I try to stand up, but my body is so overstimulated that I start to immediately collapse. Ever my savior, Vladimir deftly scoops me up in his arms and carries me, damsel-style down the stairs to the master bedroom.
I’m in a daze as he carries me to the glamorous bathroom and runs me a fragrant, rose-scented bubble bath, tossing in dried petals and salts from a glossy bottle under the sink.
I relax into the bubbles, sighing as my aching body starts to loosen up in the warm water. Meanwhile, Vladimir sits on the edge of the tub and washes me gently, caressing every inch of my body, cleaning and soothing me after our intense fuck.
He lovingly coaxes me back to life, my muddled mind becoming clearer as I recover from our scene. He is patient and soft with me, even lathering up my hair and massaging my scalp as I lay almost helpless in the tub. Soon, though, he begins to ask me questions while he washes my hair.
“Who is looking for you, malyshka? Who is trying so hard to take you from me?” Vladimir asks, his head slightly tilted to one side.
I bite my lip, my cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Your parents… you say they are dead,” he prompts.
I nod, my head swimming with dizziness. “Yes. They are dead,” I confirm.
“Then who could it be? Who is after you? I will protect you always, but you must be forthcoming with me. You can trust your Daddy. Tell me, princesa. Who haunts your steps?” he coos, stroking my cheek.
I turn my head away, afraid of the question and even more afraid of the answer.
“Tell me.”
Vladimir
I know the tells in a person who is lying, and I also know what to look for when someone is genuinely grasping at straws—Autumn is the second.
She stares forward, biting her lip and thinking hard while my fingers run through her hair. She has been so strong to be able to keep herself together this long. I want to let her relax and recover, but time is of the essence.
Still, pushing someone too hard after a stressful and intense day can be worse than no answer at all. Added stress like this can make the imagination come up with false information just to get the situation over with, and I obviously can’t have that.
I start pouring water over her hair and rinsing it out before doing the same with conditioner. As the soft substance starts making her hair light and smooth in the warm water, I whisper to her in a husky tone.
“It is okay. You have been through more excitement in one day than a lot of people have in their entire lives.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I… I honestly can’t think of anything.”
“Then put it aside for now, no need to, how do you say, spin your wheels in mud.”
I finish conditioning her hair, and I run my hands over her body, pulling her closer to me and kissing her on the cheek. She smiles at me, but there is sadness written all over her face. She feels bad for disappointing me—rather, for thinking that she has. She would have to do a lot to be able to disappoint me.
“Here,” I say, standing up and bringing a towel over to set on the side of the tub. “Take your time, but dry off with this when you are good and satisfied with your bath. You have earned it, many times over. I could not have asked for a better partner out there. When you’ve finished in here, meet me on the deck. I have a surprise for you.”
“A… are you serious?” she almost laughs, turning to look up at me.
“I have been called a serious man before, yes,” I say fondly as I stroke her wet hair. I plant one more kiss on her lips and stroke her cheek, smiling. “Enjoy your bath, and remember—take your time. We have a few days ahead of us. Us taking a breather will not make this yacht go any slower or faster.”
“Thanks… Daddy,” she adds in a teasing tone, smirking up at me.
I chuckle, and I make my way out of the bathroom to head for the kitchens.
I don’t have much time, so I move quickly. For once, doing so is not a matter of life and death, even though I’m still riding the high from the adrenaline rush earlier. The kitchen in the yacht is pristine, and thanks to the ingredients I’ve acquired, I have everything I need to make a fine beef stroganoff. It might not be the finest dining experience in the world, but it is a hot, home-cooked meal that I know how to make well.
It’s damn good comfort food after a long and exciting night, too.
Within minutes, the kitchen is abuzz and filled with the smell of delicious, hearty food. I keep checking outside, but I’m grateful to see that Autumn does not seem to have any trouble taking her time in the bath. Besides, I left a little something for her where she could find it when she gets out.
Once the food is done cooking, the hearty aroma is wafting out through the door. I can smell it ahead of me when I come out onto the deck with two plates piled high, heading toward the table I’ve set up with a beautiful view of the moonlit sky and sea all around us. And waiting for me out there on one of the chairs is a blushing Autumn, who smiles at me warmly.
“Ah, I was just a few moments too late,” I chuckle as I carry the food over to her. “And I see you found the first of my presents.”
Autumn is clad in an absolutely stunning black dress I picked out for her. It’s a touch more frilly than what she came here in, but I wanted to get her more than just the basics, I have a feeling she will like it. The lace and ribbons on it look like they would be more at home with bright pink or yellow pastels colors, but the black gives it all a very strong yet beautiful edge that I was captivated with when I saw it in the store.
She stands up, waits for me to set the food down, and throws her arms around me.
“It’s wonderful,” she says into my chest as I stroke her freshly blow-dried hair and breathe in the scent of the shampoo I massaged into her earlier. “Thank you.”
“I am sorry our time in Greece got cut short so brutally,” I say as I pull the chair out for her and sit her down. There’s a bottle of wine on the table for us, and I uncork it to serve. “I did not have much time to shop, but I picked out a few nice things for you.”
