Sword of Vengeance

By Bill Bitetti

Finding himself imprisoned in a loveless marriage and infuriated by his father's betrayal of his beloved mother, a handsome successful attorney, John Ireland, Jr, leaves his wife and quits his father's law firm to pursue the gorgeous young Christiania Tetchenova.

In the midst of their steamy affair, John frightfully discovers that Christiania is the mistress of Nicholas Sarkin, a wealthy Atlanta land developer who happens to be an old friend of the head of the Russian Mafia in America, Stefan Krylenko.

When Sarkin's body is found in a bloody heap on the floor of his bedroom stabbed twenty-seven times, John Ireland, Jr. finds himself running from the police in a desperate attempt to prove his innocence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Bitetti
• Release date: Apr 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301837809

Bill Bitetti

Bill Bitetti earned a Bachelor of Arts degree from William Paterson University in Wayne, New Jersey. Soon thereafter he traveled extensively throughout Europe earning a living as a professional model and actor. Upon returning to the states, he started his first business with only five hundred dollars. Some time later, he moved to Florida to publish a singles magazine. He has gone onto become a prosperous entrepreneur, buying and selling numerous businesses and commercial properties. His hobbies include gardening, art collecting, traveling, remodeling old homes, hiking, writing poetry, and alternative medicine. Currently, he owns a successful land development company in Florida and North Carolina. Additionally, he operates a franchise of National Tenant Network. NTN happens to be the largest privately owned and operated tenant screening company in the world with franchises in the United States and Canada. He has written related articles which have appeared in Condo management Magazine and various Florida newspapers since he purchased the franchise in 1987. He lives with his Norwegian wife, Ingrid, her two daughters, and their harlequin Great dane, Moses, in a dream house he built on five acres in a gated community atop a hillock in a bucolic setting in Northern Florida.

Book preview

Chapter 1

John Ireland, Jr., charged out of the bedroom with a stiff neck and an angry sneer imprinted on his face. He and his wife, Gloria, had been arguing all afternoon. His throat felt like sandpaper. Her shrill voice seemed to scrap at his eardrums.

John, come back, she cried out.

Ireland glanced back at the half-open bedroom door. What good would it do to try to explain? They lived on different planets.

He opened the front door, then slammed it shut with a bang. His pulse was pounding. He knew once his family found out that he'd run away with a married woman, they'd disown him. But it didn't matter. Whatever was out there had to be better than living in his father’s shadow. Ignominiously, the junior after his name had always made him feel like an appendage. As far back as he could remember, his father had expected him to follow in his footsteps. Why couldn't his father understand that he didn't want to take over his prestigious law firm? He was bored to death, and afraid one day he'd put a bullet in his head to prove it.

His overstuffed suitcase forced him to walk lopsided.

Leaning forward, he reached for the handle on his car door and ripped it open.

After throwing the suitcase onto the passenger seat he jumped into the car and turned the key. And the bright yellow Corvette convertible came alive with a throaty roar.

Fitting a pair of mirrored sunglasses to his face, he shifted into drive and a gust of warm wind scattered his long, blond hair. It was seventy-eight degrees under clear skies - a great day to drive with the top down.

A thin smile played on his lips when he thought of April Taylor's angelic face. The sins of the flesh were too much to deny. Temptation was staring him in the face. He'd been waiting too long. He suddenly grew hot with lust thinking of how he and April had spent last Saturday together sunbathing nude on a deserted part of South Ponte Vedra Beach. In his mind's eye he again watched the erotic dance of her voluptuous breasts as he pounded her into the sand. Her smell had driven him wild; it was robustly female. When she screamed out his name he'd lost all control.

He pushed a shock of hair out of his eyes, then glanced down at the bulge in his shorts. He felt strong and sure of himself; it was a new feeling for him. And he loved it.

He hadn't bothered to tell his wife, Gloria. He knew she wouldn't understand. Her world evolved around daily excursions to the shopping malls, appointments with her Brazilian hairdresser, and golfing and tennis dates with her girlfriends at the country club. He had to make an appointment to have sex with her. And when he did, it seemed more like an exercise in self-discipline and hygienics than in lovemaking.

