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

by Holly Bargo

  With great care, Vitaly carried his bride over the threshold. Pyotr held open the door. Cecily and Olivia came bustling from the kitchen. Latasha walked immediately behind Vitaly, a constant stream of warnings and instructions pouring from her mouth until Iosif swung her around and shut her mouth with his own. Maksim carried in bulging shopping bags filled with everything the invalid could possibly need for the next two years.

  “I need a bath,” Giancarla whispered into Vitaly’s shoulder.

  “You’ll get a bath and then you will eat. Livy and Cecily have prepared a feast for your homecoming.”

  Car doors slammed at the curb. Vitaly turned his head to look and saw Giuseppe and Giovanni Maglione striding up the walk. Giuseppe carried what looked to be a pastry box. Giovanni carried a different sort of box in one hand and a large shopping in the other. Vitaly stepped aside to let them into the house.

  “Grandpa,” Giancarla exclaimed with a smile. “I didn’t think to see you so soon.”

  “And why not?” he demanded, his tone indulgent as he leaned to kiss her on the cheek. “This is a joyous occasion. You are home.”

  “Welcome back from beyond, cousin,” Giovanni greeted her with a kiss to her cheek as Pyotr closed the door behind them.

  “You brought gifts.”

  Giuseppe held up the box. “Italian cream cake. Your favorite. Bianca made it just the way you remember.”

  “Oh, thank you!”

  A yowl came from the box.

  “Giovanni, what’s in the box?”

  “You need company when Vitaly is busy,” Giovanni said and gently set the box and shopping bag on the floor. He opened the box and lifted out a tiny black and white kitten. “And he needs a loving home. It’s a good match.”

  Giancarla inhaled and tears welled up in her eyes. She stretched out a hand toward the black and white ball of fluff, but Giovanni simply set it on her chest. Her hand immediately covered the kitten and stroked its soft, soft fur.

  “Oh, he’s darling.”

  “Give him a name, Gia. I’ll put his supplies in the kitchen. Later, you and Vitaly can decide where you want to stash his litter box and everything else.

  Vitaly exchanged glances with the younger man, who returned his look with a look of cool amusement. This young man, he thought, would be a worthy successor to his grandfather.

  “Come,” he said, although it wasn’t like Giancarla had wandered off. “You wish to bathe.”

  “I can help her,” Latasha volunteered. “I’ve almost got my nursing license, you know.”

  “Thank you, but I will do it,” Vitaly firmly and gently declined the offer. He carried wife and kitten upstairs to the master bedroom and settled them on the bed. “Stay put while I run your bath and fetch you some clothing.”

  Still exhausted and aching, Gia nodded and obediently waited. She watched as he moved about, admired the ripple of hard muscle beneath his shirt, the press of heavy thigh muscles against his slacks.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured as he undressed her, taking care not to abrade or bump her bandaged wounds. He gently checked the edges of the water resistant wound dressings to ensure that they were properly sealed against her skin.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  He lifted her, carried her into the bathroom, and settled her carefully into the tub while the water still ran. He filled pitcher.

  “Can you lean forward?”

  She leaned forward as best she was able. He poured the water over her head, then squeezed some shampoo into his palm. She sighed with pleasure as he massaged her scalp. He filled the pitcher again and poured, repeating until the water rinsing her hair ran clear. Then he took a washcloth, wet it, squeezed some of her favorite raspberry shower gel on it, and washed her face and neck. After rinsing, he turned his attention to washing her arms, torso, and legs, and between her legs. She felt desire spark, but knew that he’d not take advantage of it.

  Then he lifted her from the tub and wrapped her in a large towel. After patting her dry with tender care, he dressed her as carefully as he would a fragile infant and placed light, butterfly kisses along her skin as he did so. Next he combed her hair. Finally, he slid furry slippers over her feet. The kitten had since curled up on the bed and fallen asleep. Vitaly scooped up the kitten and placed it in Giancarla’s hands.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded. He lifted her into his arms and carried her back downstairs where her welcoming committee sat eating, drinking, and talking.

