Nanny and the BRATVA BOSS

by Daiko, SC

  “Look,” she pointed toward a robin perched on a branch above us. “England, different.”

  My Zoe still couldn’t verbalize complex ideas and struggled to communicate in complete sentences, relying on a combination of gesturing, facial expressions, and short phrases to express what she wanted or needed. But I understood everything I was so in tune with her, as she was with me. Her skills were improving as the weeks went by; there was every hope she would recover in full.

  My chest grew tight.

  Dr. Patterson had said we needed to be patient; it could take years.

  I gave Zoe’s hand another squeeze. “Yep, robins look different in Russia too, their breasts are more orange than red.” I gazed into her topaz eyes, simply grateful my rybka had seen the bird. Initially, her sight had been impaired and even now her peripheral vision was practically non-existent.

  She shivered suddenly. “Let’s go back inside,” I said. “Mrs. Konin is waiting for us with a pot of tea. You know we Russians always drink tea when we come in from the cold…”

  We made our way indoors, shrugging off our coats and heading for the warm kitchen. Emma was sitting at the table, doing her homework. “Hey, guys,” she giggled. “You’re crazy going out in the deep freeze. What would happen if you fell or got sick? Your wedding is next week…”

  I sat Zoe down, caught her radiant expression. “We okay,” she raised a thumb. “All good.”

  “I was waiting to help you rehearse your vows,” Emmochka pouted. “A quick practice before Mrs. Gorelov gets here for my class.”

  Zoe gave the thumbs-up sign again. “No worries.”

  After drinking black tea with a spoonful of jelly on the side, I kissed my girls and went to my office. They had their routine and I had mine; we’d meet up again for dinner. No doubt, after my bossy daughter had helped Zoe practice her vows, they would chat about the wedding and, to be honest, I wasn’t that interested in all the fuss viz-a-viz dresses, guests and so forth. The only thing that interested me was making Zoe my wife.

  Her memory of the shooting had come back in bits and pieces over the past several months, but I fessed up before she’d realized I hadn’t proposed yet, getting down on one knee the evening I brought her home from the hospital and putting a five-carat diamond solitaire ring on her finger. Thank God, she’d said yes. I’d made love to her gently that night for the first time since she was shot, and we’d cried in each other’s arms afterwards so overwhelmed were we by the intensity of our love.

  A wood-burning fire crackled in the corner of my office. I no longer spent the entire day away from home, accomplishing any outside business in the mornings. Every afternoon I worked here; my workplace was fully equipped with everything I needed.

  Semion and I had divided up the Polombo businesses between us, all except the drug smuggling, which we handed over to the feds in return for their turning a blind eye to what had happened at the Da Fazio restaurant. The fact that Semion was based in New York made him an even more powerful man than me, but I wasn’t bothered. I had everything I’d ever want in Fairwood.

  The love of an incredible woman and the best daughter I could have hoped for.

  My enemies knew better than to mess with me after I’d taken down the Polombo. I wasn’t complacent, would always keep my loved ones close, except I was starting to entertain the idea of Emma attending ballet school, maybe. Semion’s power in the city, and the close friendship between our two families, meant she’d be safe. I hadn’t made up my mind one hundred percent, but I was certainly considering the option. I already allowed her to hang out at her friend Sasha’s place, protected by my boyeviks.

  After lighting a cigarette, I flipped open my laptop and scrolled through the ubiquitous emails. My mind wasn’t on work, however; I couldn’t wait to spend the evening with Zoe. Her family would be here in two days’ time and there wouldn’t be much opportunity for us to duet together once they took up all her attention. They’d visited us a couple of months ago, after she’d had the surgery to repair her cranium. The doctors had saved the portion of Zoe’s skull that they removed after the shooting, but they opted to use a ceramic substitute instead. They said new bone would form in the porous material over time. The operation meant that my little fish no longer had to wear a helmet to protect her brain during physical therapy, something she practiced every day. She sure worked hard at getting better; I was so fucking proud of her.

