Chapter 6

Gia averted her gaze from her classmates’ eyes when she walked into the classroom with Vitaly shadowing her. His dark red, long-sleeved shirt concealed most of the colorful ink decorating his skin, but the designs peeked above his collar and below the cuffs. He’d pulled his shoulder length hair back into a stubby ponytail. His jeans were no different than those worn by other classmates, but he walked lightly in the heavy brown boots. In short, the clothes he wore failed to conceal that the large, heavily muscled man who remained close to her was dangerous.

The professor frowned at this new arrival in her classroom. In an acid voice, she greeted her formerly attentive and conscientious student.

“Welcome back, Gia. How nice of you to join us once again. What brings you and your friend? You do realize that guests are not permitted to audit graduate level courses?”

Gia opened her mouth, but Vitaly pinned the older woman with an icy look and spoke first. “I am Giancarla’s husband and here to ensure her safety.”

“Safety?” the professor spluttered. “How dare you insinuate that any student is not safe within my classroom?” She turned her glare toward her student. “Gia, please remove your husband.”

“Anyone here is welcome to attempt to remove me,” Vitaly said and leaned back in the desk chair. He nonchalantly unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll up his sleeves, baring the crowded designs on his muscular forearms. Wide stares and a few gasps met the revealed tattoos.

“Mr. … Mr.?”

“Synvolka,” he replied helpfully, one eyebrow raised.

“Mr. Synvolka, only registered students may attend this course.”

Vitaly shrugged. “I care nothing for your studies. Giancarla is my focus.”

“And what makes you think she is not safe in my classroom, Mr. Synvolka?”

“Experience.”

“Please, Dr. Jamison, pretend he isn’t here,” Gia begged, finally finding her voice. “I—I was a victim of crime last weekend and he really is here as a bodyguard.”

“Hey, Gia, I’ll guard your body,” one of the students quipped and waggled his eyebrows.

Vitaly’s head swiveled to direct an icy glare at the young man, who promptly grinned impudently back at him, secure in the knowledge that no one would dare take him to task for his rudeness and enjoying the chuckles and giggles from the rest of his classmates. Saying nothing, Vitaly marked the boy for a quick and pointed conversation after class. He amused himself with deciding whether that conversation should involve both of his fists.

“Mr. Calliwold,” the professor chided with a stern look. “We’ll have none of that in my classroom.”

She sighed and said, “Turn to page three hundred and sixty-two in your textbooks, please.”

And class instruction commenced. The professor steadfastly ignored the brooding presence of the unwanted occupant in the seat beside Gia. He, in turn, ignored the professor’s repeated glares of annoyance as he leaned back in the uncomfortable seat and silently kept watch over the classroom with frequent glances out the large windows.

When class ended and the students received their homework assignments, Gia gathered her books and notepads and pens and walked to her next class only to repeat much the same process as before with another irritated professor. Ben Calliwold attended that class, too, and snagged a seat beside her.

“So, gorgeous, did you really marry that thug?” he whispered loudly, reaching over to lay a hand high on her denim clad thigh.

Vitaly’s hand shot out and captured his before he touched her leg. He squeezed the man’s hand painfully until the young man squealed, “Stop! Let go!”

“You’ll address Giancarla with respect, boy,” the Russian mobster growled into his ear, implying an “or else.”

“Okay! Okay! Just let me go!” he shrieked.

Gia put a hand on Vitaly’s arm and pulled back. Her gentle tug did no more than cause his nostrils to flare. It certainly didn’t move his arm.

“Ben’s harmless, Vitaly. Please, release him.”

Vitaly’s upper lip curled and he released the student’s hand, reasonably certain that he’d likely snapped a bone or two. The young man curled his injured hand to his chest and sniffed back tears.

“I could sue you for assault,” he sneered.

“And I could kill you,” Vitaly retorted calmly, not at all threatened by the young man.

“Boys, please,” Gia begged. “Stop, just stop.” She glared at both of them, more than aware that they’d acquired an audience. She hissed, “There will be no litigation and no bodily harm. Just quit it and behave yourselves.”

“Are you finished with your theatrics, Miss Bonetti?” the professor’s nasal voice filled the classroom. “Because this really isn’t the place for it.”

