by Rose, Renee
“Don’t—” he grits, like speaking pains him. “Don’t say that, or I’ll never let you go.”
“I won’t say it,” I say quickly, turning away.
He catches me, but doesn’t turn me back. Just wraps his arms around me from behind.
A few more tears fall. Emptiness descends. Emptiness, but also surrender. I gave him my vulnerability. He gave me his.
There’s a peace that comes with it. He’s not letting me go. But he’s holding me. He’s got me in a way no one has before.
There’s something to that, right?
I drag in a shaky breath. Turn around in his arms and lean my head against his strong chest. His heartbeat sounds against my ear.
I do love him.
It’s illogical and stupid, but I guess you can’t tell the heart anything.
“Come on,” he says, stepping backward, but still holding me with one arm. “Try Zoya’s french fries or she’ll be mad at me for all the work.”
I let out a watery laugh. “Are you kidding? I’m going to eat every last one of those fries. Well, maybe I’ll save some for Mika.”
“I guarantee Zoya made him his own.” I hear a smile in Vlad’s voice, and I tip my head up to see it.
“Zoya’s fond of Mika, right?”
“Da.”
“I can tell. That’s so sweet, considering how she seems like a crotchety old lady the rest of the time.”
Vlad chuckles. “She is a crotchety old lady. But she takes good care of us.”
Standing over the tray, I grab a fry and dip it in the ketchup, which also appears homemade. It tastes different, but not bad. “Mmm. She does take good care of us.”
Vlad slaps my ass lightly. “Get in bed. I’ll feed you.”
I roll my eyes, even as I obey. “My hands aren’t tied, buddy.”
He waggles his brows. “I can remedy that situation.”
Chapter 14
Vlad
“How long are you keeping me locked up in here?” Alessia straddles me in bed the next morning and my brain scrambles.
I grip her hips and yank her pussy over my thickening cock. She gets wet immediately, grinding down. Her youthful breasts brush my chest.
“Hmm?” she prompts.
Oh what? Right, there was a question.
“Until I believe you’ve learned your lesson.” I palm her ass, squeezing the ripe flesh until my cock’s so thick it hurts.
Alessia sits back. “I won’t run away again.” Her tone is serious, the teasing quality gone. It has the ring of a promise.
I tug her hips over mine again, but she grabs my wrists to stop me.
“I mean it, Vlad. You have my word. I don’t know if that means anything in the bratva, but in my Family, it does.”
I’m not inclined to believe a woman’s promise ever, whether she’s Italian or Russian, but I don’t say that.
“Why would I believe you, zaika?”
“I heard what you said yesterday. You could’ve taken a life for a life. My brother’s. But you didn’t. You’re just taking this time from me. I’m willing to honor that exchange.”
Ah, Alessia. Ever giving. Ever sweet.
I reach up and grasp her nape, pull her face down to mine and kiss her hard. “One condition.” I roll our bodies so I’m on top now.
“What’s that?” Her cheeks glow with color, eyes are bright.
“You’re mine in this bed now. No more refusing me. I want you, I take you. Understand?”
“But I don’t have to beg?”
I laugh. It’s unreal how this woman can make me laugh. “You will beg, zaika,” I tease. “But you don’t have to.” I climb off to get a condom. “Don’t move.”
She stays.
I grab her hips and pull her to the center of the bed. “You are a perfect woman, you know that?”
“Am I?” Delight shines on her face. She’s so expressive. So lovely.
“Da. Beautiful.” I kiss the flat plane of her belly. “Kind.” Another kiss. “Funny.” I part her legs and flick my tongue over her clit.
She shrieks and tries to close her legs.
“Uh uh. Keep these legs open or I’ll spank that pretty ass of yours again.”
Her inner thighs tremble, but she keeps them open, arching and releasing her pelvis as I trace the inside of her labia with my tongue. I torture her until her moans grow high-pitched and desperate, and then I shift up and roll on a condom.
