by Tabatha Kiss
I quiver, red-faced and exposed, but one glance from his haunting, silver eyes brings me calm.
“Sofia, have you ever touched yourself?” he asks.
I hesitate. Answering with the truth would bring me great punishment if it were to fall on Zappia ears but I have no urge to lie to Luka Lutrova. I nod and he kisses me again, softly flicking his tongue against mine.
He smiles in the dim light and lays his warm hands on my shivering knees. “Will you do it for me now?”
An answer twitches my tongue but my voice never quite surfaces. Luka looks down to watch me inch my hand beneath my skirt. I push through all the ingrained shame involved with the act, utterly floor by the desire in his eyes. My clit throbs even harder as I touch it, shooting sparks down to my ankles. I bite my lip, silencing myself as pleasure quickly rises to the surface.
“Shh…” Luka whispers, leaning closer to brush his lips against mine.
My hips push off the table, gently grinding against my fingertips and I feel the smile grow wider across his face. Each breath fuels the heat in me, growing wilder with each rub. I open my mouth, silently moaning, and Luka traps the sound with his lips. He lays his hands on my waist to hold me steady as I climb even higher.
“Don’t stop,” he says, staring into me.
He wants me to finish; to release the deluge just begging to burst out of me and I want it, too. I can already feel the wetness staining my panties, dripping more every second, just waiting for him to enter me and fill me with his seed.
The tension mounts and he holds me tighter as the euphoria overwhelms my core. I keep silent, hiding my orgasm from all ears as I always have, but I let out a soft whimper for Luka before pushing forward to steal a kiss off of his perfect lips.
He pulls me closer to him and I feel the hard bulge pressing against my inner thigh. It’s frightening and strange but the instinct to run is nonexistent. Even as he reaches for his belt and pushes his zipper down, I keep still, waiting with a throbbing anticipation.
I wonder when it will become too much. I wonder if I’ll chicken out completely and rush out of here in a flurry that will surely get us both caught.
But I don’t. The forbidden urge for him never leaves me. It blends with my fear, igniting an even powerful lust and shutting out all of my other senses.
He pulls out his cock and my breath catches in my throat.
“Sofia, look at me.”
I fall even harder into his eyes and he holds them with ease.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer without thinking.
He takes another step closer and I grow tense. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispers. “I promise.”
I sneak another peek at his girth before it disappears beneath my black dress. He moves with experience, taking hold of my panties and pushing them aside. I feel his flesh on mine, hard and warm, as his tip burrows between my folds.
Luka stops and plants a firm kiss on my lips. The moment lasts in my mind, frozen in time as my thoughts scream loud in my ears. It’s been twelve years since I last saw him. I never even spoke to him then but I’ve never in my life felt so close to anyone.
I hold my breath as he slides his cock in me. There’s a sharp pain as the barrier stretches but he pushes inside with little resistance; my walls slick with honey.
He doesn’t go all the way. He holds back, flexing his jaw and trembling as he makes himself take it slow for me. I force myself to breathe, counting his shallow thrusts until the pain is gone and that warm desire overwhelms me.
I lean into him, inviting him to take more of me but he stays in control.
“Deeper,” I whisper against his lips.
Luka rests his head on my shoulder. “Not yet,” he groans softly.
His voice struggles through lust as I do. I hold his hips, torn apart inside but I know he’s right. Any more of him right now and I might regret it but my desire takes over.
“Luka…” I taste his name on my tongue and a sense of terror fills me as I realize I may never say it again. This night, this moment.
This will never happen again.
He pushes in a little more and tears fill my eyes. His teeth rake against my neck and he leaves soft nibbles on my skin as he thrusts me a little deeper. I claw up his back, holding his body against mine, trying to commit every possible detail of him to my memory. That salty taste of his skin, the sweetness of his tongue. The subtle smell of his cologne and that natural scent in his hair. I never want to forget anything about Luka Lutrova ever again.
His arms slide around me and he lets out another stiff groan as he cups my ass, drawing me closer to intensify his grind. I moan into his mouth, feeling every quick buck of his hips against my pelvis. Skin against skin, I feel him so deep inside, throbbing and pulsing. Soon, he will fill me. I tremble with fear and a silent prayer passes over my lips.
I will not live my life in chains.
Luka’s body goes tense, his fingers digging into my soft rear. I hold him closer, feeling every twitch and jolt of his muscles as climax surges through him. He pushes in as deep as he can go and my insides quiver around him as he holds it there.
I close my eyes and I feel his heat inside of me. Thousands of lives are created every day. Women become mothers, men become fathers. If a merciful deity truly exists in this world, then he’ll choose this moment to bless me with — not tomorrow night or the night after. If he truly cared for me, then he’d save my life tonight.
Luka raises his head to look at me. His cheeks are bright pink. A thin layer of sweat coats his forehead. We stare into each other’s eyes, standing still and listening to our hearts slowly stop pounding as he grows soft inside of me. When he finally pulls out, I feel a twinge of bittersweetness.
