned around and fired his gun wildly, sending me scrambling for cover.

  I returned fire—which sent Mance sprawling onto his back.

  Getting back to my feet, I approached cautiously, hoping the bastard wasn’t already dead. I wanted to ensure mine would be the last face he saw before dying.

  When I approached, Mance laid there breathing laboriously, groaning, blood seeping from several spots on his body.

  I was also breathing heavily, having just chased his ass down.

  But I was grudgingly impressed that he hadn’t made killing him easy. “You give a hell of a chase,” I told Mance, gazing down at him.

  “I-I should have known not to trust Russians!” Mance spat, holding a bloodied hand to his ribcage.

  “Us Russians aren’t so bad, it’s only when you’ve got plans of killing us that we take offense.”

  “I tried killing no one!”

  “That’s quite the pronouncement coming from a known mercenary; you’re paid to kill people, asshole. But I can assure you, whatever Oleg paid you wasn’t nearly enough.”

  Mance stared at me silently. It was shadowy on the rooftop so he probably couldn’t see me clearly. Stepping closer, I squatted down until he and I were almost eye level.

  “Vidov…” he muttered in recognition.

  “You’ve got a lot of balls, Mance, but apparently not a lot of brains. You should have seen this coming the moment you teamed up with Oleg,” I declared stonily.

  Mance let out a laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. “I-I admit his offer was tempting. Th-that coward was more trouble than he was worth…” he rattled on a blood producing cough.

  I straightened my knees and stood. “The two of you can sort that out when you get to where you’re going,” I said, aiming my Sig at his head.

  “Wait!” he urged, holding out a staying hand. “Don’t shoot me lying here like a d-dog—at least allow me to d-die on my feet with some dignity,” Mance said shakily, attempting to stand.

  Darting an amused look at Viktor, I took a cautious step back. “By all means, every man deserves a dignified death.”

  I probably shouldn’t have wasted time humoring Mance, but, what the hell? He was a former soldier, I wanted to see what he was made of.

  To his credit and despite his injuries, the man managed to get to his feet. He swayed; stumbling a couple of feet away, but managed to remain standing.

  “Oleg lied…when I learned who you were, I-I wanted out. He wasn’t working alone…h-had information…used it against me,” Mance said.

  “What do you mean he wasn’t working alone—who else was he working with?” I asked, curious but skeptical.

  Mance coughed violently, producing more blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth. “I-I don’t know…he never told…your p-problems are bigger than me…”

  “Is this how the greatly feared Reaper kills people, by letting them talk themselves to death?” spoke an annoying as hell Anatoly. He’d come to stand just out of my peripheral.

  Ignoring him, I cocked my head and studied Mance, deciding whether or not he could be telling the truth. “That might be, but my particular problem with you ends here tonight.”

  Mance took several steps back as if he had somewhere to run. I watched him; letting him get just close enough before I lunged.

  My boot went crashing into his stomach; the force of it sending him nearly airborne as the momentum propelled him backward. Reeling—Mance let out an undignified scream as he went plummeting two stories from the rooftop to the ground.

  Asshole shouldn’t have been standing so close to the edge.

  “Whoa—now that was savage! You really are fucking crazy,” said Anatoly, rushing over to look down to where Mance had just landed. I was tempted as fuck to send him flying down there with him.

  Instead, I waited for him to whirl back around and delivered a quick jab to his throat; shoving the barrel of my Sig into his now gaping mouth. Gripping him by the collar, I kneed him in the balls and made him drop to his knees.

  “One more fucking word and your body parts will be recovered all over Moscow,” I promised, jaw clenched tightly with the effort to keep from killing the bastard.

  Anatoly struggled for breath, stunned eyes reflecting fear as they stared up at me.

  “Nod if you understand,” I prompted.

  After he’d nodded, I loosened my hold on his collar and pulled the Sig from his mouth.

  We had an audience—about ten of the men had come onto the roof, so dumbass’s humiliation was now complete.

  Precisely as I’d intended.

  I’d wager Fredo wasn’t feeling quite so fucking cocky now.

  “It is because of my respect for your father, you aren’t lying down there with Mance. I won’t be so accommodating the next time,” I warned.

  Vnukovo Airport

  “Don’t stay away so long next time, things aren’t as exciting when you’re not here,” said Sergei, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “I’m certain the government would disagree. As I recall, the instructions were for me to return to America immediately; where they like to kill children in schoolyards for sport,” I reported with a sardonic snort. “My violent display in Podolsk was apparently a byproduct of such learned savagery.”

  Sergei chuckled. “You’re also to donate a sizeable sum to his next campaign, as well as make a generous donation to the city of Podolsk for the mess you created. You’re getting off easy, Romanovich will surely have a higher cost.”

  No bad deed in Russia ever goes unpunished.