If he began to sweat when he was on top of her she’d sniff the air like a bloodhound, then turn away in disgust. And whenever he cried out his pleasure, her cold eyes would bore into him and made him go limp.

Georgia was only ten miles away. He exited Highway A1A and turned onto the interstate heading north. He floored it, and the needle jumped past one hundred. April's husband was away on a business trip. The thought of her waiting for him made his heart pound.

Three hours later he exited onto Highway 17, approximately an hour's drive outside of Charleston. He had passed through South Carolina several times before, traveling to New York on business, though he'd never visited Charleston until he met April. He found it to be a sophisticated, sensual city. Its inhabitants were amiable and unusually mannerly. He was charmed by its lacy, wrought iron balconies, secret gardens, waterfront parks, narrow shops, and open-air markets. Its stately antebellum homes, complete with intimate piazzas and sunny, walled gardens looked dignified, dressed in gleaming white or subdued, salt water taffy hues. Whenever he visited Charleston he felt like he was entering into the fictitious world of Rhett Butler and Scarlet O'Hara.

His thoughts were mired in sun-dappled memories of April's smiling face, and the gentle clip-clop of the horse drawn carriage, which had lazily taken them touring Charleston's cobblestone streets. He knew he had been seduced. However, he wasn't sure if it was the city that had woven a spider-web spell over him … or April.

Ireland drove his car into a gas station in Jacksonboro, halfway to April's house, where he stopped at a pay phone to dial her number. A rush of heat coursed through his veins as he waited to hear her velvet voice. But she didn't answer, and he walked off in a huff.

He couldn't ignore the tiny voice in his head that told him something was wrong. When he'd phoned yesterday she'd said that she loved him and couldn't wait to see him. Where was she? Why wasn't she waiting for his call?

During the next twenty-five minutes, questions popped in and out of his head. By the time he entered exclusive James Morris Island, and turned onto the narrow private road leading to April's house, he was too excited to think of anything besides taking her in his arms and making mad, passionate love to her.

His headlights penetrated the blackness like two lasers, revealing a bald cypress swamp on either side of the road with shiny red alligator eyes flickering in the darkness.

He drove halfway around the lollipop driveway, parked his car near the front door of the three story brick mansion and stepped out of his car.

Walking up the stairs and under the high, white antebellum arches, Ireland pressed hard on the front doorbell and chimes rang out.

Again, he pressed the doorbell, choked up with anticipation. He couldn't wait to take April in his arms, to feel her soft body against his. It felt so good to be free!

Stepping back, he noticed an envelope lying on the cement near the bottom of the door.

Recognizing his name on the front of it, he bent down and picked it up.

He ripped it open and read it in a whisper,

Dear John,

I can’t look you in the eye and say what I’m about to write, because I know I would cling to you, and let you lift me up in your strong arms and take me away to a life full of lusty adventure. The life you crave so much.

But, how could I stop loving you, when you grow tired of the chase, and become bored with me?

This doesn’t mean I don’t want to go with you. I do. I’m a woman; I can contradict myself.

The truth is I can’t go. Don’t ask me why. It’s best you don’t know. I’ve only known you for one short month, and already I fear the way you make my heart skip a beat with the nod of your head, or a sideways glance.

What I’m trying to say is that I’m the moth … and you’re the candle.

Need I say more?

Love,

April

He arched his back, and an angry grunting gurgled up from the depths of his anguished soul. It felt as if a sharp knife had been thrust into his heart and someone was turning it ever so slowly.

His hand fell limply to his side and the note dropped to the ground. He stared at the door with a look of disbelief. He was hoping April would give him the understanding his wife never did. Why had he lost the very woman he thought could help him find himself?

Reluctantly, he twisted his body around. And with a scowled face, he dragged himself back to his car, opened the door and fell into the driver’s seat.

Slouching behind the wheel, he glanced back at the house. He thought he saw the reflection of April's face in the moonlight, staring at him through a third story window.

