Russian Love: Books 1 - 3: Russian Lullaby, Russian Gold & Russian Dawn

by Holly Bargo

  Giovanni would look regal wearing a crown and ermine cape.

  She wondered if he would prefer the term emperor to king, then chuckled at her silliness.

  Three times a week, Iosif joined her for supper in the Maglione’s warm kitchen. Sitting with Bianca, Giovanni, Luigi, Paolo, and his younger brothers, they interacted like one big, rowdy family. Latasha had long since relinquished the battle for portion control and learned to eat until she was satisfied, and then to refuse all other offers of extra helpings. She sought and received the occasional afternoon off to spend time with Iosif, Gia and her children, and, occasionally Letty, who asked her to serve as her matron of honor. Tyrone, she said, wanted a church wedding.

  “I think a church wedding is just what you need,” Latasha said, thinking how even the macho men of the Maglione family attended Mass with faithful regularity. Their faith, she thought, kept them grounded and their humanity intact.

  “He’s Baptist,” Letty whispered, as though imparting a dirty secret.

  “So?”

  Letty laughed, shook her head at her friend’s ignorance, and said, “You really don’t get it. This ain’t like the church services you used to drag me to on Sundays. It takes twenty minutes just for the reverend to clear his throat. This wedding will take half the day.”

  Latasha smiled and said, “It’ll be an interesting experience then. At least we won’t get all gussied-up for a 15-minute service. That always seems like a waste of effort, especially since it takes me at least twice that to do my hair.”

  Letty laughed.

  Latasha did not visit her mother, although she remained in contact with her sister who visited once a week to join the staff for supper. Keisha quickly found herself a favorite with two of the Maglione guards, whom the older sister warned to treat the young woman with respect or she’d gut them with rusty spoons.

  “Why a rusty spoon?” Keisha asked after overhearing Latasha threaten one of her two smitten swains.

  Quoting from a favorite movie—Iosif owned the soundtrack to that one, too—Latasha replied with a vicious smile, “Because it’ll hurt more.”

  The inevitable happened and Giuseppe Maglione died. Giovanni notified an undertaker and the family’s vast network of colleagues, relatives, and friends. He authorized Bianca to hire additional housekeeping and kitchen staff to accommodate the influx of guests who would begin arriving shortly. He did not grant Latasha leave to return home to her husband.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  He leveled a cool glance of authority at her and said, “I’ll debrief you after the funeral. Then you may return home.”

  When she informed Iosif of the delay, he shrugged his shoulders with stoic resignation. Her news did not surprise him.

  Latasha found her place within the household altered. Since she no longer really worked in the household, she no longer counted as staff. However, neither was she acknowledged as family. Visiting friends and family members engaged her in conversation and questioned her about “dear Giuseppe’s” last weeks. They probed—sometimes not so delicately—for information related to the family business that Giuseppe may have imparted to his pretty nurse. Latasha kept her comments general and personal, repeating how she’d thought her patient brave and charming and sharp of mind to the very end. The more sensitive guests offered handkerchiefs and tissues so she could wipe her tears, for Latasha had grown inordinately fond of the formidable old man to whom she’d grown so close.

  “You’d think the mayor died,” Latasha commented sotto voce as she sat with Iosif in the pew during the funeral Mass and looked over the nave crowded with foreign and domestic dignitaries from the political arena as well as representatives from both legitimate businesses and criminal organizations. Maksim and Olivia also stood with Iosif in a gesture of respect from one crime boss to another. Across the aisle near the back of the church, Pablo Ochobella sat with his family, several trusted guards, Valentina, and Bogdan.

  “Hush,” Iosif whispered under his breath. House of God notwithstanding, tension ran high and the concealed weaponry in the building could equip an army. Giuseppe had done what he could to ensure the peaceful transfer of power and authority to Giovanni, but he did not doubt some ambitious fool would challenge the new capo di capi. He hoped, but doubted, that the sanctity of church and family would be respected.

  On the drive back to the Maglione mansion, Iosif whispered his concern.

  Latasha nodded. “Giovanni already warned me, as have Bianca, Luigi, and Paolo. Believe me, I’ve no desire to get caught in a coup as collateral damage.”

