by Holly Bargo
“She’ll ruin her face,” Gertie protested.
“Then you’ll just have to fix it,” Olivia retorted calmly. “We can’t have the girl fainting from hunger at her own wedding.”
The cosmetician growled and muttered, even as Olivia’s housekeeper brought in a silver tray laden with bite-sized quiches, juicy strawberries, and sweating glasses of orange juice.
“Eat,” Olivia commanded. “Then you shall brush your teeth and Gertie will fix your face.”
Gia wanted to protest, but the forbidding expressions on both women’s faces deterred that foolish course of action. So she ate and was glad she still wore the robe, because the strawberries dripped their red juice onto the fluffy fabric and the flaky crusts of the quiches dropped crumbs. At least she spilled no juice, although the sweating glass dripped condensation. She began to apologize for the mess, but Olivia just shooed her into the bathroom. Gia took advantage of the opportunity to relieve other pressing needs of nature.
“Better now?” Olivia asked archly when she emerged from the bathroom.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied politely.
“Good. Gertie, fix her.”
Gertie frowned, plopped herself in front of Gia, and determinedly went back to work. She stood when finished and stomped from the room.
Olivia glanced at the clock and gasped. “We’re running late! You must get dressed quickly!”
With the housekeeper’s cheerful assistance, Gia found herself dressed in wedding day finery. When she looked up, Olivia had changed into a pretty silk dress that screamed haute couture.
“You look lovely, dear,” Olivia praised, thinking it was just too bad about the glasses. Perhaps she could persuade the girl to get contacts or even LASIK surgery. “Now stand there and don’t wrinkle anything while I check whether the car is ready to take us to the church.”
She disappeared, leaving Gia under the housekeeper’s sharp gaze. Gia felt idiotic just standing there, arms akimbo, practically trembling with the fear she’d have to go through the morning’s torture again if she so much as lost a sequin.
“We’re ready!” her hostess sang. She led her charge through the mansion to the car, assisting in the task of keeping the gown’s hem from dragging on the ground and, thus, becoming soiled. She climbed in beside Gia and took her hand.
“Maksim says Vitaly has not dishonored you,” she began with as much delicacy as she could—which wasn’t much. She patted Gia’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Is there anything you need to know?”
“I’m pretty sure I know the mechanics,” Gia replied in a dry tone. “But thank you anyway.”
“Maksim and Vitaly will meet us at the church.”
Gia nodded, her anxiety increasing by leaps and bounds. Olivia, of course, noticed. She noticed everything.
“You need not fear him; Vitaly’s a good man, as good as he can be, considering.”
Gia closed her eyes against the memory of how they met, the cruel implements of his trade.
“You do know what he does, right?” the nervous bride asked hoarsely.
“I do. He often serves as medic for us.” Olivia’s mouth curled in a sly smile. “You’ll enjoy his bedside manner.”
Gia blushed.
The limousine glided to a smooth halt in front of the church. Maksim was there, along with Pyotr and Gennady, Cecily and Latasha. And a few more dangerous looking men with suspicious bulges beneath their suit coats.
“Those men are carrying guns,” Gia murmured to her hostess.
“Of course, they are,” Olivia replied blithely. “Now come along. We’ve only a few minutes to fix you before you walk up the aisle.”
Gia wasn’t sure what needed to be fixed, but she meekly obeyed as Olivia led her into an anteroom and helped shake out her skirts and arrange her veil. Cecily and Latasha hovered nearby.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Latasha asked her quietly after Olivia left them to check on the organist and the flowers, her chocolate gaze intense. “I’ll get you out of here if you don’t.”
“This is all so sudden,” Cecily complained quietly. “But Pyotr’s dreamy, don’t you think?”
“Did she—?” Gia started to ask, then bit off because it really wasn’t her business.
“God, yes,” Latasha blurted. “Loudly.”
“Cecily? You have got to be kidding.”
“I’m right here, guys,” Cecily pointed out. She huffed a sigh. “Yes, Pyotr and I did the nasty last night and he’s absolutely marvelous in the sack.”
