Russian Lullaby

by Holly Bargo

  “Forgive me,” he whispered and pressed a kiss to her swollen lips before rolling aside and withdrawing from her body. “I did not mean to crush you.”

  “I...I...er...liked it,” she admitted sheepishly and stretched sensuously as the air cooled her body.

  Vitaly rose to sweep back the covers. He climbed back on the bed and pulled his bride into the shelter of his body. He drew the covers over them and bade her rest.

  “I’m sticky.”

  “Yes. Do you want me to clean you?”

  “Um...yes?”

  Vitaly’s teeth gleamed as he scooted beneath the covers to introduce her to the delights of cunnilingus. When he finished and she’d screamed herself hoarse, she no longer complained of being sticky.

  Chapter 5

  Waking alone the next morning, Gia stretched and grunted at the surprising soreness of every muscle she never realized she had. A second later and realizing why she was sore, a sly smile spread across her face even as her complexion reddened with a weird combination of arousal and embarrassment. Had he really done that to her? Had she really enjoyed it?

  Yes, on both counts.

  What she hadn’t realized was that conjugal gymnastics wore a body out. The smile disappeared in a grimace as she made her way to the bathroom for a hot shower. She glanced longingly at the tub, but wasn’t really sure how long she’d have before Vitaly fetched her. Why he’d fetch her, she couldn’t say. A shower instead of a long soak just seemed...prudent.

  Hearing the sound of water rushing through the PVC pipes, Vitaly crept upstairs to his bedroom. He opened the door and peered into a cloud of steam from the hot shower. The blurred image of her, wet and slick in his shower, shot straight to his groin. He shook his head to clear it of carnal intent. He’d taken her virginity less than twenty-four hours ago; she’d be sore, too tender to accommodate him again so soon. A good husband had care for his wife. He knocked on the open door and said loudly over the sound of running water, “You’ll be sore, Giancarla. Take a nice, long soak.”

  She must have heard him, because a moment later the showerhead spray stopped and the tub spigot ran full force.

  He clenched his fists as he wrested control from the little head trying to do the thinking for him and turned back around. Back in the kitchen, he poured another cup of coffee and carried it to the table where he resumed reading the newspaper and mulling over the ramifications of having married into the Italian mafia.

  Giuseppe Maglione had slipped him a business card at the reception, along with another warning to treat his granddaughter with all due kindness and respect. The old mobster hadn’t needed to state the “or else” part of his admonition. Vitaly pulled the business card out and studied it for the third time that morning.

  It was plain, no garish graphics for Giancarla’s dapper grandfather. The type on the cards was engraved, much more expensive than ink, a sign of old fashioned class and wealth. It contained nothing more than the man’s name and a telephone number. Vitaly wondered if the man himself would answer a call to that number or if it was a general card he carried and handed out to everyone. Somehow, he didn’t think so. He wondered if Giuseppe had given one to Maksim. Again, he didn’t think so.

  He set the business card down and picked up the other one given to him by Giovanni Maglione. It, too, exemplified an understated elegance, but that one had an additional line of information: Giovanni’s email address. The young man, who was obviously the heir apparent to his grandfather’s empire, had whispered another warning in Vitaly’s ear. His explicit warning left nothing to the imagination.

  The telephone rang, shaking Vitaly from his thoughts. He answered it.

  “Your in-laws work quickly,” Maksim said without preamble.

  Vitaly looked down at the paper. The massacre made headlines: GANG WAR ENDS BADLY. He wondered which idiot reporter came up with that. It wasn’t a gang war; it was a mass execution:

  Twenty-six men, all known to be members of a vicious Hispanic gang called the Culebras were found dead in various locations throughout the city last night. Neighbors reported hearing gunshots. Most of the deceased were well known in their home neighborhoods. Their deaths leave many spouses and children grieving for their lost husbands and fathers.

  Vitaly snorted at that last sentence: grieving, indeed. More likely those few spouses and bastard children were celebrating. Low-life gang members weren’t known for their family-friendly traditions and attitudes. He continued reading.

  The Culebras—which means “snakes” in Spanish—have been implicated in many car hijackings, drive-by shootings, convenience store robberies, and other violent crimes through the greater Cleveland area. They are considered powerful rivals to other gangs operating locally. Officials speculate that the massacre was perpetrated by one of those other gangs.

  Law enforcement will continue to investigate. Mayor Edward Malcomb assures the public that the murderers will be brought to justice.

  Vitaly shook his head in contempt. The police would find no evidence implicating the actual murderers, but he wouldn’t have put it past the Magliones to have left sufficient evidence to point law enforcement toward either the Ukrainian or Japanese gangs which had set up shop in the region. He hoped the Bratva hadn’t been framed; a solid alliance between Italian and Russian mafias would be profitable and strengthen both organizations. Otherwise, Maksim would go on the warpath and blood would flow in rivers.

  Vitaly did not relish having his loyalties split between the Bratva and the mafia. Traditionally, he knew that his wife was supposed to give him every loyalty, but reality did not work so neatly. He’d seen the affection she and her grandfather shared; she’d not support the Russians.

