Page 84 of Exacting Vengeance

He picked up the flower vase he’d brought and dumped the flowers on the floor. There’d been no water in the vase. Just the flowers and one of his favorite new toys—a taser. If the agent guarding the rear door of the building was still there when he took Vika out, he’d tase the guy. A gun was preferable but too noisy.

Yuri stuffed the taser beneath his belt and glanced at the old gold Rolex on his wrist. A cheap peasant’s watch. After he retrieved his money, he would buy a new one, platinum, with a bigger face and all the dials.

Nikki could go fuck himself. “That money is mine,” he growled. All of it. But if he stayed here, Nikki would demand half. Or have him killed. If he kept it all to himself, he couldn’t stay in America. Maybe he would take Vika to Bolivia or Ecuador, or wherever the Nazis used to hide.

As he sat there, stroking his beard, a new plan sprung to life, one that would get him everything he deserved. Maybe he could start his own organization in South America. Why stay here and report to assholes, when he could have all the assholes reporting to him?

“Well,” he said to himself, smacking his hands on his knees. Now that that was decided, it was time to pee.

He went into the bathroom and unzipped, not bothering to lift the seat. After taking care of business, he looked in the mirror and smoothed the sides of his hair. He grinned at his reflection, nodding and liking what he saw. Not so much the beard, but Vika had always said he was a handsome man. “And she will again.” All he needed was a little time to transform her back into the woman he⁠—

Though he’d never seen a pregnancy test up close and personal, he knew one when he saw it. He picked up the wand and stared at the two pink lines in the little window. “What the fuck?”

He grabbed the pregnancy test box from the vanity and read the directions on the side of the box. “Fuck.” Spittle flew from his mouth, hitting the mirror.

The whore was pregnant.

The image of his Vika and Gates, their naked bodies writhing together, had him crushing the box in his fist. Those same visions had haunted him every night while he’d been stuck in prison. Now he had absolute proof it was true.

“Blyat.” Fuck. He hurled the plastic wand against the wall and pounded the vanity with his hands.

It had to be Gates’s brat. Fuck Alex Tarankov. Fuck Kyle Gates. This was not part of his plan. Of all the motherfuckers in the world, his wife was carrying an FBI agent’s brat.

Another wave of rage threatened to consume him. He curled his hands into tight fists, wanting to smash Gates’s face in. Sucking in deep breaths through his nose, he returned to the living room, staring at Vika’s unconscious form.

For over a decade, he’d known he was incapable of siring a son. Publicly, he’d blamed Vika. Privately, he’d seethed at his own inadequacy. In the Russian culture, paternity was considered a sacred duty. Not being capable of siring a son made him a failure, less than a man in front of his own people.

He raised his hand high over his shoulder, preparing to smack Vika while she slept but stopped. The decision to take her to South America with him was brilliant, yet came with many difficulties. Her silence being one of them. Perhaps he could use this unexpected discovery to his advantage by holding it over her head. If she didn’t want him to kill her, she must do whatever he said. It was as simple as that. A mother would protect her child above all else, even herself.

Yuri laughed outright, pondering other intriguing perks to this new plan.

Raising the FBI agent’s kid as his own held significant merit. The idea both disgusted and tweaked him. Still, the image of Vika getting big and fat with Gates’s brat would be a constant reminder that his enemy had succeeded where he—Yuri Petrov—had failed.

No decisions had to be finalized today. He would use the baby to get what he wanted, then decide what to do with it. And, what to do with Vika. Killing Gates was still a notion that tasted sweeter than medovik—Russian honey cake—on his tongue. Either way, Gates would pay dearly for interring him in shitty accommodations for a decade.

Through the living room window, he noted the sun had long since set. Darkness was quickly creeping in. His timing had been perfect.

Yuri sat on the sofa and clasped his hands behind his head. He wanted Gates to know he had his woman and his unborn child. After the child was born, Vika’s attitude would determine whether she lived or died. Either way, he would keep the baby. His own parents had disavowed his existence when they learned he’d joined the Brotherhood. Son or daughter, he would never have abandoned his child.

Grinning like a kid on Christmas day and totally satisfied with his decision, he pulled out the last of his expensive Cuban Maduros from his pocket and lit up.

I’m going to be a father.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Gina tapped Kyle on the shoulder. “Have you decided what you’ll say in your best-man speech?”

“I have.” He glanced at his watch. It was nine p.m., and he was itching to haul ass to Victoria’s apartment and apologize. Maybe even grovel at her feet. Dinner was long over, and discussions about Jack and Gina’s wedding reception were still ongoing. “I’m going to talk about the romantic circumstances under which you and my brother met.”

Jack snorted. Deke barked out a laugh so loud their mother flinched. Jack still hadn’t told her all the details surrounding how he and Gina had really met—sneaking into a mobster’s apartment. Gina to rip the guy off; Jack to plant a listening device.

“What am I missing here?” His mother narrowed her eyes as she drilled them with a look that never failed to make them cower when they were kids and had done something bad. “Boys?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Gina whispered, her eyes going as wide as small plums.

Kyle smiled. Since his heart-to-heart with Gina, his mood had brightened considerably. Now, if he could only find a polite way to excuse himself and get on the road. “I’m told it was love at first sight.”

“That it was.” Jack winked at his fiancé, instantly pacifying her and eliciting a grin.