Latasha put palm to forehead and said, “Cecily, when did you become such a slut?”
“Hey, I don’t sleep with just anyone, you know.”
“I should hope not,” Gia retorted. “But shouldn’t you get to know a guy better before you do?”
“You’re one to talk,” Cecily pointed out. “You’re getting married to a man you’ve known for only a couple of days.”
Gia’s shoulders drooped and she sighed. “You’re right, Cecily. I just worry for you.”
Cecily giggled. “Don’t worry over me, girlfriend. I’m not nearly as dimwitted as everyone thinks. Pyotr will keep me comfortable and satisfied as long as I cook for him.” A sly, knowing grin spread across her face and she added, “I like to cook as much as he likes to eat.”
Latasha shook her head. “Aren’t you going to finish school and get your degree?”
“Sure. Pyotr’s okay with that. But I want to stay with him.” She shivered as a delicious thrill ran through her body. “He is sooo appreciative of my cooking.”
Latasha threw up her hands and said, “I can’t talk to her any more about this. Maybe you can find me a Black Russian who’ll rock my world.”
“If I can’t, I’m sure Olivia can.”
Latasha stuck out her tongue and Gia giggled. She needed that bit of silliness to calm her nerves.
Organ music suddenly swelled. Olivia appeared at the door to the anteroom and hissed, “Come! It’s time!”
Each taking a deep breath, the three young women walked up the aisle, Cecily first and escorted by Pyotr, then Latasha escorted by another of the big Russian brutes whom they didn’t recognize.
“I will escort my granddaughter,” a firm voice declared.
“Grandpa?” Gia gasped.
Shorter than the average North American male, Giuseppe Maglione extended his manicured hand toward his granddaughter. Her jaw dropped in surprise as she took in the dapper man’s understated elegance. She glanced into the nave and saw several pews filled with her grandfather’s colleagues and subordinates. Was that Cousin Giovanni?
“Come, Gia,” the old man commanded.
“I’m so sorry, Grandpa,” she whispered brokenly as tears welled in her eyes and she put her hand in his. He transferred it to his arm.
“It’s not the match I would have made for you, but Vitaly is a good choice,” he reassured her, understanding without having been told that she’d had little choice at all. “Your mamma and papa are disappointed, but they will get over it as soon as you start giving them grandchildren. They send their regrets that they could not be here for you today.”
“Er...how did you know about this, Grandpa?” she whispered. “Not that I’m not grateful you’re here.”
“I know everything, cara.”
Gia forcibly snapped her jaw shut. If she asked about the Culebras, she would no doubt hear more than she could bear. Instead, she took a deep breath and simply said with a genuine smile, “I’m glad you’re here with me today, Grandpa.”
He patted her hand as they proceeded up the aisle where Vitaly, Pyotr, and the third thug waited. Giuseppe Maglione smoothly transferred her hand to Vitaly’s and leveled an icy, dark glare at the much bigger man.
“My granddaughter will be treated with respect.”
Vitaly nodded, understanding the deadly threat and knowing that Maglione would be keeping eyes and ears open for any domestic disturbances. Maksim had power and influence, but not to the exten
t that Giuseppe Maglione did. The old man needed no show of force because he held the upper hand.
Giuseppe Maglione kissed his granddaughter’s cheek and took a seat in the front pew next his currently favored grandson Giovanni. Gia glanced back and Giovanni gave her a faint smile and a nod of encouragement, already scheming on ways to benefit from this new link to the Bratva. He and Grandpapa would have an interesting conversation after the ceremony.
The priest’s nose twitched nervously, because he recognized the caliber of guests filling the church and did not want to offend any of them. Yet he heeded the calling to be true to his faith and profession and, after welcoming the affianced couple and guiding them to their seats located in the epistle side of the altar, he began celebrating Mass. Gia took comfort in the ceremony and rote responses and remembered little of the actual marriage sacrament.
“Please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Synvolka,” the priest invited. Polite applause answered. Vitaly led his bride down the aisle to the waiting limousine which would take them to Maksim’s mansion where Olivia assured him a feast had been prepared. He wasn’t particularly hungry for food, but understood that hauling his new wife off to bed so he could satiate himself with her body probably wasn’t good form.
