Chapter 2

While Gia finished her breakfast and then returned upstairs to put on her jeans and brush her teeth, Vitaly called Maksim. Just in case she happened to return and overhear him before the conversation ended, he spoke in Russian.

“Maksim, I need a favor.”

“I am always pleased to assist, my friend. What is it?”

“I need a priest.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“Not today. I’m getting married and the ceremony must be performed quickly. Tomorrow would be good.”

“Married?” The man at the other end of the line coughed on his swallow of morning coffee. “Livy, did you hear? Vitaly’s getting married!”

Vitaly heard the murmur of a woman’s voice, then Maksim spoke again. “Livy says it better not be that blonde gold digger she saw you with at the club last month, or she will put a hex on your children.”

Vitaly chuckled. Sweet Olivia was far too softhearted to curse any child. But the woman’s judgment was always perceptive and uncannily accurate. “No, that woman was a short fling. Olivia was correct, as usual; Riley was not for me.”

“So, who is this unknown woman who has so suddenly captured your heart?”

“The Culebras kidnapped the wrong woman.”

“Yes, yes, I know that. You offered to buy her from them for five thousand dollars.”

Vitaly was not surprised that Maksim knew the details of yesterday’s debacle. He had informants everywhere. “She’s innocent and I’m claiming her as mine.”

“That is most impetuous of you.”

“Have you not always said that a thunderbolt struck you when you first laid eyes on Olivia?” Vitaly reminded him. “That she was the one for you?”

“I did and she is. I would be a much poorer man if not for my Olivia. Has such a thing happened to you, old friend?”

“It has.”

Vitaly could imagine the old romantic on the other end of the line smile fatuously. A vicious, cold-hearted thug to the world, Maksim nevertheless treated his wife with awe and gentle care and his children with loving indulgence.

“Is she Russian Orthodox?”

“With a name like Giancarla Bonetti, I doubt it.”

“Hm, that makes things more difficult. I will see what I can do. If I cannot persuade a Catholic priest to bend the rules a little, will you consider a civil ceremony?”

“I will.”

Maksim laughed heartily, would have clapped his second-in-command on the back if he’d been standing next to him. “Get used to saying that, Vitaly!”

Vitaly wanted to ask him not to threaten any clergy on his behalf, but knew that doing so would offend his boss, never a wise idea. He just hoped that Maksim would not make him repay the favor with murder.

The call ended, he shoved his cell phone into his pocket and walked to the bottom of the stairs just as Gia arrived at the top.

“Good, you are ready,” he said. “Come, there is much to do today.”

She nodded and walked down the stairs to take the hand he offered. His palm was broad and warm and held her hand in a gentle, protective grip. She could not help but wonder how it would feel skimming over her body.

“Vitaly?”

“Yes?”

“Call me Gia.”

He looked at her, never missing a step. She felt compelled to explain.

“My friends call me Gia. As we’re to be married, it’s only fitting that you do, too.”

“Does no one call you Giancarla?”

“Only my grandmother did.” Gia frowned. “She was a stern and cold woman. It always felt as though she never approved of us, especially my dad.”

“Why would she not approve of your father?”

“Because he took my mother’s name and left the family business.”

Vitaly’s blood suddenly ran cold. “What was the family business?”

Gia’s mouth twisted in a sour expression and she replied, “Grandpa Maglione was a capo.”

Vitaly laughed at the irony.

“So you were raised outside the mafia?”

“One step removed,” she admitted. “Papa told me that the capo pretty much disowned him.”

“What did your father do?”

“Papa went into academia. He teaches Renaissance literature at the Marian School of Liberal Arts.”

“That’s hardly threatening.”

“That’s why he finds it fascinating, I think.”

“And your mama?” he asked as he escorted her into the garage.

“She teaches violin and plays in the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra.”

“Ah, they chose occupations that were safe and nonthreatening. Wise of them.” He opened the car door for her, shut it after she climbed into the vehicle, and crossed to the driver’s side. Once he was seated, he asked, “And your siblings?”

“My older brother is a cop.” She watched his hand turn the key in the ignition. “Would you believe that? I think he feels some need to atone for my father’s side of the family. My sister is an accountant, married to another accountant, and raising two children who have all the personality of calculators.” She huffed a little laugh. “My younger brother is a musician like Mama. He works at a jazz club in Chicago.”

“And you are the youngest?”

“No, my musician brother is younger. He’s twenty-three.”

“And you are?”

“Twenty-five. How old are you?”

“I am thirty-four.”

Gia exercised control not to gape. He seemed older. Perhaps it was the harsh life that he had led that gave him the gravitas of an older man.

“You are surprised,” he observed quietly.

“I’m … er … yes.”

Another of those small, bitter smiles twisted his lips. “A life like mine ages one. I think you will rejuvenate me, return to me the joy of life.”

Joie de vivre, she translated to the French, learned in high school, seldom used, and mostly forgotten.

Conversation lagged as he drove. Gia looked out the passenger side window and wondered at the strange direction her life had taken. When Vitaly parked the car in the bank’s parking lot, she only wondered for a second whether she should sit in the vehicle and wait.

“Come with me,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows in silent question.

“It’s safer. We were followed here.”

“We were followed?”

“Pepe wants to make sure he gets his money, hm? So he sent one of his men to make sure I keep my word to him.”

“He doesn’t trust you.”

“I believe your President Reagan said it best: ‘Trust but verify.’”

“So, this guy will follow us into the bank?”

“Probably not inside the bank, but I don’t want him holding you hostage to force my good behavior. If you are in the car, you are vulnerable.”