  I tapped my foot against the floor, eager for the time to pass so I could be alone with her. It seemed like a miracle, but the doctors had explained it scientifically. Although she was unable to speak in full sentences, Zoe could still sing all the words to the songs she knew. The right hemisphere of her brain was relatively undamaged and that was the area which controlled her ability to carry a tune. Language and music were different in many ways, Dr. Patterson had said. Music itself didn’t convey information about the world … music conveyed emotion.

  He didn’t need to tell me; I already knew.

  Music had been the outlet valve for my emotions since I was a kid.

  And it was music that had brought Zoe and me together.

  I blew out a breath and glanced at my watch.

  Fuck it, I’ll go find her now.

  Zoe

  “Hey, rybka? Mind if I join you?”

  I glanced up from the treadmill as Taras stepped into the basement gym. I responded with a thumbs up; I so loved it when he came down here to work out with me.

  “Don’t tire yourself, my sweet,” he bossed, lowering himself into his rowing machine.

  “I won’t,” I promised, puffing out the words before settling back into my stride.

  My physical therapist, Helena, was tough on me, but I think I was even tougher on myself. I so wanted to walk down the aisle next week on both my dads’ arms without stumbling. Thankfully, saying I do wouldn’t be a problem; it was short and sweet. Emma had helped me practice saying the rest of my vows ad infinitum; they might come out a little slow and deliberate, but they wouldn’t be distorted thanks to her.

  Following the shooting, completing the simplest thoughts or tasks took immense concentration. I was unable to recall the names of objects, even things with which I was familiar like a comb, an apple or a pencil. I would literally have to work out every tiny detail. After about ten minutes, I still wouldn’t know what it was called, but I would know what it did.

  I was a lot better now; my mind was no longer fuzzy. I could read, understand everything said to me and think perfectly clearly. But it was still early days in terms of rehabilitation. I pinched my lips together as I walked on the treadmill; I’d been told full recovery could take years.

  Maybe getting married next week was a little soon? Nah, Taras and I wanted to make this commitment to each other sooner rather than later. We loved each other. He loved me despite my disabilities, and I loved him even though he had a darker side.

  We were two broken people, and only together could we be whole.

  I turned my head to slide my eyes over his divine body, feasting my gaze on his broad, muscular shoulders, his well-defined pecs, the V of his abs leading to the treasure trail at the top of his shorts. I wet my lips.

  Focus on your work-out, Zoe. You’re in danger of jumping his bones.

  I decided to call it a day and switched off the machine. I reached for a towel and wiped the sweat from my face and neck. Soon it would be dinner-time, chill time with Emma and then Taras and me time.

  I couldn’t wait.

  * * *

  The lyrics of Tracy Chapman’s song, Baby Can I Hold you Tonight, about words not coming easily, could have applied to both of us. It was a song I’d known for years, and had no difficulty singing… although if I were to try and formulate those sentences and attempt to speak them, it would have taken me all night.

  Taras’ smoldering eyes burned into me as I stood in front of him in his room, singing about love and forgiveness. I knew words like sorry, I love you and forgive me, used to catch in his thr
oat. And yet… and yet, since the shooting, they tripped off his tongue without difficulty. He couldn’t apologize enough for not protecting me, couldn’t stop saying how much he loved me.

  He placed his cello on its stand and beckoned me forward. Wrapping his arms around my body, he kissed the place between my neck and my shoulder. Goosebumps peppered my skin as his hot lips teased me. His hand found my lower back and he pulled me into him.

  “God, how I love you, Zoe.”

  With a groan, he picked me up and laid me down on the bed. Climbing over me, he extended my neck to suck and nibble his way up to my chin. Heat spread through me, and I writhed my body beneath him.

  He kissed me again, for the longest time, taking all the air from my lungs. Finally, he pulled away, ran his thumb over my cheek, traced it along my face, and looked down at me with love in his eyes.

