by Holly Bargo
Vitaly asked for her address and she gave it. He stopped in the seedy neighborhood outside the rundown apartment building. Cheeks red with embarrassment, she confirmed that, yes, she did indeed live there.
“You live with me now,” he said quietly, looking at the surrounding environment with distaste as they walked up the staircase that smelled of garbage and urine.
Gia felt the need to explain and stumbled over the words: “Most of my income goes to tuition. There’s almost nothing left over for rent and groceries.”
“You lived alone here?”
“Er, no, I have two roommates, Cecily and Latasha.”
“Are they students, too?”
“Yes,” she answered with a small sigh of relief as they reached the third floor and she knocked on the door. “Latasha’s a nursing student and Cecily is in the culinary program.”
The door opened and the young woman behind it squealed with surprise the instant she saw Gia.
“Gia! Where have you been? We were so worried about you!” She wrapped her bony arms around her roommate before belatedly noticing the hulking man a step behind her. “Gia, who is this guy? Do I need to kick his ass?”
Gia wanted to laugh hysterically at the thought of either roommate kicking Vitaly’s ass. But she kissed Latasha’s cheek and said, “I’ve lost my purse and everything in it. Do you mind if we come in?”
“Of course not!” Latasha stepped back and raked her gaze over Vitaly. “Who’s your escort, Gia?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned her head and shouted, “Cecily! Gia’s back! She’s got a man with her!”
A plump young woman appeared from around a corner and squealed with joyful relief. She rushed forward to hug Gia. “You’re back! We were so worried about you. What happened? Who is this guy?”
“Let’s sit, shall we?” Gia suggested with a weak smile, sniffing the fragrance of tomato and garlic that clung to Cecily.
The other two women exchanged doubtful glances, but retreated to the main room and took their seats on worn, secondhand furniture. Mismatched blankets draped over the armchair and sofa hid the worst of the ruined upholstery. In fact, Vitaly noted that everything in the cheap apartment was secondhand or third-hand and better suited to the rubbish bin than continued use. But the space appeared clean and smelled faintly of Lysol and bleach.
He understood the necessity of living as cheaply as possible while trying to better one’s future. He took a position along the wall and stood like a silent sentinel as Gia gave her roommates an explanation.
“What happened, Gia?” Cecily asked, gently touching the swollen bruise on her face. In a nearly inaudible whisper, she asked, “Did he do this to you?”
“I … I was mugged,” Gia replied, knowing that she could not divulge the whole to her friends. “Vitaly—” she gestured with her hand “—saved me. We … we’re getting married.”
Latasha’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. She’d noticed the ink on the back of the man’s hands and disappearing beneath the sleeves of his jacket. She knew ink like that meant gang activity. Her idiot older brother had gotten involved with a street gang and now languished in prison.
“He’s in a gang, Gia,” she hissed.
“He’s a good man,” Gia replied stoutly.
“Was it love at first sight?” Cecily asked with a happy little sigh.
Vitaly hid a smile. The plump, softhearted woman probably read frothy romances by the dozen and would likely make some man a doting, affectionate wife. He rather thought that one or two of his colleagues might be interested in marrying a sweet woman like her. Latasha, he knew, was too canny, too streetwise, to entertain a romance with one of his ilk.
Gia smiled at her romantically minded roommate and said softly, “Yes. Yes, it was love at first sight.”
“Bullshit,” Latasha snorted. “Something stinks and it ain’t Cecily’s red sauce.”
“Latasha, let it go. Please,” Gia pleaded. “I’ll still see you and Cecily on campus. Vitaly’s seen to my safety.”
“What did you see?” Latasha demanded, her voice rising in fear. “Why do you need protection?”
Gia gulped air, not knowing how to control this situation that had long since spiraled out of her control.
“Giancarla will be safe as my wife,” Vitaly said, his tone cool and implacable. “That is all you need to know.”
Cecily looked at him and sighed again, struck by the man’s piercing, bluish gray eyes set in a strong, handsome face and complemented by a physique that could have graced the cover of any of her favorite romance novels. She wondered if he had any younger brothers and stifled an excited squeal.