  “Take care, old man, I don’t want to hear about you keeling over anytime soon,” I said in farewell to Sergei, before heading for the plane.

  As Viktor and I made our way across the tarmac, I felt a tug of regret for my mother’s tear-filled eyes. I also felt a tug of frustration over the many words my father and I never manage to say to each other. He and I had been sharing a secret and waging the same battle for eighteen years now. It was tiring.

  However, as I settled in the soft leather seat and prepared for take-off, the thing I regretted most was…I’d never know whether or not Mance had been telling the truth.

  Three

  G A R L A N D

  * * *

  Present

  “You’re a natural, I never would have guessed it,” Camry said approvingly.

  We were seated on the sofa in the Great Room with me cradling the baby to my chest, and Roman falling fast asleep. “I have many hidden talents.”

  “Many of them useless, I’m sure, but at le
ast your talent as a Baby Whisperer is useful,” Camry quipped, reaching over to smooth Roman’s hair. Smiling adoringly, she said, “We did a damn good job, didn’t we? It would be such a shame to let this kind of greatness go to waste; I think I’d like to have two more.”

  I nearly choked on my tongue. “Good God, woman, two more?” I asked incredulously.

  “Did you think I was done with you and your freakishly good genes?”

  Apparently, I’d been mistaken.

  “I intend to be knocked-up again in a year. And, if you’re good…I may let you keep me knocked-up with little Vidov’s,” Camry purred.

  “Sounds like more work for you, than me, but I’m man enough to handle the challenge.”

  Camry laughed. “I’m going up to get dressed, should I take His Majesty off your hands?” she asked, standing up from the sofa.

  “No, go ahead, I’ve got him,” I told her.

  Camry grinned as she turned to walk away, knowing that I’m the sucker that I apparently am.

  His Majesty, indeed.

  The little prince definitely has his father wrapped around his tiny little finger. And to think, my wife had plans of running a baby factory.

  At this rate, I’ll have to hand in my man card. I thought wryly.

  Resting my head back on the sofa, I thought about my father, about a time when he’d looked at me with love and pride in his eyes. That seemed like a lifetime ago. I believed firmly; a man should always own what he does and have few regrets in his life. So far, I’ve managed to have only two. My relationship with my father being one of them.

  Liev Aleksandr “Romanovich” Vidov, my father, is a hard man. Having come from an impoverished family of seven, he was left to fend for himself at the age of fourteen. Living on the streets of one of Russia’s toughest neighborhoods, he’d seen and experienced some of the worst life had to offer. That he’d even survived, was a testament to his moxie.

  At age twenty, my father traveled on a work visa to America. By that time, he’d been working several years for a prominent local businessman, Ivan Shevchenko. My father had gotten himself into some serious trouble—and Ivan, who’d taken him under his wing and treated him as a son, sent him to New York to work for one of his cousins. Though the wholesale warehouse business was legitimate, it also funneled a lot of transactions through it that were not. My father spoke no English at the time but managed to prove his worth and quickly rose through the ranks. He went from a lowly errand boy to useful muscle, and eventually, to back-channel negotiator after just a couple of years.

  During that time, my father met a pretty, dark-haired girl who was the daughter of an Argentinian immigrant. Florencia Giménez said she took one look at my father and ran like the devil was at her heels. It was more like fright-at-first-sight rather than love-at-first-sight. Raised as a devout Catholic, my mother was a deeply religious woman who'd attended Mass and prayer services three times a week. So, for her, a man like my father was the devil. However, my father had never backed down from a challenge, he believed anything worth having was worth working for. So, Romanovich finally prevailed and got the pretty Catholic girl to go out with him.

  Their first date was to a prayer service.

  One year later, the Russian rogue married the devout Catholic, and I was born less than nine months later. Unfortunately, I would be the only child that they’d be blessed with.

  My father continued working for the New York cousin another two years before being summoned back to Russia by Ivan. The man had taken ill and was too weak and fragile to continue heading up the business. He trusted my father implicitly and heaped praise on him for everything he’d accomplished in New York. My father was loyal and grateful for everything the man had done for him. But, he was reluctant to take his family back to Russia.

  He traveled back and forth, sometimes remaining gone for several months at a time. It would be another two years before he finally deemed all safe and sent for my mother and me. My father had taken over the reins for Ivan and ran the business with an iron fist. In the two years that he’d been away, he even managed to expand it. By the time I was eight-years-old, Ivan had died, and Romanovich was the man in charge.

  My father had worked his way up from the slums to become one of the most well respected and feared men in his hometown and beyond. Though, how he became that man wouldn’t be apparent to me for several more years.

  Kissing the top of Roman’s head, I reflected that history often had a way of repeating itself.

  Roman Aleksandr Vidov, was named for his grandfather; a man who’d been forced to become an adult at a time when he should’ve been hanging out in the schoolyard with friends. He wanted better for his only son. However, I now knew a man could only teach what he’d been taught.