  His expression tightened. “That song, about words not coming easily. I could say the opposite. It was easy for me NOT to say I love you. I fought my feelings and always won. It wasn’t a problem.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Until I met you.”

  How I wanted to tell him it was because we belonged together. I could only say, “We, together,” and hope he’d understand.

  His gazed locked with mine. “Forever, my love. Forever.”

  I melted into him, parting my lips so he’d slip his hot tongue into my mouth. Without detaching himself from me, he pulled off our clothes and parted my legs wide.

  He didn’t stop kissing me.

  Not when he was sliding into me.

  Not when he was thrusting.

  He kept his lips fused with mine, and he took my mouth with the same passion as he was taking my pussy.

  Skin to skin, he covered every inch of me. I could feel him everywhere… in my heart, in my mind, in my body and in my soul.

  We kept on kissing as our bodies rocked. His thrusts were deep, and I clenched around him. His hips pumped faster, his hand reaching between us to rub at my clit. “Ahhh.”

  With a trembling moan, I came first, wave after wave of exquisite pleasure crashing through me. He wasn’t far behind; I felt his cock spasm and then fill me with his cum.

  Still inside me, he rested his forehead on mine. Our sweat mingled, his breath became my breath and our hearts beat as one. We kissed, softly. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, rybka. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

  I caught my lip between my teeth. Could I ask what was in my heart? How to formulate the question? “Vas… vasec…” I couldn’t get the word out.

  But Taras understood. “You want me to get my vasectomy reversed? Is that it?”

  I could only nod.

  “I would do it for you, rybka. And for me. I’d be overjoyed for you to have our children. But…”

  There’s a ‘but’?

  I tilted my jaw downward and frowned.

  His fingers hooked around my chin, raising it. “Let me finish, my sweet. My only proviso is that the doctors agree. Pregnancy would take its toll on your body. I don’t want you putting your recovery at risk.”

  My Bratva Boss was in protective mode. “Okay,” I said, looping my arms around him and breathing him in. “I love you. We wait.” I closed my eyes. Not too long, I hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Zoe

  Olivia was buttoning up my Givenchy wedding dress. “Stand still, sis. Nearly done.”

  She twirled me round so I could see myself in the mirror. The strapless ivory-colored gown was truly stunning.

  “You look like a princess,” Emma sighed from where she was sitting, dressed in her rose-pink chiffon bridesmaid dress.

  “You look adorable,” I told her, and she was. Her curly red hair, tied back at the sides with white gold clasps, hung down her back, and her blue eyes sparkled with happiness. She’d been stoked to find out that my brother, Jack, was a rising rockstar. Like with my mum’s celebrity status, it wasn’t something I bragged about. His band, Macro, hadn’t even played in the US yet, although they would probably tour sometime soon.

  Mum approached me, lipstick in her hand. “The finishing touch,” she smiled, applying the cosmetic. She eyed me up and down. “Press your lips together… good.”

  I’d declined the services of stylists, preferring my own natural look. There wasn’t much I could do with my hair, in any case, it was still so short.

  Olivia handed me my wedding gift from Taras, an eighteen-carat white gold tiara from a famous jeweler in London, set with diamonds. I hadn’t liked to imagine what it must have cost him, but I freaking loved it. I placed it on top of my head and stared at my reflection.

  Hard to believe just over six months ago I nearly died.

  Taras had been hard on himself for not briefing me beforehand about security protocol. I’d been naïve, unused to being out and about with him. No wonder he’d preferred to keep Emma in a gilded cage for so many years. I squeezed my eyes shut for a couple of seconds and took in a calming breath. This wasn’t the right moment to reflect on the past. Taras had told me he’d taken down the Polombo with Semion’s help. I hadn’t wanted to know the details; I was simply relieved the danger was over.

  “Ready?” Mum asked.

  I gave her a nervous smile. “Your dress,” I paused, searching for the right word, “gorgeous,” I admired her elegant gold-colored gown. “And yours, Livvy,” I turned to my sister, who was dressed in rose-pink chiffon like Emma.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Mrs. Konin appeared. “The florist has just delivered your bouquets,” she pointed to the corsage she’d pinned to her lapel. “I think it’s time we set off.”

