Violette's Vibrato [Golden Dolphin 3] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Skye Michaels

  “Yes, Nana. I have every intention of marrying her, if and when I can convince her that it’s a good idea.” He smiled, and the dimples he didn’t often flash popped. He used them sparingly but to good effect. It seemed his great-grandmother was no more immune to them than any other woman had ever been. She smiled back at him, and then he knew where he had gotten the dimples. Well, damn.

  “Well, in that case, I can’t have my future great-granddaughter-in-law bothered by such problems. I have every confidence you will convince her to marry you. Only a fool could say no to one such as yourself—and she does not appear to be a fool. Let us enjoy our tea.” When the tea tray, which included a bottle of rare Russian vodka and a small iced glass for Nik, arrived, Anya poured the tea. “Please help yourself to some sandwiches, Nikolai. I see you are still a growing boy.”

  “Nana, do you think you can…”

  “Nikolai, I will speak with your Uncle Sergei, and I am sure that the problems will go away.”

  “I don’t want to be responsible for any…violence…or anything like that. I just want them to go away.” Nik poured a measure of the vodka into the iced glass, sprinkled the glass with pepper from a crystal shaker, and drank it down. He needed a shot, but one was all he could handle. It was extremely strong stuff, and he knew from experience that someone who was not accustomed to it could find themselves in trouble.

  “Don’t be silly, Nikki. Do you think your nana would request something like that to happen to people who were seriously inconveniencing and endangering her family?”

  “Of course not, Nana. I’m sure they will just be politely requested to cease and desist any inconvenient activities.” He gave an inward shudder. He knew he was playing with dynamite, and he didn’t do it lightly. Violette was everything to him, and he would go the extra mile to insure her safety. “I will bring Violette out to visit you in a few weeks after things have calmed down. Perhaps we can have lunch, and she can play for you.” After they had finished tea, he stood up, kissed Nana on the cheek, gestured to Dmietriev for his coat, and walked out the front door.

  When he was back in the car, he gave a huge sigh. “Let’s get out of here, Daniels, while I’m still conscious. This place always makes me nervous, and Nana’s vodka is deadly. I hope to hell I didn’t just make things about a thousand percent worse. Either I just solved our problem, or I started World War III.”

  * * * *

  Anya Antonova smiled wistfully at the beautiful great-grandson she adored. She watched him through the window as he got into the back of the black limousine in the courtyard. It drove rather rapidly through the gates. She had to smile at that. She knew what it had cost him to ask for her help. The Rossiters had always kept a distance from her and her line of the family. This woman, Violette O’Reilly, must mean a great deal to him to bring him here like this.

  When her precious daughter, Anastasia, had fallen in love with the big, bluff Irishman, Declan Rossiter, and married him, giving up a promising career in the ballet, she had been disappointed. When the stubborn girl had virtually cut herself off from her Russian family, she had been bitter. After Anastasia had succumbed to the devil breast cancer that had ravaged her body, she had been heartbroken. But she had been grateful to Nik’s father, Devlin, when he had allowed his only child to spend part of his summers at Odessa with her every year. He had earned her respect and undying gratitude for that unselfish act. She knew he and his wife would rather Nik not be exposed to the family business, and she had honored their wishes, keeping Nik away from any whisper of the rough world of the Russian Mafia. But he was a bright boy, and she knew he had questions.

  She had also seen to it that Rossiter Construction had no problems with the Russian mob. The Rossiters had had to deal with all the other criminal organizations out there from time to time, but the Russians had left them conspicuously alone—except for the few times they had stepped in to quietly and efficiently persuade the Italians or the Jamaicans or some other criminal organizations that it wouldn’t be wise to dip their toes into that pond.

  She picked up the ornate telephone on the table in the parlor and called her grandson, Sergei. After she had succinctly explained the situation to her favorite grandson, the current head of the family business, she said, “See to it, Sergei. I don’t want the O’Reilly woman or Nik to have any further problems with these two.”

  “No problem, Babushka. I don’t know this Sokolov, but I’ll take care of it.”

  “Don’t kill either of them. Find another solution. I don’t want Nik to be burdened by any guilt that he caused them to die by coming to me for help. Also, since he’s brought them to the attention of the Manhattan DA, their unexplained disappearance could be a real problem for him.”

  “Oh, all right. It would have been an easier problem to solve if he hadn’t done that. I know the Rossiter side of the family is touchy about stuff like that. I’m sure something can be arranged to keep this guy busy on the West Coast for a while, and the girl’s immigration status can be easily rearranged.”

  “Thank you, grandson. When are you going to visit me? An old woman gets lonely.” She smiled to herself. Just a touch of guilt—not too much—to make sure he does what I want the way I want it.

  * * * *

  Violette stopped by the office of the director of the orchestra late that afternoon. She wanted to make sure they knew she was still alive and had every intention of resuming her position as first violin in the orchestra. She had dutifully waited until Nik had returned from his appointments and she could have use of the limousine and Daniels as a babysitter. It had gone against the grain, but she had promised to try and cooperate with his security team. She had missed the bustle and sounds and smells of the city while she sat cocooned inside the luxurious vehicle, but another broken wrist was not on her agenda.