  “I will stay with you tonight.”

  “You’ve spoken to Giovanni about this?”

  “Da. He has accepted Maksim’s offer of a few extra guards. Doing so shows his trust in Maksim and strengthens the relationship with the Bratva.”

  “That’s… unprecedented.”

  “Da.” Iosif nodded. “Giovanni is a good leader, though a little different than his grandfather.”

  Latasha nodded to show she understood what her husband did not say. She murmured quiet greetings to Bogdan, Gennady, and Vitaly. They returned her greetings with cool, curt nods and the icy, sharp eyes of professional killers. The Russians and a handful of Costa Ricans followed Maksim and Pablo Ochobella into the office where they joined Giovanni and several of the top-ranking capos. No women allowed.

  Latasha tried not to feel excluded, reminding herself that she did not want to be involved in whatever discussions were going on. She did not resent the blatant chauvinism these criminals displayed under the pretense of protecting the fairer sex. She, Olivia, and Giancarla exchanged speaking glances, but made no comment. Joined by Suzanne and Valentina, they confined their chitchat to domestic concerns, giving the remaining guards and aspiring capos the impression that nothing more important than recipes, fashion trends, and changing diapers ever crossed their minds.

  The subterfuge must have worked. They remained unmolested, despite Gia’s frequent visits to the bathroom. “Damned baby’s bouncing on my bladder,” she muttered every time she rejoined them.

  Guests gradually finished eating, drinking, and visiting and finally took their leave. Latasha noticed that Gia’s parents, who had declined to join the family business, stayed at the reception only long enough to fulfill the dictum of polite behavior. She also noticed they remained somewhat cool toward Gia, who had married into the Russian mafia. She watched Valentina bid a reserved good-bye to her psychopathic younger brother and depart with Suzanne.

  “She’s changed,” Latasha said to Olivia as she stared at Suzanne’s retreating back.

  Olivia nodded. “Gennady has given her a place where she feels wanted and secure. She blooms now.”

  Latasha tried to repress a shudder of distaste. Olivia noticed it and said nothing. She could be discreet. She also understood Suzanne more than the young nurse imagined.

  Sooner, rather than later, Gia and Olivia also departed. Pablo Ochobella, flattered by the new capo di capi’s attention, made no protest when dismissed to return to his overnight accommodations at the hotel. Giovanni sent his young cousins to their quarters, admonishing them to behave and not do anything stupid that might get them killed. Bogdan and Gennady and Keisha’s swains followed after them to ensure their safety. With a yawn and an apology for deserting them, Giovanni retreated to the master suite formerly occupied by his grandfather. A half dozen guards accompanied him.

  Latasha and Iosif retired to her room.

  “Very nice,” Iosif commented as he checked to ensure the windows were locked and the door was secure.

  She looked at him, her expression uncertain. “Are you coming to bed with me?”

  He gave her a faint smile and replied, “Not tonight.”

  At her crestfallen expression, he explained, “Is best I remain alert and armed to protect you, vozlyublennaya.”

  She nodded, understanding that she knew too much. “Giovanni promised to ‘debrief’ me tomorrow. Then I’ll be able to go ho
me.”

  “Eto khorosho.” Iosif ran his hand up and down her back as he expressed his approval for his wife’s return to his home and his bed. “Go to sleep. I will be here when you wake.”

  Latasha sighed and did not succumb to the temptation to titillate her husband with a strip tease. She changed into an old tee shirt—one of Iosif’s stolen from his bureau—and climbed between the sheets.

  He walked to the bed, pressed a kiss to her forehead. Cupping her face in his palm, he whispered, “Ya lyublyu tebya.”

  “I love you, too,” she whispered back and let sheer weariness pull her into deep slumber.

  The crack of bullets, muffled screams, and angry shouts woke her long after the moon had disappeared beneath heavy clouds. Iosif stood near the door, gun held ready as he listened with intense concentration. After a few minutes, there was a quiet knock on the bedroom door.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Bianca. Will you open the door?”

  “Is anyone with you?”

  “Ovviamente,” she replied in a tired and testy tone, heeding instructions for her coded reply to show that she had not been coerced into treachery.