He punched down hard on the gas pedal and his head snapped back. The cool Wind felt good against his hot skin. Why didn't she want to go? What was she afraid of? Was it because her husband made such a generous salary as a stock broker? Or was she afraid to run off with a twenty-nine year old out-of-work attorney who got his kicks from thumbing his nose at the world?

The darkness seemed to close in on him; he felt terribly alone. He looked up at the moon, and muttered, Goodbye, April ...

Chapter 2

Traveling south on the interstate, Ireland spotted a gas station and turned off at the next exit. He decided to call his sister, Pamela, who lived in Savannah, to tell her that he'd be dropping by. He hadn't seen her in over a year; however, he didn't want to surprise her if she had company.

After filling his gas tank he realized that he had left his cell phone in his desk drawer at home. So, he sauntered over to the public telephone, slipped in a quarter and dialed her number.

Pressing the handset to his ear, he waited to hear his sister's cheerful voice. She seemed to have a knack for making him smile.

Hello.

Jennifer, Ireland blurted out. He was surprised to hear Jennifer O'Brien's voice. He hadn't seen her in years. Jennifer was his sister's best friend.

Big Blue, how are you?

Where's Pamela? he asked with a wry grin. He’d forgotten that Big Blue was her favorite pet name for him.

At the supermarket.

Last time I spoke to her she told me that you and Mike were getting divorced.

Yeah, Jennifer sighed, it was finalized last month.

Tell my sister I'm on my way over.

Where are you?

Outside Charleston.

"What are you doing there?

I was on my way to start a new life ...

What are you talking about?

My first stop was supposed to be at the Regency in Atlanta, he groaned into the phone, for a long weekend of unbridled passion.

Jennifer let out a nervous laugh and asked, Does your wife know?

Aren't you the nosy one?

Well, you're cheating.

Gloria and I haven't been getting along for some time.

Seems like I'm not the only one.

He hung his head and said softly, I'll tell you all about it when I see you.

I can't wait.

See you in a bit.

Sure thing.

Ireland hung up the phone and turned to walk back to his car, when he saw a man reach inside to grab his suitcase.

Ireland started running toward him, yelling, Hey, stop!

The man jumped into a white sedan, and it quickly sped off.

Ireland leaped over the passenger door of his Vette, fell into the driver's seat and jammed the key into the ignition.

The tires squealed as he followed the sedan out of the gas station. He thought it looked like an unmarked police car, but he couldn't be sure.

The car sped onto the entrance ramp to the interstate leading back to Charleston.

And Ireland raced after it.

Chapter 3

Speeding down the interstate at 130 miles an hour, the wind whirled around Ireland like a tornado, he could hardly think. However, he didn't dare stop to raise the top; he kept the pedal to the floor and his eyes focused on the white sedan in front of him. He opened the glove compartment, pulled out his revolver and placed it on the passenger seat. Gloria didn’t like him keeping a loaded gun in the car, though he never left home without it. The nickel-plated .44 magnum seemed to glow in the moonlight. It beckoned him. Up to now, he'd never been in control of his life. It had all been planned for him. He'd never told anyone of the times he'd wanted to take the gun into his office, place it on top of his desk, sit back, and watch the expression on his clients’ faces as they walked through the door. He guessed it would feel something like the rush of power he experienced whenever he stood naked in front of a woman. His eyes galvanized. An electric feeling shot through him. He had an urge to kill the men who had stolen his suitcase. Who would care if a couple of thieves were gunned down and left on the side of the road?

This was his chance to wash away a lifetime of shame in one moment - to vindicate himself of the nagging suspicion that he was impotent to take charge of his life.

The sedan exited onto Highway 20 and proceeded east.

He took his foot off the accelerator and the engine growled down to ninety. He couldn't silence the voice inside his head telling him there was something odd about the thief. He seemed to wait for him to turn around before he grabbed the suitcase.

His car pulled dangerously to the left as he turned onto the exit ramp. He slammed on the brakes, struggling to keep his car from rolling over.

Finally, the car squealed and skidded to a stop on the side of the road.

The driver of the sedan stopped in the middle of the road.

Ireland froze. Why were they waiting? Was it a trap?