  Violette loved Lincoln Center. Just strolling the campus of the enormous arts center in the middle of the biggest and most vibrant city in the world gave her a thrill. As a young girl when her parents had brought her here to concerts and plays, she had dreamed of someday playing Colleen here. Her ambitions had always run in that direction. She had never wanted to dance or sing. It had always been the violin. It was just in her blood.

  She discussed the upcoming programs with the director and then stopped by the office of the conductor to be sure he was also on board.

  “Violette, we all can’t wait until you are back. Katya is adequate, but she is certainly not you—never mind you and Colleen. Attendance has fallen off while you’ve been recovering.”

  “That’s very flattering, John. I can’t wait to get back to work. I’ve been practicing while I was away, and my wrist seems to be doing very well. I have an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon on Thursday. If he gives the okay, I’ll be back with bells on.”

  “No bells are necessary. Just a nice, plain black gown and pearls would be sufficient. We have a cymbalist after all.” He smiled at her over his coffee cup. He was not known for his witty repartee, but his conducting was dynamic.

  * * * *

  Violette was amazed when Nik described his day to her over Mrs. Taylor’s delicious dinner that night. She had not known Nik had such a colorful family background. She had never seen any evidence of it. She did know he had balls of steel when they were called for, and she had to laugh at the way he had faced the Manhattan district attorney down in his own office.

  “I always did wonder how a nice Irish boy like yourself got the name Nikolai.”

  “I guess it was to placate Nana Anya. The rift in the family was rather painful when I was a kid. After my grandmother died, my parents made an effort to have me spend time with Nana. They knew she was grieving for her daughter, and they also knew the only thing that would ease her pain was having a kid underfoot.”

  “That was kind of them, given that they didn’t approve of that side of the family.”

  “Kind, hell. It was heroic. But enough of that. I did promise Nana that we would come out for lunch in a few wee
ks and that you would play for her. Something Russian would be good—maybe some Tchaikovsky. So start thinking about it. Of course, she laid the guilt on that she had read about us in the papers but never met you. She’s a master at that.”

  “Okay, a command performance. Maybe the ‘Danse Russe’ from Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky. That’s a beautiful piece for solo violin.” Needless to say, Violette was a little nervous about meeting Nik’s Russian mob granny. Yikes, and she’d thought her Irish Catholic family of crazy micks could be scary. They couldn’t hold a candle…

  “Perfect.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Andrei Sokolov’s Apartment in Brighton Beach, New York, Thursday night, March 20, 2014

  Katya Kosakova sat on the sofa in Sokolov’s living room sipping a small glass of vodka. She had never been able to just shoot it down. “Andrei, is most amazing thing. Just when my work permit is expiring, I get offer from St. Petersburg Philharmonic to audition for first violin. I think is my best option now that Violette is returning to work.”

  “That is amazing, babe. I thought your work permit didn’t expire for another six months.”

  “So did I. Is very puzzling, but maybe is for the best. Violette O’Reilly is tough woman to get out of the way after all. I thought would be easy.”

  “I can’t believe the guys in Rio couldn’t get to her. They are some dangerous bastards. Not as dangerous as Russians, but still… Three different attempts ending with two of them in hospital for weeks and one in jail in Brazil. That boat was tougher than I thought it would be.”

  “I’m just in the luck that Violette never knew it was me…us…who had her push down stairs of subway. I thought that broken head would do it, but she is tougher than she look.”

  “I have orders from up chain of command that I go to California for a while to help straighten out some shit at docks in San Diego. Apparently they are short of men there. I will be gone for a few month at least.”

  Katya leaned over and kissed Andrei, giving him a look down the bodice of her short, red cocktail dress. This was really good news. She didn’t want to cut all ties with him just in case she needed his help again in the future, but she certainly didn’t want him standing in the way of this new opportunity. It really was amazing. The St. Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra was the oldest orchestra in Russia dating from 1882. First violin for such an established organization was a very prestigious seat, and she intended that it would be hers no matter what it took. With that position on her résumé, she would be on her way to the top of the international music community. She would use her body in any way she had to in order to make it happen.

  She unzipped his trousers and slipped her small but strong hand into his briefs. She planned a very fine good-bye performance for Andrei Sokolov. She never burned her bridges.

  * * * *

  This bitch had fabulous hands and an even better mouth, and Andrei was going to enjoy them until he got on the plane for San Diego or she got on the plane for St. Petersburg. He was going to fuck her brainless. She was a problem, though, and he wouldn’t be sorry to see the last of her. Meeting her demands could have gotten him in serious trouble with his bosses had they found out about it. Letting personal business interfere with mob business could be dangerous to his health. Maybe a few months in California would be a good thing. And they had starlets out there. Wouldn’t that be something?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Anya Antonova’s Estate in Brighton Beach, New York, Sunday afternoon, March 30, 2014

  As Violette and Nik drove through the gates of Odessa on Sunday afternoon, Violette’s eyes popped wide open. Even though it was still early in the year, the grounds of the walled estate were magnificent. The lawns were manicured, and the bronze statue of a mounted Cossack stood proudly in the fountain in front of the portico. The three-story mansion was silhouetted against a pearlescent gray sky, and the crashing waves in the background gave the feeling of a Victoria novel. Emily Brontë came to mind. Oh, boy. This is even scarier than I imagined. Violette gripped Nik’s hand in hers. Colleen’s case rested on the wide seat beside her.