  The day Roman was born, we’d facetimed my parents from the hospital. “Congratulations son…I pray you always keep him safe and close.” My father told me then.

  His words had been spoken in Russian, for my ears only.

  But, I saw the sad look in his eyes when he’d looked at me; those green eyes reflected regret. Perhaps he’d thought of our relationship, or maybe even a different one.

  Regret can be a bitch.

  I also wanted better for my son, and I was determined to never have any regrets in that regard.

  C A M R Y

  Sitting on the side of the bed, I stared into space instead of getting dressed. It was something I often did while alone, with nothing left to distract me. For the first two weeks after giving birth to Roman, I spent a lot of time lying in bed, reflecting, rationalizing, crying. It was a lot to deal with; having a newborn baby, recovering from a c-section, and being totally fucked in the head.

  I cried so much those first weeks, poor Katherine was afraid to leave me alone—and had insisted on staying. She believed me to be overwhelmed with my new mommy duties and was convinced I suffered from post-partum depression.

  Yeah, if only.

  I’ve now stopped crying and made a concerted effort to get up every day and to behave normally. I’d become a great actress. The more I pretended, the easier it became. Perhaps, one day, I’d go under hypnosis so that I could forget completely.

  Breathing a tired sigh, I promptly shut the door closed in my head and heaved my ass off the bed. Today was supposed to be a day for fun, not moping.

  After having put their visit off for an entire month, I’d finally gotten my shit together and invited my family to visit. The whole clan would be landing in Miami in a couple of hours.

  Though we often facetimed, everyone was eager to meet Roman in person. I felt terrible for having put them off; I’d used my c-section and terminal state of new-mommy-fatigue as an excuse. Though, in reality, I just needed time to get my head screwed back on straight.

  Well, kind of straight. I reminded myself.

  Dad and Lilly would be staying with us—while Lauren, Marie, and Anna were staying at a nearby hotel. Autumn was so excited to have her grandparents coming and had gone all out in preparation. The kitchen was now littered with glitter from the giant welcome posters she’d made. And, I hoped the chocolates that she’d placed on top of their bed pillows hadn’t already melted.

  Padding into the closet, I walked over to where my clothes hung to choose something special for today. I wanted to commemorate the occasion with something bright and perky. But I just stood frowning, at a loss. It seemed forever since I’d worn regular clothes. Nowadays, if it didn’t contain spandex or wasn’t nursing-friendly, I didn’t wear it. Grimacing at the mental image of myself, I determined to stop walking around the house looking like a slob.

  Eyeing a green and white floral Lilly P. dress, I went over to examine it, hoping it would fit on my postpartum body. My stomach had gone down almost completely flat, but thanks to breastfeeding, my boobs were still huge and my ass, well, I don’t even want to think about it. With an internal sigh, I grabbed the dress and headed for the shower.

  * * *

  “I helped mommy bathe
him this morning, and, oh boy, you should have seen how red his face turned! I don’t think Roman likes baths, Papa,” Autumn said matter-of-factly.

  We were having lunch outside by the pool, where the Michigander’s could take full advantage of the mild Florida weather. It was a frigid twenty-five-degrees and mounds of snow where they’d come from.

  Roman had just gone down for a nap; he hadn’t slept very well the night before. That didn’t stop his grandparents from doting on him.

  “He’s got to get used to baths, penguin; he’ll become a water rat like his big sister in no time,” dad told Autumn, ruffling her hair playfully.

  “Roman is such a beautiful baby; Camry, I couldn’t be a prouder grandma. Having two beautiful grandchildren have upped my bragging rights at church,” Lilly said proudly.

  She’d been my step-mother a little over eleven years now, and though she’d never had any children of her own, Lilly had always been kind and caring. She’s the only grandmother Autumn has ever known.

  “I’m a little bit biased, but, I do a pretty good job,” I winked, beaming with pride.

  “Don’t give yourself too much credit, Garland gets most of the credit for Roman,” spoke Marie, knowing how to ruin a girl’s moment.

  I childishly poked my tongue out at her in response.

  She’s right, of course, even at almost five weeks old Roman’s resemblance to Garland was undeniable. From his full cap of dark silky hair to his nose, mouth, and even the slant of his eyes; I could not yet see where I played any part in making my son.

  “So, how many more are you guys planning on having?” Anna asked.

  I choked on my lemonade, snorting an incredulous laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me; ask that question again once my womb has healed from giving birth to Roman.”

  Though I’d just joked with Garland earlier this morning about having more babies, I wasn’t completely serious. Not that I was opposed, I couldn’t yet see past my most recent trauma. Having one’s gut cut open was no walk in the park, but, I’ve come a long way since my first weeks after giving birth. I’ve healed significantly but didn’t think I’d be doing flips anytime soon.