For the next twenty minutes, he followed the red tail lights of the sedan as it sped down the darkened highway.

It suddenly disappeared around a sharp bend in the road.

Ireland took his foot off the accelerator and coasted through the darkness, searching for the white sedan, watching the trees sway to and fro in the wind.

The silence was unnerving. He reached out and placed his hand over his revolver, expecting someone to jump out of the woods with a rifle and start shooting at him.

When he saw the car it was parked on the side of the road with its lights off. He slammed on the brakes. Then he picked up the gun and watched and waited.

All at once the headlights of the sedan shot out a wave of white light that lit up the night, and it took off down the deserted road.

He threw the gun down. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. They had changed the rules. It was now a game of cat and mouse.

He followed the car for some time before realizing that he had again entered James Morris Island. Terror swept over him. He felt like he was being drawn into a spider's web, but he couldn't bring himself to turn his car around.

Vicariously, his fear seemed to make him come alive; it was pumping adrenaline into his otherwise demoralized spirit. Death had become an acceptable risk. At the very least, he feared it less than returning to the empty life he'd been living. Or so he thought …

However, his face was transformed into a mask of horror when the sedan turned into April's driveway. Was the thief April's husband? Did he steal his suitcase to lure him back to the house? Why didn't he confront him back at the gas station?

He took his foot off the gas pedal and coasted past the house, watching as the white sedan's headlights washed the house with light. When the headlights went out all that was left was the glow of the chandelier he saw hanging over the front entrance. He couldn’t help wondering why it wasn’t lit when he first visited the house.

Awestruck, Ireland drove onto the side of the road. He sat there for a moment eying the house. He didn't see any movement. The long winding driveway was barely visible in the darkness.

He shut off the engine, grabbed his gun and quietly lifted his lanky frame out of the car. The dark night air was heavy and still. He gasped. The heat felt oppressive.

He jerked his head back when he heard a frog croak. His eyes searched the swamp surrounding the house. All at once he recognized an electric entry gate behind a cluster of trees extending out over the swamp, which he hadn't noticed earlier.

Closed, it made the house inaccessible.

He peered into the darkness, searching for the men who had stolen his suitcase. Had April's husband forced her to write that note?

Sticking his chest out, he flexed his biceps; for one fleeting moment he thought of himself as a white knight who had come to rescue a damsel in distress. The great avenger. The hero!

He saw visions of April throwing herself at his feet after he vanquished her mean, jealous husband.

Undaunted, he marched toward the house.

Chapter 4

Holding his weapon in front of him in his right hand, Ireland stealthily approached the white sedan. He peered into the rear window and was stunned to see his suitcase lying on the back seat. He tried the car door. It was open. His finger twitched against the trigger. Why had they left his suitcase in the car‘?

Walking around to the front of the car, he glanced at the house with a hundred questions swirling inside his head. Nothing made sense.

He turned to look back at the suitcase, and when he did a tiny voice told him to grab it and run. But his heart wouldn't let him. He was enchanted by April’s alluring smile. Her image hadn't left him since the day they met; her face haunted him. He had to have her.

He remembered his grandfather telling him that a man without self-control was as defenseless as a city with broken down walls. Or was that a proverb his mother had read to him from the Bible‘? He wasn't sure. Nevertheless, he convinced himself that if April was in danger he had to help her.

Ireland ran to the back of the house and peered, wild-eyed, through the kitchen window. He gasped at the sight of April crawling toward the door with her clothes torn and her face, neck, and arms smeared with blood. Two men were lying on the kitchen floor, bloodied and lifeless. One had the handle of a large carving knife sticking out of his chest. The other was lying face down in a pool of blood.

Shoving his gun into his pocket, he pulled open the kitchen door.

April lifted her head, looked at him, and sighed, John ...

Ireland carefully picked up her limp body, feeling her warm, slippery blood against his skin.

What happened?

They tried to kill me, she moaned.

He glanced at the two bodies, wrinkled up his face, and asked, Are they dead?

Breathless, she nodded.

You're bleeding?

My arm.

He examined her bloody arm and asked, Where's the bathroom?