  “Do you feel better now?” Olivia inquired as she gently removed the still sleeping kitten from Gia’s hold.

  “Much,” she replied. “It’s so good to have clean hair again, especially.”

  Olivia chuckled and carried the kitten into the kitchen, saying, “The poor thing will need to use his litter box and will probably be hungry. You can have Vitaly move his box and bowls tomorrow. He needs the practice.”

  “Practice?” they both echoed.

  “Practice,” Olivia said firmly. “Now find a place for her to sit and eat.”

  “Yes, madam,” Vitaly replied and obeyed.

  “You’re a good boy,” Olivia commented with an indulgent smile.

  “You’re not that much older than I am, Livy.”

  “I’m old enough and never you mind the exact age.” She handed him a loaded plate and a fork. “Now feed your wife. After being in the hospital for two weeks, she needs good, hearty food, not the swill they serve there.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gia grinned to see her big, badass husband so cowed by this petite woman. She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and eagerly took a forkful of food into her mouth. She moaned with delight as the divinely prepared food landed on her tongue and filled her heart.

  She ate until she could eat no more. Regardless of the number of people in her home—and it was her home, too, she realized—the quantity of leftovers would prevent her from needing to cook for several days. Cecily and Olivia bustled in the kitchen to store the leftovers and tidy the space.

  “You’ve all been so wonderful, I can’t thank you enough,” she said.

  Everyone nodded and smiled and merely expressed their gladness that she had survived and was well on her way to recovery. Her grandfather and cousin took their leave first, then Iosif, Pyotr, Cecily, and Latasha.

  Finally, only Vitaly, Maksim, Olivia, and Gia remained in the living room, sipping tea or scotch, and listening to classical music play softly on the sound system.

  “You’re tired, Giancarla,” Vitaly said and shifted to rise. “I’ll take you to bed.”

  “Not just yet, please,” she said and stayed him with a hand set lightly on his leg. “Tell me, what happened?”

  “You were shot,” Maksim answered, thinking that candid and terse would be the best approach.

  “Yes, I know,” she replied in a dry tone. “But why?”

  “Do you remember how we met?” Vitaly asked her, his voice quiet, his body tense, his eyes fearful.

  “Yes. I could never forget that.”

  “The woman the Culebras mistook you for shot you.”

  “But why? I didn’t know her and she didn’t know me.”

  “She thought that killing you would dissuade me from finding her.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He took her hand in his. His jaw opened, closed. He gulped a lump of anxiety. “She wanted to show me that she held the upper hand. If she could eliminate the woman I love, then she could defeat me.”

  “Oh.” Gia’s voice was small as she thought on that. Then her eyes brightened. “You love me?”

  “Oh, Giancarla, how can you doubt that?” he asked and drew her onto his lap, wrapped her in his arms. He nuzzled her neck and kissed the tender, raspberry scented skin there. “I knew you were meant to be mine the moment I looked into your pretty brown eyes.”

  She sighed and relaxed against him. Eyes closed, she breathed deeply, then asked, “Did the police catch
her?”

  “No, we did,” Maksim answered again to spare Vitaly the pain of admitting the violence. Olivia reached to take his hand in hers, offering her silent support. “We’d been looking for her. She stole from me and that is not acceptable.”

  Gia nodded, eyes still closed. Although the questions bubbled in her throat, she knew better than to voice them. The Bratva had caught a thief and would-be murderer: the woman’s fate was determined. She knew that the attempted killing was sufficient to have brought her grandfather into play.

  “Did grandpa—?”

  “He left retribution to me,” Maksim said, taking the responsibility for a woman’s torture and murder onto his broad shoulders. “He is satisfied with the outcome.”

  Gia nodded and turned her face into Vitaly’s neck. She inhaled the clean, masculine scent of his skin. It was warm and it stirred her blood. But she was not yet strong enough to endure vigorous intimacy. She yawned and rubbed her cheek against him.

  “I’m tired, Vitaly.”