“Plural?” she asks, surprised.
“Da.”
I reach under the table and take out the bags I have tucked under there, and one by one, hand them to Autumn and watch her open them. She’s almost embarrassed, blushing and trying not to smile too much while she sees the expensive perfume and the necklace. I can’t help but smile as I watch her, and for the moment, I feel a remarkable sense of ease. It feels good to shower her in gifts and watch how much she likes it.
“These are amazing, Vladimir,” she says, holding up the bottles of perfume to the faint moonlight. “I’ve never even heard of these brands!”
“They’re quite popular in Paris, but I do not think they have made it to the States yet,” I say, and then I notice the dinner getting cold. “Ah, but I have been impatient—let’s wait until after dinner to try them on, da?”
We dig in, and the sigh of delight I hear from her at the first bite fills me with pride.
“I am glad you like stroganoff,” I chuckle.
“Who doesn’t?” she gushes. “I can’t remember the last time I had any that tasted this good. Is this what you were shopping for in Mykonos?”
“Among a lot of other things,” I chuckle. “If we are going to be on the run, we might as well live like it. I…” I trail off and try to change my mind about what I was about to say, but Autumn tilts her head to the side expectantly. “This might sound strange to say, but it is nice to be able to provide for someone like this.”
Autumn blushes, and she looks genuinely touched by the sentiment.
“It’s nice to be provided for,” she says lightheartedly at first, then drops into a more thoughtful tone. “I think I know the feeling you’re talking about. When you go without a stable family your whole life, it gets…lonely.”
I nod, and she takes a quick drink of wine before speaking again.
I finish my bite and tilt my head back and forth, frowning.
“Not anymore. It… is not a great conversation for a romantic dinner, but she died along with my parents.”
Her eyes widen, and she nods softly, silently urging me to go on. If it weren’t a matter so close to home, I would have laughed. Of course Autumn would see no problem talking about our dead families over a romantic, moonlit date.
“I never told you how they passed. I wish I could say it is a memory I push away, but I keep it close to me, reminding myself of it every night.” I take a bite of stroganoff, almost aggressive, and I wash it down with a long drink of wine. “I was sixteen. A stupid boy. I snuck out of our little hovel one night to go drink bootleg vodka with some friends. We were hooligans, beating each other up to see how tough we were, going shirtless in the dead of winter, that kind of thing. I stumbled back home at dawn, expecting to get an earful from my papa.”
I dab my mouth with my napkin thoughtfully while Autumn watches me with rapt attention.
“Instead, I found my house riddled with bullet holes. They… they fought to the bitter end, it looked like. Nobody had even thought to call the police. They were too afraid. That is what tipped me off that the mafia was responsible—the bratva.”
“Oh my god,” she murmurs. “Did you go to the police?”
“Of course not,” I chuckle. “They would have laughed at me and told me not to let my loan payments slip behind, like papa’s did. No, I did something even more stupid. I joined them.”
Her mouth falls open.
“It was simple enough. I found someone who needed work done, did a few jobs, and made it clear that I thought whatever happened with my father was his business, not mine. I played my part convincingly. Killed bad people who deserved it, made myself valuable enough that I faced few or no consequences when I turned some jobs down—no women, no children, people I deemed innocent.”
I pause to take a few bites of my food while Autumn does the same, but her gaze never wavers from me.
“When I found you,” I say with a heavy sigh, leaning forward and pouring myself a second glass of wine as I decide it’s time to come clean, “I… half-lied.”
“What?”
“It was a lovely night before that,” I said, leaning back in my chair and swirling my wine around. “I enjoyed a pleasant dinner with some of the most cruel and wealthy bastards in the city, and then I enjoyed the looks on their faces when I stole an Uzi from one of their guards upstairs and gunned down each and every one of the bastards. Nearly all the leaders of the Gregorovitch bratva, wiped out in one sitting, save for the top ass himself—the pakhan, something like a don in the Italian mafia.”
Autumn’s face is pale, and she isn’t moving. I worry I might have said too much, but I’m past the point of holding back.
“I needed to make my escape. So, I ransacked his house, found the keys to this little toy of his-” I gesture to the yacht. “-and took off with it, and you.”
“I… was being held here by the people you massacred?” she breathes, and I nod. “So, you… you’ve saved my life more times than I thought.”
“The Gregorovitches are not known for their kindness to women,” I say politely and begin finishing off my dinner.
Autumn is silent for a few moments, but I realize it isn’t shock on her face—she’s pensive.
“Wait, Gregorovitch?”
“Da. They were small time when my parents were killed by the bratva I joined, but they either killed or recruited my old mafia until there was nobody left but me. They planned to kill me at that dinner, so I shot first.”
“Gregorovitch…” she repeats. “Is that a common name?”
“Why?”
“This is a stretch, but was anyone tied to that family named Arthur?”
I stop chewing, swallow, and stare her down as I lean forward.
“Why?” I ask again in a muted tone, the gears already clicking in my head.