  Iosif opened the door and asked, “What happened?”

  “Giovanni is fine,” she replied. “So are Paolo and the children.”

  “And?” he prompted.

  The old woman sniffed with haughty distaste. “Two are dead, none of ours. Idioti avidi.”

  “Latasha is safe?”

  “Sì, Latasha is safe. You will take her home tomorrow after she has treated Nico and Giorgio. They are injured.”

  “I should treat them now,” Latasha said as she clambered from the bed.

  “No. Dottore Brown has been summoned. He will treat them tonight. Giovanni’s orders. You rest. Make love to your husband tonight and tomorrow you both go home.”

  “Are you sure, Bianca?”

  The old woman smiled, a naughty spark twinkling in her dark eyes. “Silly girl. You have a man like that, you take him to your bed and keep him there.”

  Latasha was sure Bianca could not see her blush in the darkness, but she was also sure that the old woman knew her cheeks flamed with embarrassment even as heat pooled low in her belly and her breasts swelled. She raised her hand and held it out to Iosif as Bianca firmly shut the door to leave them in peace.

  “Pridi ko mne, Iosif,” Latasha beckoned.

  Iosif obeyed, taking her hand in his when he reached his wife. His dark eyes gleamed with heated desire. He raised her hand and pressed an open-mouthed kiss on her palm.

  “Snimay odezhdu,” she commanded.

  A faint smile curled the corners of his mouth as he again obeyed her order and removed his clothing. She, in turn, pulled off the tee shirt and shimmied out of her panties. The rich, musky scent of her arousal rose on the current of air between their bodies.

  “Zaymis' so mnoy lyubov'yu, Iosif.”

  Again and gladly, he obeyed and made her cry out with pleasure three times before succumbing to his own release and cradling her in his arms for what little remained of the night.

  Thank You!

  Thank you for reading the Russian Love series: Russian Lullaby, Russian Gold, and Russian Dawn. Russian Pride, the fourth and final book of this series, will focus on Giancarla’s cousin, Giovanni. Each book may be read as a standalone story. I don’t do cliffhangers. The entire series will be combined into a single volume for purchase in print format.

  Reader reviews are important. Please leave your review on Amazon or Goodreads.

  If you’d like to read more from Holly Bargo, the following books may be found on Amazon:

  Rowan: Branch 1 of the Tree of Life

  Cassia: Branch 2 of the Tree of Life

  Willow: Branch 3 of the Tree of Life

  The Mighty Finn

  The Dragon Wore a Kilt

  The Barbary Lion*

  Tiger in the Snow: Sequel to the Barbary Lion*

  Pure Iron

  Ulfbehrt’s Legacy

  The Diamond Gate

  Daughter of the Twin Moons

  * The Barbary Lion and Tiger in the Snow, both also standalone books, have been combined into one volume, the Shifter Duet, available in print format.

  aBOUT THE AUTHOR

  Holly Bargo is a pseudonym based on the registered name of a temperamental Appaloosa mare with an out-sized personality. She is fondly remembered for watching over the author’s toddler sons and crushing a pager beneath one hoof. If you ever read a device warranty that excludes destruction by livestock, you can blame this horse.

  The author started writing over-the-top and completely improbable stories as soon as she learned how to form the letters of the alphabet. Decades of being told “No one will ever want to read what you write” did not deter her, stubbornness being a key character trait of most writers. Her fiction stories were published in the mid-1990s by long-defunct magazines.

  Holly’s first book was published in 1995, and immediately fizzled, with the publisher going belly-up and owing royalties that were never paid. In 2014, Holly, an avowed Luddite, finally jumped on the independent publishing bandwagon with her first independently published book, Rowan. She hasn’t looked back.

  Favoring romance and fantasy and the many sub-genres within them as the categories for her fiction writing, Holly also works full-time as a freelance writer and editor. Her freelance career encompasses business writing—blog articles and website content mainly—and ghostwriting fiction and nonfiction for diverse clients.

  The author lives in southwest Ohio on a small hobby farm with far too many four-legged animals, her husband, and their two children. She can be reached through her website (http://www.henhousepublishing.com) or the Hen House Publishing pages on Facebook and Google+.