“This is so exciting!” She reached over to squeeze Gia’s arm.
Gia’s expression soured slightly, before she composed herself.
“Gia is here to collect her belongings. She is moving in with me,” Vitaly said.
Latasha expression darkened. “Gia, we won’t make rent without you. I’ve only got one more quarter to go. I can’t quit school now.”
Gia cast him a pleading glance and Vitaly sighed. With a curt nod, he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call.
“Pyotr, it’s Vitaly. I need a favor.” Without thinking about it, he spoke in Russian.
“Vitaly! It’s good to hear from you. What do you need, brother?”
“I am getting married tomorrow. My wife’s roommates live in an unsuitable neighborhood. They need safe housing. You’ll like the blonde. Treat them with respect and kindness.”
“You want me to find homes for two girls?” Pyotr’s tone conveyed incredulity. Vitaly wasn’t in the habit of performing good works.
“They’re college girls.”
“Why should I give a home to some snooty college girls?”
“They’re working their way through school, trying to better their futures. Have some respect for their effort, Pyotr. They need a little help and we can give it to them.”
“What will they give in exchange?”
“Their rent will be my responsibility, Pyotr. Don’t be foolish.”
Vitaly’s colleague sighed with regret at the implied denial of fresh flesh for his use. If Vitaly was involving his personal finances, then Pyotr would act the gentleman. If Pyotr did indeed fancy the blonde, then Vitaly’s patronage of the girl would ensure the other man’s good behavior.
He ended the call with a confirmation that a car would arrive shortly to pick up the girls, who looked at him with questioning eyes as they’d not been able to understand a single word of his side of the conversation.
“New accommodations will be found for Cecily and Latasha.” He spoke directly to Gia, then turned his attention to the two young women. “A man will be here shortly His name is Pyotr. He will take you to your new home. Pack only what you must. Your new home will be furnished.”
“Vitaly?” Gia queried.
“They will be safe.”
She nodded, accepting his word. She could do little else.
“What the hell is going on, Gia?” Latasha hissed.
“You know, I’m not entirely sure anymore.” She glanced back at Vitaly. “But I trust him. I have to. And I trust his word that you and Cecily will be kept safe.”
“Pack your things, ladies,” the big man’s deep voice ordered. “Pyotr will be here shortly.”
“Pyotr?” Cecily repeated the name, tasting it on her tongue.
“My colleague. He will see you and Latasha to a new residence. Do as he says for your own good.”
Skinny Latasha bellied up to Vitaly, glaring at him without fear. “And what if we don’t obey orders like good little girls?”
Vitaly shrugged and said coldly, “Then Pyotr leaves without you and you take your chances against the Culebras.”
Latasha’s milk chocolate complexion turned ashen. “The Culebras?”
“Da.”
“Shit,” she muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.” She turned to face Gia and asked, “How did you get involved with those animals?”
/> “I wasn’t given any choice,” Gia mumbled and cringed beneath her friend’s accusing glare.
“They thought Giancarla was someone else,” Vitaly explained succinctly. “Now make your choice: stay here or go with Pyotr.”
Cecily muttered something about tending to her red sauce before it burned and hastened to the galley kitchen. Latasha fumed, but retreated to the room she had shared with Gia to pack a couple of suitcases.
“I’m sorry, Vitaly,” Gia mumbled, dejected and feeling ashamed, although she wasn’t sure why.
“Pack your things, then tell your friends good-bye,” Vitaly ordered gently. Gia looked up at him, surprise and betrayal mingling in her expression. He added, “We’ve much yet to do today.
His phone buzzed silently and he pulled it out of his jacket.
“Da.”
“Vitaly, I have found a priest who will cooperate with our request in exchange for a substantial donation to his parish. I will expect prompt reimbursement.”
“Of course, Maksim. You know I am good for it.”
