by Fox, Winter
Alessio nodded. “Talking of which, where is he? I know he’ll want to tell you goodbye.”
As if on cue, my twelve-year old brother pushed open the door to our spacious living room, and ran across the polished tiles until he collided with me. Throwing his arms around my waist, Matteo buried his head into me and spoke softly.
“Do you really have to go, Liss?”
Fighting back the urge to scream in frustration and sorrow, I wrapped my arms around the skinny little clone of Alessio. “Yes. But I’ll come back and visit you when I can. I promise.”
“But I don’t want you to.” He sniffled.
I shifted, and held Matteo away from me by his shoulders, in a similar way to how Alessio had held me earlier. “I know, but you have to be brave, Matteo. You’re one of the last Marchesi’s, and Alessio will need you now.”
He didn’t know it yet. But we had every intention of sending Matteo to a boarding school in London as soon as I was married. At least then he would be far enough out of Mariusz’s reach that we could try and keep him safe. I also hoped that my younger brother might be able to find a different path to walk in life. I dreamed that he could become a lawyer, or a doctor, maybe. Leaving us behind to become only memories—just like my parents were to us.
Coleen, Matteo’s nanny bustled into the room, and gestured to my brother to go to her. She met my eyes for the briefest instant, and then looked away. She had been my nanny since the day that I was born, and then in turn Matteo’s. I knew she was hurting. I knew that she was furious really. But we’d had the argument already.
She’d begged me not to go, and I’d told her that I had no choice. Not if we wanted to protect Matteo. And she knew that I was right. But that didn’t mean she was happy about it
“Matteo, come. Your sister’s ride will be here soon.” She looked toward the large window which overlooked the gated driveway to our home. I knew she wouldn’t meet my eye again, and I knew it was because she would break down if she did.
Kissing my baby brother quickly on the top of his head, I released his shoulders. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” His big, brown eyes stared into mine for a few more seconds; then he turned to follow Coleen out of the room.
I exhaled deeply, as I looked toward the wrought-iron clock above the marble fireplace. It was almost one, which meant that he would be here to collect me at any minute now.
I took a deep breath and smoothed the front of my black, designer dress. It was a simply cut, but elegant garment, which hugged my slender figure. It had two thin shoulder-straps, and it fell to just above the knee. I had paired the dress with a pair of black heels, and I had my sunglasses perched on top of my head.
I had purposely chosen black because I wanted to mourn the loss of my family—all of them.
“He’ll be here any minute,” I announced. As though Alessio didn’t already know.
My brother shook his head, and crossed the room to pour himself a drink. “It won’t be him. Do you want a drink, sorella?”
God, I wanted to say yes to a drink. But I was about to walk into unknown territory, and until I knew my way around that territory I needed my wits.
“No, thank you. What do you mean it won’t be him?”
Alessio sat down tensely on the very edge of the soft, cream leather sofa in the center of the room—sipping at his brandy. “Mariusz will try to piss us off by sending one of his men to collect you. He won’t bother to come in person, I guarantee it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What does he think you’ll do?”
Alessio shrugged. “He might lessen the insult by sending one of his Five for you. But, if he just sends an ordinary man, then we’ll know he’s really trying to provoke me.”
I shuddered, despite the warmth of the hot June day. I did not relish the thought of sharing a car with one of those four cold, dead men. The journey from our home to Mariusz’s was only about twelve miles long. But that would be twelve miles too far in that kind of company.
Wrapping my arms protectively around my body, I wandered across to stand in front of the large window, studying the distant road for any approaching cars.
“Which one of his brutal Five will he send? Sava? Kostya? Nikolai? Or Anatoli?” I wondered out loud; more to myself than to Alessio.
Alessio joined me at the window. “Sorella, I’m impressed. You’ve been doing your homework.”
I snorted, my eyes trailing over our beautiful gardens. Wanting to imprint the memory, in case I never came back here again. “I made it my business to know a little more about these Russian wolves. I’m going to be living with them now, after all.”
“You only named four, of the five.” Alessio finished his brandy, and returned to the bottle to pour another.
I finally saw what I had been watching for. A huge, shiny black SUV swung onto our driveway. It paused at the gates for only a moment as our security team checked the passengers out. Then the gates opened, and the car approached our home.
“You just said he wants to insult us. So he won’t send the Lieutenant. And anyway, I don’t know his real name. I couldn’t find it out,” I admitted, as I watched the car which would steal me from my family pull up on the drive.
All I had been able to find out about the one member of the Five who had been missing from our home on the night that Mariusz took our lives apart, was that he was the leader of the elite security team. He was Mariusz’s most trusted man, and he was the worst of them. A cold, murderous assassin, who was unwaveringly loyal to Mariusz Sokolov.
Alessio filled his glass, and came back to stand at my side. “No one knows the Lieutenant’s real name. I don’t even know if Mariusz does. But you need to keep as far away from that man as you possibly can, Liss. If you thought the other four were from hell, then the Lieutenant is hell incarnate.”
I gnawed at my bottom lip. So many politics I had to learn just to stay alive in my new home.