“Mine,” I growl as I shove into her.
She doesn’t deny it. In fact, she wraps those long legs around my back and pulls me in deep.
Chapter 15
Alessia
“Why are you nervous, Alessia?” Vlad’s watching me closely. He just showed the doctor out the front door and now he stands in the doorway. He brought the doctor in to examine me and take my blood work.
The doctor seemed nervous to be here, like Vlad is some kind of dignitary or something. I guess bratva is well-respected here. Or maybe he guesses I’m a prisoner and is afraid I’m going to appeal to him for help.
Of course he couldn’t know how sexually satisfied this prisoner happens to be.
I pick at a fingernail. My hands are clammy and I have a knot in my solar plexus. It’s been eight months since the stage 3 kidney failure diagnosis, and I’ve managed to keep it hidden from the people who love me. It’s like, if no one knows, it’s not real.
But maybe this doctor won’t find it. Depends on what tests he runs on the blood. “What is he checking for?” I try to sound casual.
I must fail because Vlad’s eyes narrow. “What do you know he will find?”
Busted.
I draw a circle with my toe on the living room rug. Mika’s listening from his post on the sofa.
“Does this have to do with why you think you can’t have children?”
I look up sharply, wondering how he figured that one out.
He shrugs. “Doctor said diabetes shouldn’t prevent it, it’s just riskier.”
I’m cold and sweaty all at once.
“Just tell me, Alessia.” There’s a pleading quality to Vlad’s voice I haven’t heard before. Only then do I realize he’s a little pale. “Is it cancer?”
Mika puts down his tablet to listen, eyes wide.
Cancer is everyone’s biggest fear. That word alone produces fear in the least emotional of people.
“Kidney failure,” I say quickly, since he’s already gone to the worst. Or what he perceives as the worst.
His brow furrows. “Fuck. A result of the diabetes?”
I nod. “I’m at stage three. Stage four is when you have to do dialysis.”
“This is why you’re short of breath?”
“Yes.”
He rubs his forehead. “Is it..it’s not—”
“It’s not terminal, no. The next step would be dialysis and finding a donor match for a kidney transplant. But I’m not there yet.”
Vlad seizes on that. “Kidney transplant. Da. You don’t have to wait for dialysis for this. We’ll find you one now.”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “I’m not ready for that. My family...I haven’t even told them yet.”
Vlad considers me for a moment, absorbing this. “Why not?”
“I’m just not...ready.”
“You don’t want to deal with it. Don’t want it to be real.”
Relief that he understands sweeps through me. “Yes. Exactly.” I’ve been so freaked out about the whole thing. About dealing with my family’s emotions around it. Having to stand strong against their fears. Their overprotectiveness. And then there’s facing the whole kidney transplant thing. Getting on a donor list. Searching for a match. What if we don’t find one? My whole life could become consumed by broken hopes and bitter dreams.
Vlad comes over to the couch and sits beside me, then pulls me onto his lap. “You’re not alone, zaika. This can be handled. I’ll handle it, okay? We’ll find a match and do the surgery and your life will improve. You can have those
babies you want so badly. Go on longer walks.”
My eyes sting. I wrap my hand over the top of one of his and squeeze. “I’m not ready,” I whisper.
He nods. “I’ll take care of it. You’ll be ready when it’s time,” he promises.
I want to believe him. Vlad is the sort of man who gets impossible things done. Like kidnapping a mafia princess and taking her to Russia. Making her fall in love with him.
And I’m relieved at his unemotional response—so different from how my Sicilian family would’ve reacted. Or at least how I projected they would react.
And maybe finding a donor will be easier in Russia than in the U.S. Lord knows, the corruption here goes far and wide. Maybe Vlad can offer big money to a donor here. Or pull strings to get me to the top of a list. There might be advantages to being in this country. To having Vlad in my corner.
I turn and lean into him, tucking my face into his neck. He continues to hold me, stroking my back and massaging my scalp.