“Of course, you are, Vitaly. It is good you are getting married. Marriage settles a man. Olivia and I will stand with you; we are honored to do so.” He quickly recited the church, the pastor’s name, and the street address. Vitaly repeated the information and committed it to memory.
“You honor us, sir,” he said afterward.
“Word on the grapevine is that your affianced wife may wish to have a few more guests, hm?”
“I am sure she would like to have her family present, but it may be too short of notice for them. She has two roommates who should be there.”
“Female roommates?”
“Da. I think Pyotr may settle his affections upon one of them. She’s a culinary student.”
Maksim chuckled. “Pyotr always did think with this stomach.”
“Thank you for arranging the ceremony, sir.”
“It was Olivia’s pleasure. She is excited to see you married, especially since her nieces will be coming to visit in a few months.”
Vitaly’s upper lip curled in a sneer that, fortunately, Maksim could not see. Woe betide him if he or Olivia caught wind of his contempt for the two overly flirtatious bubble-heads who visited their Aunt Olivia and Uncle Maksim every year. Their previous visit, he’d barely managed to escape them after they’d crawled naked into his bed.
“Those girls,” Maksim chuckled. “They’ll find themselves married off soon if they don’t quit their hijinks. Did you know they attempted to seduce Yuri Petrov? Those two idiots, pretty as they are, were lucky he didn’t shoot them.”
Vitaly muffled a sigh of relief. At least Maksim knew that his wife’s nieces were debauched young women.
Maksim hadn’t finished speaking. “Olivia says we will host a reception for you.”
“That’s very generous.”
“It is,” Maxim agreed tersely, then he laughed. “It has been too long since we had a party. I cannot think of a better occasion than your wedding.”
“What can I do to assist her, Maksim?”
“You make sure you get to the church on time. Olivia will take care of the party.”
“I’ll reimburse you for the expense, Maksim,” he offered, wincing internally at the extravagance he would underwrite.
His boss laughed again and said, “Consider it your wedding present, Vitaly. Now, I have business to attend, as do you.”
“Spasibo,” he thanked his boss.
Not for the first time, he contemplated what he would have to do to get out of the Bratva. But he dismissed that fantasy immediately. No one left the Bratva, except through death.
He had too much to look forward to now, namely a luscious armful of woman to warm his bed and the possibility of children.
He looked closely at Gia without seeming to and idly wondered if her grandfather could protect him from the Bratva. Again, he dismissed the thought as fanciful and stupid. Even if the Italian mafia could be persuaded to accept him and shield him from the Russian mafia—and unlikely possibility anyway—they’d want to use his skill set for their own benefit and he’d be no better off than he was now.
He reminded himself to put foolish fancies aside.
“You all might as well sit down to eat,” Cecily offered with a nervous smile. “I made enough for the girls and me to have leftovers, but since we’re leaving, I guess we won’t need these leftovers for lunch the next few days.”
Vitaly graciously accepted the invitation on behalf of Gia and himself. “I’ll get Giancarla and Latasha,” he said. He inhaled; the red sauce did smell heavenly. Yes, he was sure Pyotr would marry this one.
Cecily nodded and set the table.
A heavy knock on the door made Cecily jump and gasp and look nervously at Vitaly. He attempted to give her a reassuring smile, but the expression made her blanch. Obviously, he’d have to work on that. He answered the door.
“Hello, Pyotr. You made good time.”
The big blond man grinned and inhaled deeply. “I’m always happy to be of service to you, Vitaly. What is that I smell?”
“Your timing is impeccable, as usual,” Vitaly quipped. “One of my fiancée’s roommates is a culinary student. It appears she is quite skilled.”
“Is she pretty?” Pyotr asked, eyes gleaming. “A man could marry a woman who cooks like that even if she’s ugly as the south end of a northbound dog.”
“She’s pretty and, more important, she’s a nice girl. Don’t trifle with her, Pyotr. Treat her with respect.” Vitaly’s voice turned as stern as a papa meeting his daughter’s first boyfriend.