  A stupid case of mistaken identity had brought him a wife and possibly landed him in the middle of a war between crime lords. The thought of his wife brought his mind back to the previous day and the bedroom pleasures he had enjoyed with her. A strange softening in his chest accompanied thoughts of her and he feared what that meant.

  He had to remain strong. He had to remember that he could enjoy her soft body, but that he must not allow his affections to become engaged. That way lay catastrophe.

  Unfortunately, he feared he was too late. Something about her had tugged at his heartstrings—he, who was rumored to be heartless—from the second he’d realized that she was not Carmen Montoya. She’d been terrified, but determined not to succumb, determined to meet her fate with dignity. It had been that quiet dignity that captured his attention, convinced him to save her, shown him there was something special about this particular young woman that gave him hope he had not lost all his humanity.

  No, he’d already lost the opportunity to hold himself aloof. Ever practical, Vitaly admitted that he’d fallen for his bride and there was no going back. He only hoped that, in time, she’d come to love him, too. In the meantime, he could woo her with more pleasure than she ever imagined. Vitaly looked forward to it.

  His coffee had grown tepid. He set it aside to finish reading the paper. He’d folded the paper and set it aside when Gia entered the kitchen, all moist and pink from her bath. He gave her a smile, angled his body toward the gas range so she wouldn’t see his erection and think that he wanted nothing more from her than constant sex, and said, “You must be hungry. Two eggs or three?”

  She gave him a shy smile and answered, “Two is fine, thank you, Vitaly.”

  He had the sense she was thanking him for more than just the offer of breakfast.

  “You feel better for your bath?” He glanced over his shoulder as he took two eggs from the refrigerator and deftly cracked them into the hot skillet.

  “Yes, not quite so achy. I needed that soak.”

  “I was too rough with you.”

  She heard the remorse in his voice and approached him, set a conciliatory hand upon his back.

  “No, Vitaly, you weren’t too rough with me. I...I liked everything you—we—did. It was amazing. I just wasn’t...er...used to it all.”
<
br />   He appreciated her attempt to set him at ease. “A man should have care for his wife.”

  “And you did; you do. I’m not complaining, Vitaly.” Her cheeks flushed, but he didn’t see because he was concentrating fiercely on the frying eggs. “I’m sure I won’t be so sore the more we...er...practice.” She took a deep breath and continued. “It’s like any exercise. The first time hurts, but the more one plays, the better one gets and the more accustomed one’s body becomes to the rigors of activity.”

  “Giancarla, did you know your speech becomes very formal when you’re discomfited?”

  “Er, yes?”

  He slid the eggs onto a small plate and held it out. “It’s charming, but you need never be uncomfortable with me. No one will know you better or more thoroughly than I. There is nothing that we share between us that will be shameful.”

  She smiled softly at his reassurance and felt the flutter of butterflies in her belly. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but accepted the plate of eggs he handed to her.

  “Silverware is in the top drawer to your left.”

  She opened the drawer and took out a fork, then carried the plate to the table. Rather than stare at the wall, she reached for the newspaper.

  “No, don’t—”

  But it was too late: she saw the headline.

  “Why don’t you want me to read the newspaper, Vitaly?”

  “It is...upsetting...today.”

  “The news is always upsetting,” she retorted dryly as she turned it over to the front page. “There’s always a shooting by some crazy person, another terrorist attack somewhere.”

  “This is more local,” he said with a sigh of defeat.

  She skimmed the opening article, her mouth opening in silent surprise. She looked up at him: “Did you do this?”

  “I was with you all yesterday, remember?”

  She shook her head. “I misspoke. Did your organization do this?”

  “No.”

  “Then...oh, dear.” Her eyebrows went nearly all the way to her hairline, then down in a frown. “Oh, dear, Grandpa must be involved in this.”

  She looked at him. Vitaly wisely gave her a small shrug and said, “Maksim would not have done this without letting me know.”

  Without including him in committing the atrocity, she corrected him silently. She sighed. Her parents had done their best to shield their children from Grandpa Maglione’s heritage, his way of life, but there was a limit to the level of ignorance they could impose. Gia closed her eyes and recalled an early memory of visiting her grandparents and playing with a brutish looking man called Sal. She remembered asking him about the firearm holstered under his arm as he’d obliged her by attending her pretend tea party. She realized later that he’d been posted as one of several guards keeping her safe during her visit.

  She never saw Sal again after that visit. Creeping through the mansion playing hide-and-seek with her sister and brothers during a subsequent visit, she’d overheard that Sal had been killed.

  She never spoke of it.

  Secrets shared were no longer secrets.

  “Do you think any of them were innocent?” she asked, her voice quivering with uncertainty.

  “The article lists the gang member names near the end,” Vitaly said. “I knew many of them. Don’t waste your tears on them, Giancarla. They were not good men.”

  She wanted to ask if he was a good man, but wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer. It might have made her face some very uncomfortable truths she preferred to ignore. Instead, she changed the subject as she pushed the paper away. She no longer had interest in reading it.

  “I have to get back to class tomorrow or my professors will drop me from the program.”

  Vitaly poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and joined her at the table. “All right.”