Why?

I need to stop the bleeding.

April pointed to the hallway leading away from the kitchen.

Ireland carried her down the hall. Most of April's blouse was torn away, and the feel of her soft breast stirred his blood to a boil. His thoughts about wanting to kill the two men came rushing back to him. He glanced back at the bloodstained kitchen, and couldn't help but think of the horrible struggle that must have taken place. How much easier it would have been if he could have put a bullet in each of them.

When he reached the bathroom, he pulled a towel off the rack and soaked half of it in cold water. His pulse was hammering as he gently wiped her clean.

However, he soon discovered that her cut was superficial and the blood covering her must have come from the two men. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead as he pressed the towel down on her wound.

Looking into her tearful blue eyes, he grinned and said confidently, This should stop the bleeding.

With the face of a helpless child, she rested her head on his arm and cooed, I'm so happy you came back.

He closed the lid of the commode, and sat her down on top of it.

She reached for his hand, kissed it, and said tearfully, They forced me to write that note.

A puzzled expression covered his face. He couldn't exactly recall what the note had said; although, he remembered it to be a cogent composition, and not something that seemed to be written under duress. Now, he wished he'd kept it.

Where is it?

She gazed up at him with a blank stare, and said softly, I don't know.

Hmm.

The two men in the kitchen were sent by my husband.

He grasped the towel tightly in his hand.

You told me your husband's a stock broker.

She bowed her head.

He put his finger under her chin, lifted her head and asked forcefully, Those two guys lying in the kitchen don't look like they trade stock for a living.

She hesitated, then said, He's into other things ...

He straightened his back and leaned against the back of the commode.

What things?

She looked into his eyes with tears streaming down her face, and blurted out, He sent them to kill me.

He cocked his head to one side, arched his eyebrow and asked, Why?

Because, she diverted her eyes, I know too much.

Ireland stiffened his back. Had he heard her correctly? What could she possibly know that would make her husband want to kill her?

How did you kill them?

They were afraid you saw me looking out of the upstairs window, she said as she reached out and rested her hand gently on his thigh. They thought you might go to the police.

Ireland studied her pleading eyes. Was she telling the truth?

I didn't see their car when I was here the first time.

It was in the garage.

Who did they think I was?

A friend, she said, fluttering her eyelids.

Again, he asked, How did you kill them?

Before they left to go after you, they tied me to a kitchen chair. I worked myself free, and I surprised them when they returned.

He pressed his eyebrows together with an inquisitive stare. Just like that?

Don't you believe me?

He threw his head back with a dubious gaze. I didn't say that.

I shut off the lights and waited for them to return with a knife in each hand. When they entered I stabbed one, and then the other April’s voice faded, and she covered her face with her hands.

Why were the lights on when I found you?

Ignoring his question, she bowed her head and began to sob.

Please, don't cry. It's all over, he said, bending down to hold her trembling body.

Pressing herself against him, she whispered in his ear in a prayerful voice, I've missed you so much.

He took a deep breath. He wanted to believe her, but in the back of his mind he questioned how a petite woman like April could overpower two street-wise thugs, and walk away with only a superficial cut.

Your note threw me ...

Clinging to him, she looked up and said, I couldn't stand the thought of never seeing you again.

He was captivated by her smooth, melodious voice.

She slipped her hands inside his shirt and moved them over his sweaty body.

His hungry mouth found her tender lips, and he quickly forgot where he was and what he was doing.

She moved her mouth away, and slowly brought it down his stomach.

Chills ran up his spine, and he let out a loud, unfettered groan.

She unbuckled his belt and slowly pulled down his Zipper.

He held his breath, and buried his hands in her long silky dark hair.

She pulled down his shorts and slipped her hand inside.

He gave out a loud groan, and a lusty grin snaked across his face. Any doubts he'd had about her were quickly washed away by the torrent of pleasure that erupted within him. The only thing that seemed to matter was the way she moved her hand. It was bewitchingly magical.

She rubbed her lips over his skin, then licked his rippled stomach. Her wet, warm tongue made him quiver. April was a tease, a