“Oh, God,” she muttered as embarrassment flooded her. Looking up and knowing that her face had flushed deep red with mortification, she replied, “Yes, Dr. Fabelo. We’ve settled our little discussion.”

“Good. I’ll tolerate no further disruption in my classroom, Miss Bonetti.”

“That’s Mrs. Synvolka,” Vitaly’s voice corrected in a quiet tone.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Giancarla married last week. Her family name is now Synvolka.”

“And you are?”

“Vitaly Synvolka.”

“And you are here why?”

“To protect my wife from punks like this boy.”

“Mr. Synvolka, there is no need for such drama in the classroom. Miss…er…Mrs. Synvolka is perfectly safe here. The campus is quite secure.”

Vitaly merely raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. He gestured with one hand. “Please continue, professor.”

“By your leave,” the professor replied with curled lip and a sneer of contempt and commenced the day’s instruction.

As with the earlier class, Gia took copious notes in an attempt to catch up on the previous week’s missed material. When the class ended, the professor called out, “Please see me before heading off to collect your samples, Mrs. Synvolka.”

Feeling as though she were being summoned for punishment, Gia had to force herself not to drag her feet as she approached the professor. He peered over his glasses at her and said sternly, “Gia, we cannot tolerate continued disruption of class. You missed several days last week and, frankly, I doubt you’ll be able to catch up.” He sighed and directed a disapproving look at Vitaly, who ignored it as well as the lingering glances that several of Gia’s female classmates directed at him. “I understand you cannot be held responsible for the actions of others, but I must demand that your husband refrain from accompanying you any further. He’s a distraction.”

“I’ll speak with him, Dr. Fabelo.”

“See that you do.” He glanced at his watch. “Now get out of here. You’re due back in the laboratory in less than one hour.”

“Yes, Dr. Fabelo.”

Vitaly gathered her belongings in one hand and put his other hand at the base of her spine as he guided her out of the classroom where another young man waited. That student directed a nervous glance at his lab partner’s companion and offered a nervous smile.

“Er, he’s not going to pummel me, is he?”

“Thanks for waiting, Jeremy.” She sent a hard glance at Vitaly, whose shoulders moved in an infinitesimal shrug. “No, he won’t be pummeling you or anybody else.”

“Good,” Jeremy blurted his relief, although he didn’t relax much. “My car’s parked nearby. Are you ready?”

“We’ll take my car,” Vitaly stated.

“But—”

“Your car is the rusty little Beetle, da?”

“Um, yeah.”

“It is not suitable. You may ride with us.”

Jeremy opened his mouth to protest, but Gia gave him a tiny shake of her head. So, he gulped back the words and replaced them with mild acquiescence.

“Do you have your sampling supplies?” he asked his laboratory partner.

“They’re in the car,” she replied.

“Okay. If you’ll give me a minute to fetch mine?”

“Sure. We’ll wait for you.”

In short order, Jeremy eased in the back seat of Vitaly’s car, which was far superior to his. He stuttered twice in an attempt to initiate polite conversation, but both attempts failed miserably. He subsided in uncomfortable silence and hoped that this rough looking man who said he was his lab partner’s husband wouldn’t murder him and dispose of his body in the depths of the lake. The black Mercedes rolled to a stop.

“Let’s do this,” Gia announced, then cast a hard look at Vitaly. “And you stay put.”

Jeremy gaped at her audacity in ordering the tattooed thug to stay in the car. He held back a second, cringing against the barely restrained violence in the bigger man’s hard muscles and behind the dangerous looking tattoos with expectation that a nasty blow was coming. But the big man merely chuckled and said “Nyet, Giancarla. I will be beside you.”

Giancarla huffed, but did not protest further. She gathered her sampling equipment and tumbled out of the car. Jeremy rushed after her, fumbling with his own stuff. The two students walked out on the pier and, notebooks out with pens ready, they dipped beakers on extended handles into the water. Vitaly stood several feet away, giving them a little privacy to discuss matters in which he had no interest.