I tighten my muscles, refusing to let a single drop of him free as I slide off the table. My dress tumbles back down to my ankles and Luka zips himself up, avoiding my eyes as he moves away from me.
“Once we leave this room, this never happened,” he says.
I nod, knowing he can’t see it. “If it ever gets out—”
“I’ll deny it.”
It’s what I promised him. No one will ever know. I won’t ask him for anything else.
But it still hurts.
“Of course,” I say. “I will, too.”
He reaches for his jacket on the wall and as he slides it up his arms, he finally glances at me again. “Good luck to you, Sofia.”
“Wait…” I step towards him and I push onto my toes to kiss him one last time. He doesn’t move but his lips twitch against mine. “Thank you, Luka,” I whisper.
I sense the hesitation in him. He holds his breath, pausing for an eternity before he leans down to return the kiss. It lasts no longer than a second — like a quick peck between acquaintances. Just two old friends passing each other by before returning to their lives.
He pulls the door open and disappears into the garden.
***
I step into the chapel and all eyes fall on me.
A string quartet plays me in, sliding their bows to the tune of Here Comes the Bride, and I throw one foot in the front of the other. When I did this yesterday, it felt as though I walked through quicksand. Each step felt heavier and closer to death.
But not today.
Today, I feel lighter, and that’s not only because I no longer have to wear that hideous black tarp. Today, I wear white; the color of virginal purity. Freshly fallen snow. The perfect Zappia bride.
I hold back my laugh.
Gio rolls my veil over my head and he takes a look at me for the first time in weeks. He smiles and I smile back, staring a hole right through him to the man standing behind him.
Luka Lutrova.
He keeps his eyes down, possibly the only person in the room not gawking at me and I say another silent thank you to him for it. It somehow makes me feel even closer to him. Here we stand, the only two people in the world in on the joke and we always will be.
The priest begins by reading off bible verses and wedding phrases but his voice echoes on through me. I feel my smile take hold of my face again. Everyone will assume my grin is because of Gio but I know better. Luka knows better.
If the Zappias want the perfect bride then I’ll be the perfect bride for them. For years, they’ll think that’s exactly what I am. Kind, doting, submissive.
In the end, they’ll all be in for a surprise.
Gio takes the ceremonial knife from the priest and my fingers twitch.
I’d nearly forgotten about this part. The Zappia blood ritual is yet another outdated, barbaric custom but at least they’ve done away with the tradition of consummating the marriage at the back of the chapel directly after the ceremony.
“My blood is your blood,” Gio says, repeating after the priest, word-for-word, as he readies the knife’s edge against my thumb. “My flesh is your flesh. From now through eternity.”
I wince as he pokes a hole in me and my blood drips out into the white, ceremonial basin.
He passes the knife onto me and I smile again, more than happy to make him bleed.
“My blood is your blood,” I say, practically stabbing him. He flinches while the rest of them chuckle at his oh-so-adorably nervous bride. “My flesh is your flesh. From now through eternity.”
He bleeds into the basin, his red mixing with mine. The priest pours a few drops of oil on top of it and ignites it with a candle. I watch as our blood burns, signifying that I’m not only a Zappia in name but in flesh, as well.
Good. The finest killer of flesh is a virus; one that eats you apart from the inside out.
It’ll start with me. It’ll start with the life hopefully taking hold of my womb at this very moment and it’ll end with the destruction of the Zappia family.
Gio takes my hand and slides the wedding band onto my finger, along with the diamond engagement ring and I smile again.
I’ll keep smiling until he’s a miserable, broken, old man.
I am a Zappia woman, after all.
Chapter 8
Luka
Three Years Later
“It’s happened again.”
I yawn, just barely opening my eyes to stare at Markov. “What’s happened again?”
He gestures for me to follow him and walks out of my doorway.
“Markov—”
“Follow me.”
I sigh and grab a sweater to throw on before trailing him down the hall. It’s three in the morning. Whatever he dragged me out of bed for, it better be important.
We enter his workshop across the estate and he beelines for his desk. “They’re back in Moscow.”
“Who’s back in…”
I pause, my brain finally waking up and answering the question before I even finish asking it.
The kobra.
Tracking the kobra has proved to be more difficult than we thought it’d be. Markov was right; blood leaves a trail but the blood he collected three years ago from the hissing man turned up nothing. Since then, a string of murders has plagued Russia, one every few months or so, each one more confusing than the last — and each one prompting the same lecture from my father.
Leave them be.
Luckily, Markov disagreed and the two of us have been quietly tracking the similar killings throughout Europe ever since.
There’s no pattern; no connection between the victims. Just dead bodies with two bullets in their eyes but someone, somewhere out there, is profiting from this. If there’s something that leaves a more potent trail than blood, it’s money.
“Where?” I ask him.