  “Da.” He rose, lifting her. He bade a quiet good-night to his boss and his boss’ wife, who just as quietly replied they would show themselves out.

  Once in the bedroom, he stripped her. He checked her bandages then found a soft, worn tee shirt to pull over her. The stretched out neck drooped over one shoulder and pulled down low across her left breast. Vitaly pulled down the covers and she slid over. He took off his clothes and slid in behind her. Snuggling next to her, he held her close. Gia sighed with content.

  “Do you remember the first time we slept together?” he murmured against her hair, pressing a kiss to her head. He shifted a little, spooning snugly against her.

  “Mm hm. I was terrified.”

  “You never need fear me.”

  “I know.”

  He pressed his cheek against her head. “I told Maksim I was finished with interrogation.”

  “I’m glad.” She felt his chest expand as he took a breath to explain, but she forestalled him. “No, Vitaly, don’t tell me. It’s enough for me to know that you’ll no longer be torturing people, even if those people are horrible, violent criminals.”

  He pressed another kiss into her hair. “I don’t deserve you, but I won’t give you up. Ever. You make me want to be a better man, someone who will be worthy of you.”

  She said nothing and they lay there in silence, the only noise the soft rush of air as they breathed. Gia yawned again.

  “Vitaly?”

  “Da?”

  “Will you teach me Russian?”

  “I would be honored. Go to sleep, Giancarla. You’re exhausted.” His hand and arm lifted moved. He stroked her hair.

  “Sing to me?”

  His velvety baritone rumbled from his chest, vibrated through her body as he sang his favorite lullaby to her.

  “You sang to me in the hospital.” Her voice sounded so very far away and dreamy.

  “I did,” he replied and resumed singing.

  “I heard you. That was what brought me back. I dreamed you sang songs like that to our children.”

  “Do you want children?”

  “Yes, but I want to graduate first.”

  “You will,” he assured her. “You will graduate. Our children will have a brilliant scientist for a mother.”

  “Mm.” She wriggled a little, nestling closer against him, feeling the large, rigid length of him pulse against her lower back. “Vitaly?”

  “Yes?”

  “I want you inside me.”

  His body went hard as stone at the invitation. “You are injured, moy sladkiy. I do not wish to hurt you.”

  “I feel empty. Just... be gentle, slow and gentle.”

  “You are certain?” The hope in his voice nearly shattered her heart.

  She felt his hairy leg slide between hers. His hand slid over her right breast, down her belly. It paused to cup her mound then delicately stroke lower. She exhaled on a faint moan. Moisture gathered, coated his fingers. His big body trembled against her.

  “I would not hurt you,” he said.

  “I need you, Vitaly.”

  With a long groan, he took himself in hand to position his erection at the entrance of her body and pushed slowly. Her own moan merged with his as her slick flesh yielded to him. When he had gone as far as he could go, buried to the hilt inside her, he paused until she rolled her hips. With gentle hands, he held her as he set up a slow, easy glide moving in and out of her flesh, each stroke reaching deeply into her and rubbing against the pleasure spot deep within. An orgasm swelled like an ocean tide, inexorable and overwhelming, until it crashed over her, drowned her in undulating waves of deep satisfaction. With the last ripples of her climax, Vitaly released his. The long strokes became shallow thrusts that lasted only a few seconds before he emptied himself inside her.

  “I love you, Vitaly,” she murmured, his name fading away on a sleeping sigh.

  “I love you, too,” he murmured back and lay awake for a long while later, content to hold her in his arms for she held his heart in her hands. The future, her graduation, her amazing discovery at the lake, the EPA, their lunch date with her grandfather next week, their children: all those worries would keep. For now, he could cherish the peace and contentment.

  A tiny mewl was followed by the scrabble of claws as the kitten entered the bedroom and climbed up the mattress. Vitaly smiled as the little animal crawled across the pillows and curled up against his neck.

  Life was good. He would keep it that way. His eyes drifted shut.

  For the first time in decades, Vitaly slept peacefully.