His eagle eyes saw nothing untoward and half an hour later the two students were ready to return to the laboratory. Jeremy uneasily glanced back at the big, tattooed thug who insisted on accompanying them into the building, but took small comfort in the man’s presence deterring the more obnoxious classmates who liked to harass him. Vitaly perched on a stool in the corner of the large room, positioning himself so that he could easily detain anyone who entered the room through the door nearest his wife and have a clear view of the other door as well as the entire room. He glanced periodically through the large, plate glass windows, noting the passage of students and faculty on the sidewalk running alongside the building. He saw people gather, talk, and drift off in the easy, casual way of college coeds meeting friends and acquaintances before heading off to their next classes or other activities.

He’d had dreams, once, of being part of their number. But he was not one to waste energy on regrets. What was past was past and could not be changed. He could only look to improve upon his future and his future contained a certain dark-haired, myopic woman who made his cold, hard heart melt like chocolate under the summer sun.

As he watched over his wife and her laboratory partner, Vitaly idly wondered why this particular young woman affected him to such an extent. He’d felt sympathy for other young women, those who’d been trapped in the degrading grind of human trafficking, those who’d merely suffered from being downtrodden and stricken by poverty. He’d taken more beautiful women to his bed. Some of them had been very intelligent.

After a moment, he decided it was because, beneath the intelligence and determination to succeed, Giancarla lacked that hardness, that sharp edge. He rummaged through his multilingual vocabulary and found the word: kind. His Giancarla was kind. He mused that Olivia, too, was kind and that was why Maksim valued her so highly.

“Eureka!” Gia exclaimed, drawing Vitaly’s sharp attention.

“Hot damn!” Jeremy crowed with glee. He set his hands on Gia’s shoulders and, practically bouncing on his toes, said, “We did it! We proved our hypothesis!”

Vitaly’s narrow gaze focused on the young man’s hands. Jeremy caught that gaze and abruptly released his partner. “Um, sorry about that,” he apologized, cleared his throat, and clasped his hands behind his back. “We just got a little carried away. No harm done, you know.”

“Vitaly’s not going to beat you up, Jeremy.” She looked back at the test tubes and their combined notes. “This is incredible. Newsworthy even.”

“Newsworthy?”

“You bet! There have been rumors about skewed oncology of the lake affecting dominant species of fish, but no one’s been able to prove it. We just did. It’s not just a few frogs that have mutated.” She grinned with excitement. “This could affect the lake’s entire commercial fishing industry. This is big, Jeremy. Big!”

Vitaly wracked his brain to remember whether Maksim had any interest in the regional fishing industry. He didn’t think his boss did, but then Maksim didn’t tell him everything. Giuseppe Maglione might have interest, though, which could pose problems.

“Should we go to the press with this?” Jeremy asked.

“No,” Vitaly said firmly. “You write your paper and turn it in. Then you repeat the experiment. If you can repeat the results, then you go to the EPA.”

“I can’t say I’ve a lot of faith in the EPA correcting this problem,” Gia griped.

“Nonetheless, your findings will threaten many large and powerful financial interests. You’re already in enough danger.”

“This is bigger than me, Vitaly. This affects tens of thousands of people.”

“All the more reason for subtlety. I cannot protect you from an entire populace.”

“Wow,” Jeremy breathed. “You know, the big guy’s right. If we broke this to the press, you’d have to move.”

“I have to do the right thing, Jeremy. You should, too.”

The young man wavered, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Do you think your boyfriend can keep me safe, too?”

“Husband,” Vitaly spat.

“Huh?”

“Husband. Giancarla is mine.”

Gia just sighed and shook her head. She no longer feared him, but she did fear she’d never change his Neanderthal attitude of possession when it came to their relationship.

“Let’s get this wrapped up, Jeremy. You want to take first crack at drafting the paper or shall I?”

“You’re better at all the grammar and stuff,” Jeremy answered as he collected beakers and test tubes to wash. “I’ll write a rough draft tonight and send you the link. You can then edit, correct anything I misstate, and add anything I omitted.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The team efficiently cleaned up their work, restoring the equipment to immaculate condition ready for the next round of academic experimentation.

“Vitaly, would you mind dropping Jeremy off at his apartment?” Gia asked as she and her lab partner gathered their notes.

He shook his head and asked where the young man lived. Jeremy flashed a grateful smile and gave his address. “It’ll be nice not to have to catch the bus,” he commented, not minding that he’d be leaving his piece of shit cart overnight in the parking lot. If he were lucky, someone would steal the old rust bucket.