Markov sits down in front of his laptop and I linger over his shoulder as he points. “The Chernyy Obuvi,” he answers. “It’s a nightclub down from—”
“I know what it is, Markov,” I chuckle.
He throws up his hands. “Excuse me. I’m not as hip as you are, Luka.”
“What happened?”
“A young man was found in a bathroom stall.”
“Two bullets through the eyes?”
He nods. “And four more through his heart. They wanted him to stay down.”
“Who was it?”
“Hans Petrovin.”
I bite my inner cheek. “I went to school with Hans Petrovin…”
“And your father with his father, Stefan. They didn’t get along.”
“Neither did we.” I rub my tired eyes. “Markov, what part of this couldn’t wait until morning?”
“The part where you did it.”
I pause. “Oh.”
Markov turns in his chair to face me. “You were here all night?”
“Of course.”
“No last minute jobs pop up?”
“Last minute jobs to off Hans Petrovin? No.”
“Then how do you want to explain this one?” He presses the space bar on his keyboard and a video plays.
I lean forward, blinking along with the thumping bass of the nightclub security footage. Hans drifts into the back hallway, stumbling down the blinking fluorescents towards the men’s restroom. A tall man comes into view behind him with short, dark hair and a thick brow, wearing a long, black coat—
Me. He looks like me.
Exactly like me.
He reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a small pistol before following Hans into the restroom and closing the door behind them.
“Who has seen this?” I ask.
“Can’t be sure,” he says. “I managed to have it deleted from the club’s servers but… Luka, things like this never stay quiet for long.”
I rub the sleep from my eyes. “I didn’t do this, Markov.”
“I know. This hit was sloppy. I trained you better than that.”
“Wait — what does this have to do with the kobra?” I ask.
He smirks and points to the monitor as the restroom door opens again. The man with my face steps out into the quiet hallway and walks slowly towards the back exit.
“You hear that?” he asks me.
“No. Hear what?”
Markov scrolls back on the footage and slides the volume to full blast. I listen closer, just barely making out the sharp bursts of air splitting his lips.
I take a step back. “He’s hissing.”
He nods. “Sound familiar?”
I look a little closer. At first glance, his face looks like mine, but now that I remember him, I see the minor differences standing out. I never forget a face. Especially not one I’ve beat on before.
“They’re setting me up,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Who have you pissed off recently?”
I chuckle. “I wish I knew.”
“You count cards at the casino again?”
“No, Markov.”
“Stick your dick where it didn’t belong?”
I raise a brow. “Not recently.”
He glares at me and lets out a quick exhale. “The Petrovin family has been looking for an excuse to go after the Lutrovas for decades. If this video gets out, then they’ll sure as hell use it.”
I scratch my head. “Then, what do we do?”
“First, we tell Nikolai.” He holds up a hand as I roll my eyes. “He can buy us some more time before this makes it to the Petrovins.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to gather our allies. If this turns bloody, we’ll need all the help we can get.”
“Like who?”
He shrugs. “Start from the top and work your way down.”
I cringe. Starting from the top usually means the end of the alphabet.
“Gio…” I mumble.
“He’s a brat,” Markov nods, “but he’s a powerful brat. You need him in your corner.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
He waves me off. “Go back to bed. In the morning, you and Yuri will go to Rome for a nice play date with Giovani.”
I stand still, staring off into the dark corners of the room.
I blink. “I haven’t been avoiding Italy.”
He raises a knowing brow. “Really?”
I force a shrug. “It’s too warm there. I am but a simple Russian boy.”
“Yes. A simple Russian boy who has been framed for murder.”
“We all are at least once.”
He laughs. “That is true.”
I pat his shoulder. “Goodnight, Markov.”
“Spokoynoy, Luka.”
Three years. Is that all its been?
It feels much longer than that. In truth, I never planned to go back there at all. There’s no point to it. Going back to Rome would only answer questions; questions I’d much rather leave unanswered.
Life is simpler that way.
***
“We need to come here more often, Luka,” Yuri says, staring out the window at the bright, Italian cityscape.
I shift in my seat. The closer we get to the Zappia estate, the more I twitch. I can’t sit still no matter how hard I try and it’s not just the possible murder charge breathing down my neck giving me the jitters.
“I prefer Moscow,” I mutter.
“Moscow this, Moscow that. Home is great but you should travel more often, little brother,” he says, slapping my shoulder. “You can’t go by the book all the time. Live a little. Break a few rules. It’s good for you.”
“I’ve broken plenty of rules.”
He scoffs. “Like what?”
I flex my jaw. “Me living by the book has kept you alive, hasn’t it?”
“Is that really all you care about?”
“Yes.”
“If my death is what it would take for you to have a little fun then I will throw myself on a damn sword right now.”
I laugh. “You wouldn’t know which end of a sword to hold, Yuri, let alone which end to throw yourself on.”
“Is it not the pointy end anymore?” he jokes.