Pyotr laughed and clapped him on the back. “If she’s as good a cook as I think she is, then I’ll put her on a damned pedestal.”
Cecily poked her head out from the kitchen and started to say, “Lunch is ready. Vitaly, you can invite your … oh, my, he’s a big one.”
Pyotr lumbered toward her with unexpected speed and captured her hand. He raised it to his lips and asked in his thick accent, “Are you responsible for the delicious smells coming from the kitchen?”
“Er … yes.”
With impulsive glee, he dropped to his one knee and said, “Marry me.”
Cecily’s light blue eyes went wide with surprise and a little anxiety. “Oh, oh, this is just … just …”
“Take no heed of this oaf,” Vitaly said, coming to her rescue. Pyotr rose to his feet, but did not relinquish her hand. “He is prone to foolish enthusiasm.”
Cecily sighed in audible relief.
Vitaly added, “But if he asks you to marry him again, then you’ll know he’s serious.” He turned his focus to the other man. “Pyotr, don’t intimidate the girl.”
The big blond grinned and replied in Russian, “I’ve lost my heart to this one.”
“You’ve pledged your stomach, more likely,” Vitaly muttered in return.
“Er... come and sit. I’m sure there’s enough for all of us,” Cecily invited him with naturally gracious warmth.
“Ah, what a hostess she will be,” Pyotr praised.
Cecily called Gia and Latasha to the table. The young women stumbled to a halt when they saw the unknown man.
“Who’s the Viking?” Latasha inquired with customary brashness.
“This is Pyotr,” Vitaly answered. “He will escort you to your new residence and ensure you are kept safe.”
Latasha nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. Gia and Cecily glanced at her in surprise, as their friend was not known for her reticence.
Chapter 3
To any chef’s satisfaction, every bite of fresh pasta with homemade red sauce disappeared down grateful gullets. The cheap red wine offset the rich tomato and liberal sprinkling of cheese.
“That was excellent,” Pyotr complimented as he patted a drop of sauce from the corner of his mouth. He grinned widely and proclaimed, “You shall cook for me always, moy sladkiy.” He loudly kissed the tips of his thumb and forefinger in a comic imitation of a French gesture.
&nbs
p; Cecily giggled and blushed, pleased by the praise and a little in awe of the flamboyant Russian.
“Let’s get these dishes washed,” Latasha said as she rose from the table.
“Lunch was fabulous, Cecily,” Gia complimented and carried her plate to the counter where Latasha was already running water into the sink. She looked at her friend and said, “You wash and I’ll dry.”
Latasha gave her a sad little smile. “This is probably the last time we’ll do this.”
“Of course not,” Gia soothed. “Vitaly says he won’t isolate me from my friends and family. We’ll visit often and I’ll definitely see you on campus.”
Latasha bumped her with her bony hip. “Don’t be stupid, Gia. We don’t see each other now on campus. I’m in the school of nursing and you’re playing in the lake with your classmates and test tubes.”
“Okay, so we won’t see each other on campus. But we will visit. Often.”
Latasha held up a soapy dripping hand, pinky extended. “Pinky swear?”
Gia linked her pinky with hers and said, “Pinky swear.”
Vitaly and Pyotr watched quietly as the young women softly spoke their good-byes with promises to stay in touch. Gia sent him a quick, pleading glance. He nodded, reminding her of his promise to her. She gave him a soft, grateful smile that, for some weird reason, depressed him. He did want her gratitude; he wanted more.
“We’ll need to find a man for the third one,” Pyotr commented, speaking quietly in Russian to keep their conversation private. “Iosif might like her. He prefers the exotic types.”
“He also likes them submissive, very submissive. This one’s fearless.”
“What about Gennady?”
“Gennady’s a brute. He’d break her.”
Pyotr cocked his head to the side and pondered the matter. Then he grinned widely. “I have it, Vitaly. Timur.”
“Who’s that?”
“He’s newly arrived from Russia just last week. He’s the new cleaner replacing Yakov.”
Vitaly nodded. “I’d like to meet this Timur.”