The drive to Jeremy’s apartment didn’t take all that long. On the way back, Vitaly veered into a parking lot.

“Why are we here?”

“We need groceries.”

Ah. Simple answer. Sometimes the obvious answer was the correct one.

An hour later having loaded several days’ worth of food into the car, they drove back. Gia helped put their groceries away, learning the layout of Vitaly’s kitchen.

“I can cook supper tonight if you like,” she offered. “I’m not quite as good a Cecily, but she’s had a positive influence on my kitchen skills.”

“Sounds good,” he grunted in reply as he watched her bend over to put a couple cartons of ice cream in the bottom freezer cabinet of the refrigerator. The denim covering her ass strained across the firm, plump flesh. The sight made his mouth water.

Damn it, she’d teased him all day without evening knowing it. Those jeans showcased her butt, the neckline of her shirt gaped and offered an intriguing glance of satiny skin when she leaned, her lips pursed in unconscious invitation as she chewed on the end of her pen.

It was a wonder that he’d managed to contain himself thus far that day.

“What time do you want to eat?” she asked as she shoved a container of basmati rice into a cabinet.

“Now,” he growled.

“Huh? What?”

She looked up at him and saw his lustful expression. Right before her eyes, he seemed to expand, broad shoulders growing wider, big muscles growing larger. The front of his pants strained against the pressure of his erection.

“Oh!”

He approached. No, that was too tame a word. He stalked her like a predator ready to pounce on his prey. His nostrils flared, the sight of which stirred a warm fluttering low in her belly. She shifted her weight, felt the urge to squeeze her thighs together. Or maybe open them wide instead.

“Vitaly?”

And he was there. His arm swooped out and caught her, pulled her against his body. His other hand fisted her hair and angled her head back. His mouth delicately tasted hers when she’d expected him to crush her. The soft, light touch utterly melted any resistance, not to mention the bones in her legs. She sagged against him.

“I need you,” he said, his voice guttural.

“Yes,” she agreed as he swooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.

He gently lay her down and followed her, fingers deftly unbuttoning her shirt even as he kissed her mouth, her neck, her—oh, my God—nipple! His mouth soaked the fabric of her plain, utilitarian bra. She arched beneath him, unwittingly offering him all of her. A moment later, he dragged down the cups to suckle on the bare flesh while she whimpered with pleasure. He wedged his hand beneath her and unfastened her bra, quickly removing the garment from her body and tossing it aside. He didn’t particularly care where it landed. With the expanse of satiny skin and pliant flesh revealed to him, he stroked and tasted until she writhed beneath him.

It wasn’t enough. He tore off his shirt and her hands immediately landed on his chest, palms flat, fingers splayed. They roamed over him, flicking his small nipples, tracing the scars, smoothing across the bulge and dip of hard muscle.

The constraint of his pants hurt. With savage yanks, Vitaly wrenched open the fly and shoved them down to give his aching, tumescent dick the freedom it needed to stretch and expand to full length and width. It jerked and bobbed in its eagerness to find a new home within the wet velvet depths of his wife’s body.

He groaned when her soft hands wrapped around him. She stroked him from root to tip, swiping her thumbs over the bulbous purple head, smoothing the pre-cum that seeped from the small divot at the tip. She brought her thumb to her mouth to taste him and he groaned again, using that momentary distraction to unfasten her jeans and yank them off. He made sure to pull her plain cotton panties down her legs, too. A few seconds later, he’d pulled off her shoes and socks and tossed them aside. Then her jeans and underwear went flying.

Vitaly crawled between her legs and ran his tongue over her ankle and calf. He grabbed hold of one thigh, the thumb of that hand stroking the moist delicate flesh at her core. She whimpered again, but he continued to lick and kiss a path up the other leg. When he reached the top of that leg, he pressed an openmouthed kiss at the crease of her hip, at the edge of the triangle of curls guarding her sex. Then he switched hands and began the process with the other leg while she clutched the bed linens because she couldn’t grab hold of him.

When he reached the apex of the second leg, he swiped his flattened tongue along the length of her slit, gathering her moisture for a full taste. She cried out, her back arched. She screamed when he sealed his mouth over her sex and did wicked things with his tongue that no romance book could adequately describe—at least none that she’d ever read.