“There was an Arthur Gregorovitch who was a finalist behind me in the competition for the scholarship that got me into that course in Moscow,” she says. “He… I met him only once, but he was a piece of shit. He was rich, and he liked to show it off. Rubbing it in people’s faces. He was always bored, and…”
“… always looking for something to keep him entertained, almost like he wants something to piss him off so he has an excuse to show off?”
We stare at each other for a few moments as we begin to realize our meeting might not have been as random as we thought. I stroke my beard, hiding the grave look on my face. After a few long moments, I take a breath and look at her evenly.
“His name is Artur,” I say. “He Americanizes his name to make it sound more natural over there. You’re right about several things. He is rich, in fact. One of the richest families in Russia. He is also the son of the Gregorovitch boss. And if what you’re telling me is true…”
“… he was the one who ordered me kidnapped,” she breathes, looking out onto the water with vacant, glassy eyes. “I… I was just some Russian brat’s plaything.”
“No,” I say, reaching across the table and taking her by the hand. “You are an intelligent, driven woman who had a crime committed against her by some Russian brat with too much time and money on his hands.”
This explains everything. The bratva no doubt put out the INTERPOL alert for her, thinking they could get their hands on her once she was in police custody, and they would be right. It also explains why they’re chasing us so relentlessly.
The two of us in particular, sailing across the sea in this particular yacht, are one giant ball of insults against the Gregorovitch name. They won’t stop at anything to get us. We need to make it to safety, and quickly.
And then, I need to deal with Artur.
Permanently.
Vladimir
“How do I look?”
I step into the bedroom to see Autumn standing there in a beautiful form-fitting black dress with elegant straps over the shoulders that seem to meld into the ruffles of the fabric down the front. She wore a thin choker around her flawless neck, and her heels gave her a few extra inches of height, yet still leaving her so short she has to look up at me.
My hand cups her chin, and I stroke it, wishing she weren’t wearing that lovely dark red shade of lipstick so I could plant a kiss on her mouth.
“Are you sure you’re not trying to seduce these gentlemen?” I tease, and she grins.
“Do you think I could?”
“If I didn’t know these Italians as personal friends, I would not trust them around you,” I say, and I am only half-joking.
She reaches up to straighten my tie, which is part of the modest yet clean-cut suit I have for the evening—all black, save for a red tie that adorns my chest like a streak of blood against sinful night. That sounds like something Autumn would describe it as, anyway.
“Okay, so, just so I don’t sound like an idiot, can you run everything by me one more time?” she asks, wringing her hands.
“Of course,” I say, pacing around to the window to peer out at the gorgeous view of the port of Syracuse, basked in the late afternoon light of the Sicilian sun. “The men who are on their way to meet us on this ship are Italian mafia. Under no circumstances should you bring this up. These are made men, and on the surface, people in the community refer to them as respectable businessmen.”
“And are they respectable businessmen?”
I crack a smile at Autumn’s reflection in the window.
“Every bit as respectable as me.”
“I’ll keep my guard up, then.”
“We’re going to treat them to a few drinks. Some of them smoke, but not the one we’ll be talking with most. His name is Adamo Russo. He’s the underboss of the mafia around here. I do not have to tell you why that makes him someone to be feared by most.”
“Is he a good man?”
“You don’t get to be the underboss of a ma
fia without getting your hands dirty.”
“You did.”
I glance over my shoulder with an expressionless face.
“Is that what you would say of me?”
“I believe so.”
I peer at her a long time before chuckling softly.
“We’re going to strike a deal. He owes me a favor for some help I gave him taking down a mutual enemy of ours about three years ago in Belarus. I contacted him about our situation, and he said he might happen to have a solution that works out for both parties. Neither of us are friends of the Russian mafia families. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ That is the most important lesson in this world, Autumn.”
She nods, and just on time, I see two sleek black sedans pulling up to the dock.
“Our guests are here. Let us go… what’s the term? Schmooze?”
She giggles, and she slips her arm around mine as we head out to meet with the Italians at the gangplank.
Even in the winter, Sicily doesn’t get terribly cold. The air that blows around us is crisp, like early fall in America or late summer in Russia, and the salty air has that unmistakable undertone of citrus so unique that I know I could be nowhere else but Sicily.
We go to the edge of the deck, and I give a wave to the men approaching the ship, looking it over and murmuring to each other. The tallest man, and the one leading the pack, is wearing sunglasses, but his comrades are not, which makes it harder for them to conceal how impressed they are with the look of the yacht. I give them a warm yet cautious smile as they approach, and I incline my head to let them on as they wave back with their own broad smiles.
Friends or not, meetings between men in the same ‘line of business’ is always a careful game of courtesy. I want to seem friendly yet not desperate, strong yet not a showoff.
“Adamo, my friend,” I greet him in Italian as he steps onto the deck with open arms to embrace me. “It has been too long.”
“Too long? I’d think it was just yesterday—you look fabulous,” he laughs, and we exchange a brief hug before I lead him on board.
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