Chapter Two
Gavriil watched in silence as Anthony and Roberto’s bodies were loaded into the back of the coroner’s van. Two men who had as much to do with raising him as John had. The only one that was missing was Falcone, their driver. As far as Gavriil was concerned, if the man wasn’t lying here dead next to the others, then he was in on it. There was no other answer for it. Only Gavriil and those who were with John knew about his trip into the Fulton River district tonight. And this alley was off the approved route, which meant Falcone had detoured deliberately.
From the bullets scattered around the car and the corresponding bullet holes in the south wall of the abandoned warehouse, Gavriil knew that Battaglia’s men had come at them from that direction, and Anthony and Roberto had held them off as long as they could. They gave John enough time to get out through the back of the alley. The men who attacked would have gone after him as soon as they realized he was not in the car.
But where the hell was John now?
His phone rang and when he pulled it from his jacket pocket he frowned at the unknown number, before swiping his finger across the screen to connect the call.
“Speak.”
There was a pause at the other end of the phone. “Is that how you always answer your phone?” a woman asked in a soft tone, her voice a sinful, angelic mixture of fire and innocence that had his body reacting in a purely male way.
“Actually, yes, it is. Who am I speaking to?” Tell me your name, moy angil.
“Um, I’m not sure if I should tell you that.”
“Can you tell me why you called me, or even better yet, who gave you my phone number?”
“Actually, the man who gave me your number has just passed out and I think you’d better come get him.”
John.
He signaled his men, leaving three of them at the scene and moving with Gino toward his truck.
“Where are you, moy angil?” the endearment slipped from his lips before he could stop it, and as soon as it did he was stunned at how right it felt.
“He came through the back door of my bakery and coffee shop over on Lake Street. It’s called Holy Cannoli. I’ll leave the light on at the back of the store. You’ll have to come in that way. Oh, and—”
Gavriil thought he heard her take in a shuddering breath, as if she were afraid. “What, moy angil? Tell me what it is that scares you so.”
“There were men here moments ago, with weapons, and d-dogs.”
Gavriil tightened his hand into a fist, fighting the urge to ram it through the passenger window of his truck as he climbed in. Angelo Battaglia again. Had to be.
“Be calm,” Gavriil said in a voice he hoped sounded reassuring and not as bloodthirsty as he felt. “I will be there shortly.” He disconnected the call and gave directions to Gino who drove like a bat out of hell.
As they went, Gavriil sent a text calling for a medical team to meet them at the bakery. If John had willingly given her Gavriil’s phone number, then he was in trouble. The truck slid to a stop in the alley behind a few stores that lined a block of Lake Street. Gavriil was out before it had come to a full stop, gun in his hand, and he cast his gaze around the alley as he made his way to the back of the store.
He knocked gently, not wanting to scare the woman inside. After a few moments, he heard the security chain of the door disengaging and the door opened. He slid inside before the door was completely open and he caught the thick scent of coffee and the gasp of the beautiful woman who stepped quickly back out of his reach.
My God, she was beautiful. Her voice, as beautiful, exotic, and angelic as it was, simply did not do justice for the vision that stood before him. She was at least a foot shorter than his six foot six, with long, dark brown hair that fell in that alluring way around her face that had a man’s hands itching to bury his fingers into the thick tresses. Her face was symbolic of the nickname he had inadvertently given her. Big, soulful brown eyes, surrounded by long, dark lashes, light olive skin and full, perfectly kissable lips.
“Hey, moy angil,” Gavriil said in a calm tone, cognizant that she was very much in flight or fight mode. “It’s me, Gavriil.”
His angel nodded jerkily, her hands wringing in front of her, a clear sign of her nerves. “He’s there on the floor. I wanted to lift him to make him comfortable, but he’s too big.”
Gino came through the door at that moment, and the woman took another step backwards.
“Jesus, what the fuck is all this shit over the floor?” Gino asked as he stepped on the coffee grounds.
“Coffee grounds,” the woman said in a small voice.
“To cover John’s scent,” Gavriil realized and nodded. “Very clever. It would have driven Angelo’s dog crazy.”
The woman nodded and pointed to his left. When he turned he saw John keeled sideways on the floor.
“Blyat, John,” he moved swiftly to the man he’d worked with for the past fifteen years and reached for his pulse points. He heaved a sigh of relief when he felt a thump against his fingertips. Sure, it was erratic, but he’d take it over nothing any day.
“Gino, go out and signal the medical team.” Gavriil moved John so that he was lying completely prone. “They’ll be coming in hot and loaded, so make sure they know it’s you.”