I know this isn’t a fairy tale. Vlad isn’t my prince. He’s definitely no knight in shining armor. But if he thinks he can fix me, maybe he can. I let some of the fear that’s been gnawing at me since the diagnosis ebb.
I’ll let him shield me from the fears I’ve been running from for a little while longer…
* * *
Vlad
This is a terrible idea.
Alessia shoots me a speculative look as we drive in the back of the limo into the city. Mika’s on the seat across from us, watching out the windows.
“Are you taking me shopping?” She’s been trying to guess where I’m taking her, and I’ve been cagey about it.
Mostly because I’m thinking it’s a huge mistake.
I rub my forehead. “If you like, yes.” Maybe I should scrap my plan and just take her shopping. Nothing makes a woman happy like spending money on her.
Although Alessia might be different, since she comes from money.
I can make Mika happy, then.
“Where are we going? Why do you seem tense?”
The limo pulls up in front of a communist-era government building and stops. Alessia peers out the window, then back at me.
“I think this was bad idea,” I mutter.
“What is it?”
Mika reads the sign. “An orphanage.”
Alessia’s brows fly up. “What are we doing?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “We don’t have to go in.”
“What were you thinking?” she demands, putting a hand on my arm.
“I just thought…” I sigh. “You might like to hold babies. Rock them. They need volunteers. But I don’t want to make you sad. I think this was a bad idea.”
Alessia throws her door open and climbs out. I leap out to follow. Why does it feel like my heart’s up in my throat?
“I definitely want to volunteer,” she says brightly, like I’m taking her to an amusement park or something. Which would’ve been a far better idea. “Let’s go.” She grabs my hand and tugs me toward the door.
Mika climbs out of the limo and follows. “Why would you want to volunteer?” he demands.
“Come in, let’s find out.” She throws the door open and looks over her shoulder at Mika.
He’s clearly unenthused about this whole plan. I still have my doubts, too, even though her reaction is positive.
She might be horrified by what she finds in there. If I take the kittens as any indication, she’ll probably demand I adopt them all. And all I really know is that I don’t want to see her cry again.
I checked beforehand and thought the place looked clean and decent enough for what it is, but she’s an American. She may find the conditions inside heartbreaking. But I’m hoping it could become a project she cares deeply about. Something to keep her here. Something to give her a purpose.
My phone rings and I stop when I see it’s Victor. I hold up a finger to Alessia, who stops and waits. It’s a simple interaction. Basic. Human.
And yet I’m momentarily struck by it.
It’s like she’s a girlfriend or wife. A real wife. Not a kidnapped mafia princess. Not a prisoner.
Her face is open, kind. She’s waiting patiently as I flick my thumb across the screen and answer my pakhan.
Victor has questions and demands, as always. Hearing his voice grates on my nerves, even though he’s the closest thing I have to family now that my mother’s dead.
“I need you here in Moscow, Vlad. Permanently.”
“I’m always available to you. I answer your calls, we talk daily. What is this about? Do you trust my work?”
“You know I do, that’s why I need you.”
This is a generational divide. Or maybe just a product of paranoia as the leader of the brotherhood. He likes to see people’s faces. Sniff out lies. Maybe I should teach him how to video conference. “I handled everything we talked about yesterday.”
“You are too tied up with your hostage-bride to handle my business affairs,” he accuses. “Women have always been your downfall, Vlad. Will I have to clean up a mess from this one, too?”
I bristle. “Sabina was a mistake. This one is business.” I shoot a glance at Alessia, the lie sending bile up my throat.
Good thing she doesn’t speak Russian.
Mika’s frowning at me though. Glowering, actually. If he were a full-grown adult, I’d say he wanted to throat-punch me. I shake my head and point at the phone, trying to tell him I’m just telling stories to Victor. What the boss needs to hear to get off my back.