  Russian

  GolD

  © 2016 Karen M. Chirico

  HEN HOUSE PUBLISHING

  www.henhousepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, and events in this book are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance of characters to real persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  As always, I didn’t publish this little book without the support of key people. First, I extend a debt of gratitude to the generous persons who volunteered to serve as beta readers, namely Ashley Gregory and Cindra Phillips. Their importance to polishing the rough draft into something fit for public viewing cannot be underestimated or overstated.

  I also owe thanks to my husband, David, for his constant support. It’s difficult to recognize my weird little hobby is actually closer to a life calling, but he has managed to do it—regardless of how long it took.

  A final expression of thanks goes to my readers, without whom I would not be able to call myself an author of any merit whatsoever.

  Chapter 1

  Pyotr watched the love of his life move about the kitchen with languid grace, like a butterfly floating in a beehive. Where clanging chaos reigned, pots steamed, and skillets sizzled, Cecily maintained an almost otherworldly calm as she directed cooks and busboys and waiters. His stomach rumbled in anticipation of the supper she would later cook for him and his groin tightened in anticipation of sinking into her plump, soft flesh that night.

  She looked up, eyes lighting with pleasure to see him standing at the kitchen door. To Pyotr, her smile brightened the entire place as though a star from the heavens had descended to earth to illuminate his life.

  Bog, he was getting sappy.

  He nodded at her, but she’d already turned her attention to the stovetop, and returned to the small dining room of the restaurant, The Matrynoshka, the restaurant Maksim and Olivia had purchased.

  “Your woman needs a kitchen and I need a legitimate and profitable business,” Maksim said as sat beside Pyotr, Gennady, and Iosif as they cheered the graduation of Cecily and her roommate, Latasha. The girls’ other and former roommate, Gia, would graduate next semester.

  Maksim continued, “With your Cecily cooking, the restaurant is sure to be successful.”

  Pyotr agreed.

  He’d been uneasy about meeting her parents who had traveled up fro
m some tiny town in southern Indiana, but they’d greeted him cordially enough. He supposed it helped that his suit, tailored to accommodate the expanse of his shoulders and generally big frame, hid the tattoos that festooned his arms and chest. He wasn’t as heavily tattooed as Vitaly, but enough so that a discerning eye would notice that much of that ink had been imprinted into his skin in prison. And some in the military. Like Vitaly, he’d been an orphan and transitioned immediately upon adulthood to army life.

  He’d hated the army.

  It was weird that life after the army imposed as much discipline and rules as during, with less forgiveness or tolerance.

  The money was better, certainly.

  “Privet,” a deep voice captured his attention, followed by a heavy hand clapping down on his shoulder. “You got a table for us?”

  “Vitaly!” With a kiss to the big man’s cheeks, Pyotr welcomed his old colleague and friend. He saw that Gia, Vitaly’s myopic Italian wife, stood beside him, smiling a little uncertainly. “And Gia!” He kissed her cheeks, too, with just enough flair to make Vitaly growl.

  “What am I, chopped liver?” demanded the irrepressible Latasha, her skinny figure dwarfed by Iosif, who gently and firmly restrained her by means of a big hand splayed across her belly.

  “Of course not,” Pyotr chuckled as he bussed her on the forehead. Vitaly might tolerate a little teasing, but Iosif would not. “It’s good to see you, Latasha.”

  “Humph.”

  “I’m surprised it’s so busy,” Gia commented, looking around as she adjusted her glasses.

  “Three-quarters of the customers are Bratva,” Vitaly remarked, his keen eyes sweeping the room.

  “And the rest are mafia,” Iosif murmured.

  “Well, if the food’s as good as I think it will be, then regular customers will soon be coming in,” Gia said. “I have faith in Cecily. She’s a terrific cook.”

  “She’s a great chef,” Pyotr corrected with pride.

  “Is Maksim coming tonight?” Iosif inquired.

  “No,” Vitaly replied and switched to Russian. “He had business in Springfield. Giuseppe Maglione requested a favor.”