She nodded and sighed, a resigned sounding exhalation. Gia expected that Vitaly was somewhat—okay, really—exasperated with her, but she was trying to adapt to the situation as quickly as she could without losing her mind. She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door just as he rounded the car to the passenger side. His expression turned thunderous and she wondered why until he hissed: “You will wait like a lady until I open the door for you, Giancarla.”

She took the hand he extended and allowed him to help her to her feet. “I’m not helpless, Vitaly. I am fully capable of opening doors. In fact, I’ve been doing it a long time.”

“You are completely vulnerable,” he growled. “Exposed. Let me protect you.”

She opened her mouth to object, but then closed it without speaking. She realized that she could not see around his bulk. Presumably Pepe’s minion could not see her through Vitaly. He had placed himself so that any threat would have to go through him before reaching her.

“I’m sorry, Vitaly,” she murmured.

He tucked her close to his side and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. He said nothing, but she felt forgiven.

They crossed the asphalt and walked into the bank and, with the weary acceptance of financial patrons the world over, got in line. Minutes passed. They shuffled forward. A couple of older women noticed Vitaly’s tattoos on the backs of his hands and frowned their disapproval. A young man with large gauges distending his earlobes and silver rings piercing his eyebrow and lip followed the women’s gazes and grinned.

“Nice ink, man,” he complimented.

Vitaly nodded politely and did not waste his time explaining the significance of his tattoos, the Cyrillic markings that marked him as a member of the Bratva, the visual record of each murder committed at the order of the Bratva, the other assignments successfully completed and the promotions earned through blood, sweat, pain, and loyalty. What Vitaly told no one was that he had not added a single tattoo in the past five years, choosing not to celebrate his bloody achievements on his skin.

Gia attempted to take a step or three back when they walked to the teller’s station in order to give Vitaly a little privacy, but he even more firmly tucked her against his side. So, she tried to ignore the exchange between the thug and the teller by looking around at the bland decor.

She looked up to see Vitaly slide a fat envelope into an inside pocket of his jacket.

“Are we finished?”

“Yes,” he answered curtly, gaze sharp and wary as he escorted her back to the car. He stood at the passenger side while she seated herself and buckled the seatbelt. Then he hurried to the driver’s seat. The car was in gear and moving before the gangster could reach them.

He drove them back to the abandoned warehouse via a different route than used the previous day. Gia found herself utterly lost in that area of the city she never had occasion to visit—nor wanted to visit again. Mindful of Vitaly’s instructions, she sat patiently until he opened her door and handed her out of the car. He kept her tucked under his arm as he approached the younger man slouching with insolence in a ratty recliner. Two even younger men flanked him. One man twitched to a beat only he could hear. The other lifted his chin and raised the nose of his assault rifle in silent warning.

Gia shivered. All three of the men had empty gazes, dead eyes. None of them acknowledged her presence by so much as a flicker of recognition. To know that she meant so little, that she was less than nothing to them, terrified her.

“You got my money, butcher?”

Vitaly patted his breast pocket and replied, “Do you relinquish all claim to this woman? Do you acknowledge she is mine?”

Pepe shrugged. “The puta is yours. Enjoy her.”

Vitaly reached into his pocket and the gunmen aimed their weapons.

“Easy now,” he cautioned. “Have I not always dealt honorably with the Culebras?”

“Stand down, muchachos,” Pepe said. The gunmen relaxed infinitesimally.

“That’s better,” Vitaly said.

“What’s to keep us from killing you, taking your money, and keeping the puta?” Pepe inquired in a conversational tone, one eyebrow raised in mocking inquiry.

“Do you remember your predecessor, Pepe?”

Pepe frowned, turning a little grayish from the memory.

“That was my handiwork. If you renege on our agreement, Maksim will not hesitate to show the Culebras even less mercy,” Vitaly elaborated, keeping his tone conversational, too.

“He don’t know this town like we do,” Pepe sneered in an attempt to avoid losing face with his underlings.

“He doesn’t have to,” Vitaly replied as he set the envelope into the outstretched hand of the twitchy shooter. His mild tone left no doubt that he considered Pepe and his cohorts less than worthy of respect. “You have your price. This woman is mine. I recommend that you have great care for her safety. Should the slightest injury befall her, the Culebras will be assumed at fault and we will ensure not even a memory of you remains.”

“Hey, man, we can’t be responsible if your bitch stubs a toe,” Pepe protested.

“You’d better hope it never happens,” Vitaly said and turned his back, drawing Gia along with him. He walked with purposeful, measured strides that covered the ground quickly. She had to skip a few steps to keep up with him.

“You threatened him,” she whispered incredulously. “Are you insane?”

“It was important to show myself stronger,” he whispered back as he ensures she was safely seated in the car. “Let us hope he does not escalate to physical confrontation.”

After a moment’s silence, she asked, “What happened to Pepe’s predecessor, Vitaly?”

He turned a cold, bleak glance at her and simply said, “Never ask what I do for the brotherhood. You do not wish to know.”

Gia’s eyes grew wide with trepidation. She swallowed nervously and mumbled an apology. To her surprise, he reached over and settled his big, warm hand over hers.

“I will not harm you, Giancarla. But you cannot reveal what you do not know. It is enough to know that I am sufficiently dangerous to keep you safe.”

His words were meant to reassure her; instead, they frightened her. It was like being a favored pet of a James Bond villain: safe and pampered while the villain indulged his ephemeral affection, but dead once she became inconvenient or the slightest bit annoying. She wondered when the mighty explosion would occur and obliterate everything. Probably after the car chase.

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.