Giuseppe and Giovanni followed the limousine. Olivia and Maksim accommodated the unexpected guests with gracious hospitality and no fear that they’d run out of food or wine. The reception lasted two restrained hours without dancing, toasts, or other entertainment.
Giuseppe rose and everyone else took his cue. He approached his granddaughter, Giovanni shadowing him, and pressed another dry kiss upon her cheek. “You need anything, anything, you contact me or Giovanni. We don’t abandon family.”
Not quite knowing what to say, she simply murmured, “Thank you, Grandpa.”
The old man kissed her cheek again, then looked steadily at Vitaly. “You will bring her to visit me in one month. Stay for lunch. The Culebras have been taken care of.”
He turned on his heel, made his polite good-byes to Maksim and Olivia, and departed. Gia slowly sat back down, stunned by her grandfather’s words. There had been no need to marry Vitaly. The Culebras were no longer a threat.
Vitaly watched the expressions cross her face and knew what she was thinking. Dipping down to whisper in her ear, he said, “Your grandfather would not have known if not for our wedding.”
Her shoulders drooped. Vitaly spoke truly.
“I’m sorry, Vitaly. I’m sure this isn’t what you had planned for yourself.” It certainly wasn’t what she’d planned for herself either.
He settled his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Brushing his mouth over hers, he murmured, “Plans change and often for the better. I do not regret this.”
But would she regret it?
He brushed his mouth over hers again, delicately tasting her, letting her taste him. She sighed, moist, warm breath fluttering over his skin. His underwear felt tight. A light flush pinked her upper chest and neck.
“Let’s go home, Giancarla,” he said, his voice low and thick.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Vitaly straightened and entwined his bride’s fingers with his. He looked at his boss and said, “Thank you, Maksim, Olivia, for your hospitality and your service. You honor us.”
Olivia bustled forward and hugged the both of them. After kissing Gia on the cheek, she said, “I could not be happier for you than if you were my own son, Vitaly. You two will be good for each other, I am sure of it.”
Vitaly hoped so.
Maksim followed his wife’s path, his hulking body moving with ponderous grace. In Russian, he said, “This union could be more beneficial than we thought. A stroke of good fortune for us both, no?”
“Da.”
Maksim bussed Gia on both cheeks and waved them off. “Go on, go on! It’s your honeymoon. Make the most of it!”
Vitaly raised their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. He fully intended to make the most of their honeymoon.
The limousine carried them back to his house. Vitaly had to exert strong control to restrain himself from dragging Gia into the house and up to his bedroom. Instead, he firmly and gently escorted her.
“Vitaly?”
He looked into her pretty brown eyes, saw the anxiety, the virgin’s fear.
“Pleasure,” he rasped. “Today I give you nothing but pleasure.”
“I—I’ve heard the first time always hurts.”
“You won’t notice it,” he promised and hoped he could keep that promise. With a gesture, he shooed her into the bathroom to take care of any last-minute needs. When she returned, she still wore her wedding dress. He still wore his tuxedo.
“We will go slowly,” he said and raised trembling hands to her shoulders as though to steady both her and himself. She gave a small, curt nod. He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her gently. She stood stiffly as he plied his lips to hers, deepening the kiss when she softened and yielded. Then he took slow possession of her mouth, his tongue sweeping inside, stroking against her tongue. Her hands rose, splayed across his chest, then clutched at his shirt. Vitaly shrugged off the jacket, tore at his necktie. Gia fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, but managed to unfasten them and draw the fabric aside. She settled her hands upon his naked chest, explored the crisp curls that covered it, traced the hills and valleys of heavy muscle.
Vitaly grunted, his dick pressing painfully against two layers of fabric and a confining zipper. He was certain that his cock would bear the imprint of that damned zipper. He ran his hands to Gia’s back and thick fingers clumsily found the tiny pull of the zipper. He lowered it down, down, down until it stopped at the curve of her bottom. Still occupying her attention with his mouth on hers, he drew down the bodice and pushed the sleeves down her arms. She shook off the sleeves and the dress pooled on the floor.