  Taras, my daddies and my brothers had stayed with the Abramoviches in Brooklyn last night and would meet us at the Episcopalian church in Fairwood. Mum had said it was bad luck for the groom to see his bride the night before their wedding, and I’d gone along with her superstition.

  Just in case.

  Downstairs, Oleg was waiting for us in Taras’ limo. The weather had improved since last week and there was a hint of spring in the air. Mum still fussed, though, insisting I wear a white fake fur wrap over my shoulders to keep warm.

  I spent the ride to the church trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach, listening to Emma telling Mum and Olivia about her friendship with the Abramovich kids. Easter was early this year and they were already home from Switzerland for the spring vacation. Emma was over the moon they’d be at the wedding. Particularly Valentin, on whom she had a massive crush.

  Soon we arrived at the church. Mrs. Konin had followed in her own car, with her sister and Sasha, bringing our bouquets. She handed them to us, simple arrangements of pink and white roses. I smiled as I spotted my daddies, waiting on the front steps.

  I laced my arm through Daddy Gabe’s. “You look lovely,” he said.

  “We’re so proud of you,” Daddy Luke whispered, placing my other hand on his arm.

  I was only glad their animosity toward Taras was no longer an issue. Not that they’d ever be best buddies… but at least they were civil toward each other.

  Mum and Mrs. Konin slipped into the building. My daddies and I, Emma and Olivia behind us, waited until the organist began playing The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba and then we started our procession down the aisle. I focused hard on each step, walking with precision until we arrived at the altar where Taras was waiting with Demyan.

  As soon as my hand was placed in Taras’ the butterflies in my stomach disappeared. He swept his green eyes over my face. “I’m the luckiest man in the world, to be marrying you.” His voice choked with emotion. “My beautiful, brave Zoe.”

  I gazed at him, so incredibly handsome in his black tuxedo and bow tie. He was about to become my husband; I almost pinched myself.

  The ceremony passed in a blur until we arrived at the point where we were expected to make our vows. Taras said his first, and then it was my turn. My heartbeats skittered.

  Slow and deliberately, I repeated after the vicar, “In the name
of God, I, Zoe, take you, Taras, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

  I almost punched the air I was so pleased with myself for getting through it.

  Taras caught my eye, and I saw the pride reflected in his gaze.

  “Ya lyublyu tebya,” he whispered the words I love you in Russian.

  “Love you too,” I said, softly. The words came easily I said them so often.

  We exchanged rings, and then he kissed me, deep and possessively.

  Unexpected applause burst from the congregation with a few slightly inappropriate whistles from Taras’ men.

  We sprang back and smirked at each other, laughing.

  Taras

  I held Zoe’s hand in the backseat of my SUV as Oleg, with Demyan riding shotgun, drove us to Lure, my nightclub, where I’d arranged the wedding reception. As soon as my little fish had agreed to become my wife, I’d organized a complete refurbishment of the premises so that it would be worthy of her.

  She’d asked me if I was disappointed there wasn’t a Russian church in Fairwood, and I’d assured her that I wasn’t. We’d decided on the episcopal as it bore the closest resemblance to the Church of England, and the priest, Rev. Eddleston, had been more than congenial about marrying us.

  We stopped at the front of Lure, and Zoe waited while Oleg and Demyan carried out the requisite risk assessment. I’d reminded her, of course… I would always remind her. Within minutes, my limo arrived with Emma and Zoe’s family inside. Together, we made our way to the private members’ lounge above the club.

  We’d decided to forgo the tradition of a receiving line; Zoe would have found it too tiring. Instead, we sat at the top table with Emma, Zoe’s family and the Abramoviches, enjoying enough food and drink to feed an army. I’d kept one important Russian tradition, Vodka was served with each course so my men could toast us and call for kisses, to which we happily complied.