The car had come to a stop now, and the rear passenger door opened. A man stepped out into the bright sunshine, and I could have sworn that I saw the sun hide behind a cloud as he turned to glance up at the window where we stood.
This man was at least six-six. The bottoms of his arms were solidly muscled, leading up to biceps which strained at the sleeves of his black shirt. His arms were covered by tattoos—just like the men from the night my parents died—but his tattoos ran all of the way up his neck, only stopping just before his face.
His face was tanned, he had dark brown hair—almost the same color as my own—which was cut short, but not closely shaved. But it was his eyes which really caught my attention. They were black. Not brown. Black. And they were both colder and darker than death.
I felt my brother tense beside me.
“Who is that?” I asked, quietly.
“That’s the fucking Lieutenant, Liss.”
No. No. No.
“But you said—”
Alessio cut me off. “I know what I said. Obviously Mariusz values you more than we thought. Either that, or he just wants to scare you.”
I swallowed nervously as the brute walked up the steps, and disappeared into our house.
“Well he succeeded,” I confessed.
3
The Lieutenant
He had been sitting in the basement of Mariusz’s mansion watching the others play cards. It made for an interesting game when the Five played poker together. It was impossible to call any bluffs, because every single man was so practiced at keeping their expressions unreadable. Fuck, they killed people with less emotion on their faces than when they played poker.
Well, except for Sava. Sava loved killing and maiming more than all of them, and he had a fucked-up sinister smile that he’d use while he did it.
Mariusz suddenly appeared in the doorway, just as Sava pulled a knife on Kostya. Accusing his comrade of cheating—a common occurrence during their card games.
The Lieutenant stood up quickly—ever respectful of the korol—and the men at the p
oker table quieted their argument.
“Lieutenant, a word.” Mariusz would never call him by his real name in public. Not even in front of the other members of the Five. Not even his four comrades, who sat at the poker table frowning at each other knew his real name.
The Lieutenant was a ghost.
He followed Mariusz obediently out of the room, and into an office located three doors along the hall. Mariusz was already pouring them each a glass of vodka—it was a clichéd drink for a Russian. But the Lieutenant drank it because it served to keep his demons mostly at bay, and he was pretty sure that was why the others drank it too. Even Mariusz.
Closing the door to the office behind him, he took the drink his korol offered him, and leaned his massive shoulder against one of the bookshelves. Mariusz took a seat in his favorite chair, and sipped at the vodka.
“I need a favor, Ilya?” Now they were alone Mariusz allowed himself the use of his Lieutenant’s first name.
Keeping his black eyes level on Mariusz, Ilya replied. “Of course. What do you need?”
Theirs was a strange arrangement. Mariusz was no weakling—at six feet tall, and around one-hundred and seventy pounds. He was lean and lithe, and he was a good with his fists. But it always occurred to Ilya that their relationship must look quite strange to anyone on the outside.
Ilya had maybe ninety pounds, and five inches of height on his korol—his king. Realistically, he could crush the smaller man with his bare hands, and there wouldn’t be shit that Mariusz could do to stop him if he chose to do it.
Instead “Mad” Mariusz poked and prodded at Ilya in public, knowing that his ever-faithful Lieutenant wouldn’t say shit. He used his control of Ilya’s size and strength to validate his position as king. And it drove Ilya fucking crazy.
But Mariusz had too much to hold over his Lieutenant to demand anything less than absolute blind, unfaltering loyalty. And for now, that was exactly what Ilya gave.
For now.
“I want you to be the one who goes to collect my fiancée.” It wasn’t a request.
“Why? You have four other assholes sitting in there getting more and more bored, korol. Sava’s going to have a knife in the back of Kostya’s hand before the next game is done.” Ilya’s own insolence surprised him. But he wasn’t going to be a glorified baby-sitter for some rich little Marchesi bitch.
“Why?” Mariusz’s legendary temper flared quickly. “Why? Because I fucking told you to. So, you’ll go. Understood?”
Ilya didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure why he felt so keen to push Mariusz’s buttons lately. He was moody—off his game.
Mariusz took the silence to mean compliance, however. And he visibly calmed down, tipping the rest of his vodka down his throat. “Pick her up at one. That’s what time I told her brother you’d be there.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “You told him you were sending me?”
Mariusz gave one of his “crazy” grins. “Don’t be insane, Ilya. I want him to shit himself when you show up. He’ll think I’ve ordered his execution before I take his sister.”
“And have you?” Ilya spoke of killing Alessio Marchesi with absolute disinterest.
Mariusz smirked. “Not yet. We’ll have to see how my new wife shapes up before I make any decisions about her family.”
Ilya was grateful that his stone-cold stare masked his internal grimace of distaste at the lewd mention of the Marchesi girl. He had no doubt that Mariusz was going to hurt her, and he wanted no part in it.
Neither Mariusz, or Ilya’s comrades in the Five were averse to rape. In fact, sometimes Ilya wondered if they preferred it above consensual sex. Sava particularly like to really hurt his women—and that usually meant that he could only play with people who weren’t willing. No one would volunteer for what ticked Sava’s boxes.