  “You don’t object?”

  “I’d prefer to keep you home naked and in my bed all week, but we must accommodate our obligations.” He chuckled at her blush. She blushed so easily and it was such fun to turn her cheeks that rosy color. “I realize you did not plan for all this—” he made a vague, sweeping gesture with the hand holding his coffee mug “—and I also remember telling you that I approve of your finishing your degree.”

  “Oh, crap,” she muttered as another thought came to her.

  “What?”

  “Those books. I checked out six books from the library and they’re gone. I’ll have to reimburse the library and—oh, damn it!—I’ve got a paper due tomorrow!”

  “I’ll take care of the reimbursing the library. We’ll get you back to the library today so you can find other books.”

  “It’s Sunday. They’re closed.”

  “The public library’s main branch is open on Sunday. Will that do?”

  “Well,” she began and thought hard. “If I can get on OhioLink through them, I can find most of the literature resources I need.”

  Vitaly didn’t know what OhioLink was, but he was committed to helping her.

  “Do you have your professor’s contact information?”

  “You’re not going to threaten him?”

  “No, Giancarla. But I will ask him to consider your unusual circumstances and extend your deadline a few extra days.”

  “I really think it’s best if I speak with him.”

  “We’ll visit him in person. Together.”

  Gia bowed her head and briefly considered thumping her forehead against the table. Vitaly was determined to be involved in this and there was nothing she could do to dissuade him.

  “No threats,” she warned sternly.

  Affecting a look of utter innocence, he meekly agreed, “Of course not.”

  Gia worked the rest of the morning reconstructing her bibliography so she’d have a good starting point at the library. She sighed with relief when she was able to log-in to the interlibrary resource system and find much of the information she needed. Then she sat stiffly beside Vitaly as he drove through the suburbs to her professor’s home. Her knees practically knocked even as she rapped on the front door.

  “Gia, what a surprise,” her professor exclaimed with a tinge of disapproval. “Is there something you need that could not wait until class tomorrow?”

  “Er, hello, Dr. Cormier. I’ve come to request an extension on the deadline for the paper that’s due tomorrow.”

  The professor frowned. “You know I cannot do that, Gia. Coming to me in person to demand such a thing is highly unethical. I could and ought to fail you for making such an inappropriate request.”

  A massive hand, colored with tattoos, gripped the edge of the door and pushed it more widely open.

  “Invite us in, professor,” Vitaly ordered. “Listen to Giancarla before making your decision.”

  “And who is this? Are you trying to threaten me?” the professor demanded stiffly.

  “No, Dr. Cormier, this is Vitaly Synvolka. He’s my husband. We were married yesterday.”

  “Really, Gia, your inconvenient love life is none of my affair.”

  Vitaly jumped back into the conversation. “Have you read today’s paper, professor?”

  “What? Of course, I read the paper. It’s only intelligent to keep up on current events.”

  “Then you remember the front-page article about the gang killings?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “They happened because of what happened to Gia a few days ago.”

  The professor’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and he wheezed with sudden panic. After a moment, he collected himself and took a step back. “I think you’d better come in and explain this.”

  They entered the professor’s house, noting the wall-to-wall carpeting that muffled their footsteps, the Danish modern furniture that he apparently favored, the fragrance of something made with cinnamon.

  “Who’s there, Howard?” a woman’s voice pierced the air.

  “One of my students, Louisa. There’s no need to get up,” he called back as he led them to a formal living
room. To Vitaly and Gia, he gestured toward an uncomfortable looking sofa and said “Have a seat.”

  They sat.

  “Now start explaining, please.”

  “I was assaulted on Wednesday by members of that gang you read about in the paper,” she said after taking a deep breath. Vitaly felt her anxiety and took her hand reassuringly in his. “Anyway, to make a long story short, Vitaly rescued me.”

  “I’m aware that you’ve left out much of the detail,” the professor said in a dry tone. “But why would a simple mugging cause you to miss class on Thursday and Friday? Why would your ill-timed and hasty marriage affect my decision?”

  Vitaly interjected: “Dr. Cormier, Giancarla was targeted by the Culebras. She was put into a situation in which she could have easily died. Naturally, she was a bit traumatized.”

  The professor nodded, but his expression showed he remained unmoved. Vitaly leaned back, unfastened the cuffs of his shirt, and rolled them up, exposing the tattoos. Dr. Cormier’s gaze lingered on the ink, recognizing the designs as a silent history of the violence of Vitaly’s past.

  “When I removed Giancarla from the situation, she remained under my protection,” he said. “She still remains under my protection.”

  “Gia, I still see no reason why I should offer you an advantage over the other students.”

  She exhaled heavily and pressed her lips together to keep from pleading with him. She rose to her feet and tugged on Vitaly’s hand.

  “Thank you for listening, Dr. Cormier,” she said with quiet disappointment.

  The professor rose from his chair and stepped toward the foyer. “I must be fair to the other students, Gia,” he said. “I understand that you were put into a bad situation, but that’s neither my fault nor theirs.”

  “But you think that being abducted by gang members was her fault?” Vitaly asked in a low, menacing tone.