Bratva are forbidden to marry, so I’ve already violated code. The code that’s punishable by death.
“Sabina is under my protection now,” Victor says.
Huh. Okay. Well, who the fuck cares? She’s a black widow who preys on men to get what she desires.
“She twisted you around her finger now, eh?” I shouldn’t say it. Shouldn’t be disrespectful. I’m not pissed that he has a new woman after my mother’s death. He’s had multiple women all along. My mother was one of a great multitude of lovers. And I’m not supposed to even have a mother according to thieves’ code of conduct, but because my mother’s the one who got me in with Victor to begin with, he let the connection slide so long as I kept it hidden from all others.
“You’ll be respectful when you see her,” he snaps.
As if she deserves my respect. The woman manipulated me. Seduced me without telling me she belonged to Zima. Then pretended she was pregnant and asked me to kill Zima to free her. When I refused, she confessed to Zima so he’d kill me.
But considering Zima’s dead and I was called back from America, my guess is she manipulated Victor into doing her dirty work when I wouldn’t.
“As you wish, Pakhan,” I agree, though. You don’t cross Victor. Not over anything.
Lately I value my life more than I used to.
“You will come to Moscow,” he says and I hear the steel in his voice. I irritated him. Now I will pay. “You will come and bring the girl so I can see this pet you have now. And the orphan you brought home from Chicago. Then we will discuss your future.”
Blyat.
“As you wish.”
“Tomorrow,” he says firmly.
“We’ll be there tomorrow.” I end the call and close my eyes.
“What is it?” Alessia asks.
When I don’t answer, Mika does. “He has to go somewhere.”
“We have to,” I correct. Damn. I don’t want to bring either of them anywhere near Victor. I didn’t want responsibility for Mika. Not to begin with. But now that he’s been my ward for these few months, the idea of turning him over to anyone else makes me uneasy. And Victor will want to throw him into the lowest ranks of the bratva. Teach him to steal, murder and lie. Just like he did to me. I now wish I’d spent more time teaching Mika to hack. Then I could make Victor believe he’s most useful with me.
“Tonight we fly to Moscow.”
Alessia perks up. Whether it’s because she sees travel as a better
opportunity to escape me or because she’s sick of being cooped up in my estate, I can’t say.
“Let’s go,” I say tersely, lifting my chin toward the door. I have bigger problems now than whether my bride gets upset by Russian orphans.
I called ahead, so I ask for the director, who bends over backwards to accommodate us. She leads us down a dank corridor to a large room filled with twenty cribs. And one rocking chair.
One empty rocking chair.
Babies are crying and the room smells like urine. Two hassled workers carry babies from a washroom back to their cribs.
The director points at one of the babies newly deposited in the crib. “This one is clean.” She picks up the crying infant and hands it—I can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl—to Alessia. Taking a bottle from the crib, the director hands it over as well.
The look on Mika’s face is pure horror.
Alessia, too, looks shocked.
“This was bad idea,” I say out loud. “Come, we go now.” My accent is thicker because I got tense.
“No, wait!” Alessia is bouncing up and down making shushing sounds. “I want to stay. You guys can go. Come back for me in a couple hours.”
Like hell.
I give her the stink eye to show her I don’t trust her alone for a second, but she’s gazing into the baby’s face speaking in sweet baby-talk tones. The baby quiets and coos back.
“Want some milk?” she asks it, backing into the rocking chair and bringing the bottle to the baby’s lips. “Are you hungry, angel?”
It’s hard to believe she’s considering escape at this moment. She’s totally wrapped up in that baby.
I glance at my phone. I have arrangements to make for our flight and lodging tonight in Moscow. “You stay. Make sure she doesn’t try to leave,” I tell Mika in Russian.
He wrinkles his nose, but nods in agreement. I forget he’s already been on the bottom of the bratva. He may not have killed yet, but he’s certainly known violence.
I squeeze his shoulder.
No way I’m letting Victor take the kid.