He yanked at his cummerbund, flinging it across the room when it finally came free. His hands hurriedly unfastened his trousers, affording his erection a smidgeon of relief. He toed off his shoes, kicked them aside, then shoved pants and underwear down.
“Touch me,” he said. Begged, really.
Gia’s hands slid down until she came into contact with the bobbing, throbbing length of him. Her eyes opened wide and she glanced downward.
“Oh, no,” she gasped and took a small step backward. “Oh, no, there’s no way that thing will fit inside me.”
“It will,” he reassured her. “Trust me.”
And that, she thought, was the essence of it. Trust. She swallowed a lump of anxiety, took a breath, and watched her hands as she stroked the erect male organ. It pulsed and jumped in her hands as though it had a mind of its own. Perhaps it did. She marveled at the soft delicacy of the skin over the steely length, the pearl of oily liquid beading at the fat tip. Vitaly hissed when her thumb swept over the glans. She looked up, fearing she’d hurt him. She released him, but his hand captured hers and returned it to his cock.
“It feels good. Your touch feels so good.”
“Oh.”
She returned her attention to sexual exploration and Vitaly unhooked her strapless bra. He flung it aside and cupped her breasts. She gasped at the feel of his warm hands over her breasts. They felt swollen and achy and his touch seemed both to sooth and excite. Her nipples tightened to hard points. Without realizing she did so, she arched her back to push her breasts more fully into his touch. Vitaly accepted the invitation, gently hefting the warm weight, stroking the soft flesh, kneading it. His mouth watered. He knew that if he did not suckle those rosy nipples in the next minute he would die.
He lifted her and carried her to the bed. Gently lowering her down, he crawled over her, caging her with his big body.
“So beautiful,” he murmured and then licked one nipple.
Gia gasped yet again, then moaned as he settled into an oral exploration of her breast. She hardly noticed when his hand tugged at her garter belt and panties. He transferred his attent
ion to the other breast; it wouldn’t do to neglect either of them. An expert multitasker, he drew off her garter belt, panties, and stockings and flung them across the room.
Gia felt as though she were drowning in a swirling sea of sensation. Amid sighs and murmured praise, heated skin misting with perspiration, the silken slide of flesh against flesh, she sank into a maelstrom of pleasure that melted every brain cell and annihilated every inhibition.
If that was what the poets and novelists spoke of, then the reality more than lived up to the hype.
She felt herself reaching, striving toward something. She knew the term, the word, but not the feeling. Like crystal she shattered, the gasp of breath as she called out Vitaly’s name, the only thing that could anchor her to this Earth as she soared.
He brought her down gently, scissoring his fingers inside her still quivering body to stretch her so she could accommodate his girth. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder as he edged forward, straining against the feral urge to surge forward and claim her as his, his, his. He inched backward, then forward again, slowly, slowly going ever more deeply into her body until he bumped against the barrier of her innocence. Sweating, trembling, he busied himself with distraction.
Gia could hardly focus. His mouth and hands were everywhere, building arousal, stimulating her, making her writhe and beg beneath him. When he pushed through the maidenhead, she gasped, but wasn’t sure whether it was because he took her innocence or whether it was because he bit gently down on her nipple.
Soon, too soon, not soon enough, Vitaly rocked his entire length back and forth inside her body. Gia found his rhythm, matched it, met it. She moaned, keened, surprised at the sounds coming out of her throat even as she relished his own soft grunts and groans. Her hands clung to his broad shoulders as he commanded her body and took responsibility for her pleasure.
With an incoherent cry she leapt over the precipice again, shattered in a shower of sunlit crystal. Again, Vitaly buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder as he pumped two, three, four more times and his semen spurted in sizzling jets that left him gasping for breath.
The bulky muscles of his shoulders and arms gave up their strength and he collapsed. Gia lay beneath him, body still quivering with aftershocks, feeling him pulse inside her. God, he was heavy, but his hot, sweaty weight pushing her into the mattress felt...good. Comforting even.