  “Babe, what if she doesn’t like the pieces I chose?” She looked puzzled. “Do you really think that just one conversation with your great-grandmother solved our problems? I can’t believe Katya got an offer to audition for first violin in the St. Petersburg Philharmonic. I hate to say this, but she really isn’t that good. I’m a little nervous here.” She knew she was babbling. Playing at Lincoln Center didn’t raise her blood pressure, but playing for Nik’s great-grandmother made her a nervous wreck.

  “Vi, believe me. One conversation with Nana was all it took. Let’s just say she’s a mistress of cutting through red tape. Katya will have to sink or swim on her own in St. Petersburg. In any instance, she won’t be getting another visa to return here.”

  “That’s a little harsh, Nik…”

  “Do not go there, Violette O’Reilly. Your memory is far too short. Just remember how scared we were just a few weeks ago. I don’t want to ever feel that way again—that you’re in danger and I can’t protect you. I’m glad to see the back of her, and Sokolov seems to have disappeared as well. There hasn’t been any recent activity in his Brighton Beach apartment.”

  “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that. Thank you, Nikki. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I know you didn’t want to involve that side of your family in our problems.”

  “I’d do anything for you, Vi. Now, come on, little fly, let’s go visit the spider, I mean Nana, in her web.” Violette laughed delightedly. He has to be kidding, right?

  * * * *

  Nik was not surprised when Dmietriev opened the double doors before they had climbed the steps to the front entrance. He knew that there were carefully monitored high-definition security cameras covering every inch of the grounds.

  “Good afternoon, Dmietriev. I hope Nana is well today. I know she has been anxious to meet Violette O’Reilly. Violette, this is Nana’s butler and bodyguard, Dmietriev.” He could see that Violette was astounded. After all, how many almost ninety-year-old grannies had a butler that looked like this? He was a mountain…a fierce mountain…until his face creased in a wide smile.

  “She has been most excited all morning waiting for your arrival. I trust all is well with you both?”

  “Everything is fine. We greatly appreciate Nana’s help with our…problem.”

  When they walked into the parlor, Nik greeted his great-grandmother with a kiss and a gentle hug. He whispered in her ear, “Thank you, Nana. Everything seems to have been taken care of in a very discreet manner. I appreciate your help.”

  “It was my pleasure, Nikolai. Now, introduce your young woman.”

  Nik brought Violette forward and made the introductions. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Antonova. Colleen and I are looking forward to performing for you.”

  “Call me Nana.” Anya Antonova laughed with a musical tinkle in her voice. “I had heard that your violin has a name, but I had thought it was just an artifice for publicity.”

  “Oh, no. She’s been named Colleen for over a hundred years.” Violette related the story of the near miss on the Titanic, and Nik could see that his Nana was delighted. “My great-grandfather said she was blessed by the faeries and that the leprechauns wanted to steal her.”

  “Please sit down. Dmietriev, please serve us cocktails. I think Nik would like some of the special vodka. I’ll have sherry. Violette, what would you like?” Nik inwardly shuddered. More of that special vodka. He was glad he had downed a tall glass of milk before they had left the apartment. He could handle his Irish whiskey, but this stuff was deadly.

  “Oh just some iced tea with lemon for me if that’s convenient. I have to keep my fingers nimble.”

  Anya Antonova was in top form today, and Nik could see that she had enthralled Violette with her tales of Moscow in the ’40s and ’50s. She had immigrated to the United States in 1952 with her husband and had found it a bit daunting. The cultures
were so different, but she had quickly adapted to life in the States, and raising her family had eased things a great deal. The children had quickly made friends and become immersed in American culture, although they were never allowed to forget their Russian heritage, and all of her children and grandchildren spoke fluent Russian.

  They enjoyed a sumptuous luncheon in the glassed atrium at the back of the house. It was filled with exotic plants and trees, and the aroma of the flowers was intoxicating. When they had finished coffee, with brandy for Nik, and dessert, they adjourned to the library.

  * * * *

  Violette took Colleen from her case and quickly touched up the tuning of the magnificent instrument. She bowed to Anya and said, “I’m going to play Tchaikovsky’s ‘Danse Russe’ from Swan Lake. I thought you might enjoy that.” She began to play.

  Colleen’s rich, full voice filled the library as Violette closed her eyes and just let the strains of the very difficult and complex Tchaikovsky piece pour from her fingers, her entire body, and her soul. The piece required her full concentration, especially without the background of an orchestra.

  Anya had tears in her eyes. “I never thought someone not born Russian could play that music with such feeling and emotion. That was truly beautiful, Violette. I have never heard it played better.”