Ilya was disgusted by the idea He’d never participated in any of their sadistic games. Of course, he had needs, just like the others. But he preferred to find himself willing candidates in other places. Usually a downtown bar, filled with underdressed and over-drunk women. The dark sort of women who would be begging to go to his bed after one glance at his sheer size, and the twisted artwork which scarred his whole body.
He didn’t understand it. Men were terrified of him, while women—fragile women—threw themselves at him.
He always warned them that he liked it rough, and that it would hurt. His tastes probably ran almost equally as dark as Sava’s, if the truth were told. But he always exercised control, and only ever hurt them enough to satisfy the darkness inside of him.
But the crazy bitches would usually keep on begging for more. Half of them would have let him carry them into hell, and leave them there. Just as long as he kept making it “hurt so good.”
Women were a fucking mystery to him.
He checked his watch, and saw that it was twelve-thirty. He might as well get this shit over with—he wasn’t being given options. “All right. I’ll leave now. We don’t want to keep her waiting.”
Mariusz pinned Ilya with the look he adopted when he was fighting to keep the madness inside him under control. It was a look that promised death to anyone who defied one of the most powerful men in the world.
“Good. Bring her straight to me when you get back. I’ve been dying to see if she’s as exquisite as I thought she’d be.”
Ilya finished his vodka—tossing it back in one quick swallow, and dropping the glass onto a shelf. He nodded, before pushing off from the bookshelf, and heading for the door.
He paused with his fingers lightly resting on the handle, as Mariusz called his name. “Ilya?”
“Yes, korol.”
“Don’t ever fucking question me again. Or Lieutenant, or not, I will kill you.”
His fingers gripped the handle so hard he felt the metal begin to give way.
“Yes, korol,” he said, before stepping into the hallway.
As he made his way upstairs to go for the car, Ilya wondered—not for the first time—who the fuck Mariusz would choose to try and kill him.
* * *
Ilya sat in the back of the SUV, while one of Mariusz’s chauffeurs drove him to the Marchsei house. He would have preferred to drive himself, but he had no idea if the woman he was collecting would be hysterical or not. It would be much easier to shut her up if he was sat in the backseat beside her. He suspected that this had probably been Mariusz’s thought process too.
When they pulled up at the front of the house, he blew a low whistle between his teeth. The Marchesi’s were still clearly doing all right for money—no matter what everyone said.
The house was painted bright white, and styled to mimic an Italian casa. Although it was one hell of a large and elaborate casa. It had double wooden front doors which were accessed by beautiful red sandstone steps. The house was surrounded by an olive orchard, which made it feel as though he really had found his way into Italy.
You almost wouldn’t believe the dirt, noise, and clamor of the city was only four miles away, at the bottom of the hill.
He stepped out of the car, and his eyes swept across the building—landing on a tall first-floor window. He caught sight of a man and a woman looking down at him, and although he couldn’t properly make out their faces, he suspected that she was who he had come for. Slamming the car door closed, he sauntered into the Marchesi family home. Completely unfazed by the two armed guards at either side of the door.
The woman who met Ilya at the door was around forty-five, and she scowled at him. Showing her distaste of him even as she led him up the stairs to the reception room. He smiled inwardly, knowing that she wouldn’t be so fucking disrespectful if she’d seen him skin a man alive for less.
The woman left instructions with a male servant that he should start to “load Liselle’s possessions into the car”.
Liselle. He pondered the name. It was as beautiful as he had heard that she was. Mariusz had talked about the girl obsessively ever since the night he took the city from her family.
The woman led him into a large reception room, which continued in the Italian theme. Polished stone floors were scattered with Italian style furniture and decorations. The most striking feature of the vast room was the four stone columns at each corner, which ran from floor to ceiling.
Coming to a stop in the middle of the floor, Ilya held a relaxed stance as he waited while the man and woman approached him from the window. The man—Alessio—spoke first.
“Lieutenant, I’m honored that Mariusz would send you to escort my sister to his home.”
He didn’t look honored. Ilya thought he looked fucking horrified. He nodded once to the brother, then turned his gaze to her.
Even after everything that Mariusz had said, he hadn’t been prepared for just how goddammed beautiful she was going to be. She stood a couple of paces away from him. Her back was ramrod straight, and her chin was lifted in…was that a challenge?
She had a mane of long, dark hair which fell in waterfalls over her tanned shoulders. Her body looked as though it had been made with the same mold which had been used for the creation of a goddess. She was slim, but curvy, with perfectly formed breasts. And from what he could see at this angle she had a sensational ass.
Her face was sculpted to perfection, he could tell that she was wearing only minimal make-up. He was all too familiar with the painted desperadoes of the club scene, and he hated it when a woman was too heavy-handed with her warpaint. He drank in the slight pink blush to her naturally tanned cheeks, and the tint of rose color on her perfectly bowed lips.
But it was her eyes which caught his attention. Her eyes were like nothing he’d ever seen before. They were yellow. No, not yellow. Amber. She had the most incredible amber-colored eyes, which swam with a thousand emotions—despite the fact he knew that she was trying to hide them beneath the cold look on her stunning face.
Her eyes were like honey. And Ilya found himself wanting to discover just how sweet this honey was.