Gino nodded then left the room, but not before he shot another look of undisguised interest and desire at Gavriil’s woman. He didn’t know when she became his, but he figured it was as soon as he heard her talk. Either way, she was his.
“She’s mine, Gino, take your damn eyes off her,” Gavriil snapped in Italian, reveling in the other man’s wince of discomfort. “Look at her like that again and I will gut you.”
Gino nodded then stepped out into the alley. He pulled John’s jacket to the side and saw that she had placed wads of what looked like clean tea towels against the bleeding gunshot wounds and taped them down with packaging tape for pressure. John would live, and it would be because of this diminutive woman in front of him.
“You saved his life, you know,” Gavriil said as he looked up at his angel.
She shrugged as if embarrassed by the praise. “Maybe.”
The sound of a vehicle pulling to an abrupt halt outside startled her and she moved even further from the door. Within minutes the medical team had John locked and loaded in their vehicle and he was being whisked away for treatment.
He turned to face his angel. “Please,” his tone almost pleading. “Tell me your name.”
His angel nibbled on her bottom lip, no doubt deliberating whether to tell him or not, but the move had him thinking that he’d like the chance to do some nibbling of his own.
He waited, not wanting to scare her more than he already did. He had given up hope of getting an answer when she whispered, “Abigail. My name is Abigail Hartman.”
****
Abigail had no idea why she told the truth to the huge man who scared her as much as he intrigued her. When she saw the way his face softened, and a small smile cross his handsome face she was pleased that she had.
“Abigail,” he repeated and the way her name sounded from his lips had her inhaling sharply. “Thank you, moy angil.”
The two of them stood staring at each other for a long moment and Abigail was once again struck by how handsome he was. He wore a dark suit with no tie; his black hair was short at the back and sides, but longer on top. He had piercingly dark eyes, and the carefully maintained stubble around his face gave him a look that was both dangerous and sexy at the same time. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and she found herself wondering what he might look like with his shirt off.
“You’ve gone a lovely shade of pink, Abigail,” Gavriil said in teasing tone. “It makes me very curious as to what just crossed your mind.” He arched a brow in question, but Abigail dropped her gaze and shook her head, her face flamed even hotter. “Then I can only assume your thoughts run similar to my own.”
Abigail doubted that. She gasped when he slid a finger beneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his. He had moved so silently she hadn’t even been aware of it.
“Don’t look away from me, moy angil,” Gavriil whispered, and she could feel his breath against her lips. Her heart began to race as she lost herself in his eyes. “You have the most expressive face. If you look away from me for even a second, I fear I will miss something that you are not yet willing to tell me.”
He had come dangerously close to voicing something she was quickly becoming frightened of herself. He could see way too much about her than she was willing to share with anyone.
“Gavriil!” Gino called out, and she pulled back from his hand as he cursed in what she thought might be Russian.
“What is it?”
“Carlos and his team are calling for vengeance. If the Carlisi family moves on the Battaglias now without the approval of the syndicate, there will be trouble.”
Abigail’s mouth dropped open. She had begun to suspect that the man who had fallen injured into her kitchen was part of an organized crime group. It was hard not to come to that conclusion given everything that had taken place in the past hour. But to have it confirmed, and to learn that she had somehow fallen into an age-old vendetta between two warring families of a crime syndicate here in Chicago, was more than she had anticipated.
Gavriil’s sigh brought her out of her panicked thoughts. “Now I am fairly certain I know what your thoughts are, but I am equally as certain I do not want you to voice them.”
Gavriil leaned in to press a lingering kiss to her temple, and Abigail’s heart took off, beating so fast she was sure a heart attack was imminent. “I need to go and take care of this. I will be back as soon as I can.”
With that he turned and left Abigail standing in her small kitchen, surrounded by coffee grounds, blood, and a mess that would take days to clean. Her world had taken a turn in a direction she had not been prepared for. If Gavriil was a trusted confidant of John “Poppa John” Carlisi, a man she knew about from reputation and a multitude of stories in the newspaper about the man’s exploits, then he was a very dangerous man to know, and he was promising her he would be back as soon as he could?
Abigail released a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding and pressed the palm of her hand against her beating heart. “Well, mama, this is certainly one hell of a mess I’ve gotten myself into.”
Abigail didn’t know what was worse. That a highly-ranked member of a mafia crime family had been in her home and now knew where she lived, or the fact she was desperately looking forward to him coming back.