She bucked beneath him. He held her down. Her thighs clamped and quivered, but his broad body held them open. She screamed his name and he drank the gush of fluids that her body gifted him.

“Let me touch you, please,” she begged.

He moved over her, his mouth never abandoning her, until he could roll his hips and dip his cock between her lips.  She opened wide, folding her lips over her teeth. Grasping the thick stalk, she stroked and tugged and guided his penetration while she used lips and tongue to return the pleasure he gave her.

He relentlessly drove her to another climax, not letting up until her body lay boneless and relaxed beneath him. He pulled himself from her lax grasp and turned around. With his arms, he folded her legs, opening her wide to his possession. Leaning against her bent legs, he flexed his hips and positioned himself at her opening. Vitaly bent his head down to kiss her as he sank his cock into her body with the long, drawn out squelching sound of wet flesh. When his balls were pressed between his body and hers, he finally stopped and held himself there. He enjoyed the wet, warm clutch of her passage rippling around him. She delighted in the deliciously full sensation of his intimate occupation.

He kissed her again, spearing his tongue into her mouth, twining it with hers as he moved his hips in ancient, instinctual rhythm. Soon, all too soon, she cried out as he wrung another climax from her. Gia protested with an inarticulate howl when he withdrew from her and then howled again when he turned her to her side and spooned her from behind. Raising her leg, he thrust into her again. In that position, he was still able to deeply penetrate her and could increase the pace.

Vitaly wrapped his other arm around her upper body, one hand enveloping her breast as he simultaneously restrained her, fondled her, and fucked her. He broke the fast, relentless rhythm with long, slow strokes that bottomed out with an extra push. Then he would speed up. Never quite knowing what he would do triggered yet another release that bathed his cock in slick moisture.

Without disengaging from her, he repositioned her so that her chest rested on the bed while he held her ass up. The familiar tingle at the base of his spine accompanied the tightness of his balls as they drew up and clenched upon themselves. Pounding into her body, the loud slap of his skin against hers nearly drowned out his grunts and her moans. With the unleashing of his own orgasm, his thrusts turned erratic and he strained to penetrate her as deeply as he possibly could.

The hot spurts of his semen inside her catapulted Gia into a long, rolling wave of pleasure that rolled over her like the incoming tide. She felt the sticky wetness of their lovemaking coating her inner thighs, adding to the slick sheen of sweat that enabled their bodies to slide easily against each other.

After a long moment, Vitaly seemed to come to his senses and realize that he lay draped over her. Pressing kisses against the back of her neck and shoulders, he raised himself off her and reluctantly pulled from the wet clutch of her pussy.

“That was…” Her voice faded. Words failed her.

“Not enough,” he finished the sentence as he rolled onto the mattress beside her. “But I need a few minutes to recover.”

She glanced down. His half-aroused cock glistened with their combined fluids and twitched weakly. She looked back at his face and saw the glint of passion still burning in his gaze.

“I’m not finished with you,” he promised, rolling her over to stroke her between the legs with his hand. “You have more orgasms left to give today.”

“I don’t think I do.” The words ended on a sigh which turned into yet another moan.

“You do,” he asserted and leaned over and down to suckle on a breast.

A few minutes later he proved himself right. A few minutes after that, he reduced her to a hot screaming mess as he made love to her as thoroughly as he knew how. Four hours later, he released her to take a shower, but then joined her beneath the hot spray to show her what delights could be found with the aid of water. Finally, muscles quivering and mind blown, Gia wobbled downstairs to the kitchen and tried to think of something fairly quick and simple to make for supper.

She made scrambled eggs and toast. If Vitaly was going to keep this up, they’d be going through a ton of eggs and bread, because her ability to think after a marathon session of vigorous sex absolutely incapacitated her brain and turned her arms and legs to soft rubber. It didn’t help that she couldn’t take a step without a telltale soreness reminding her of what he’d done to her and how much she’d enjoyed it…and how much she wanted to do it again.

God, she’d turned into such a horny slut in so short a time.

After their makeshift supper, Gia excused herself to check her email to see whether Jeremy had sent over a draft report. No such luck. She returned to Vitaly, snuggling next to him on the sofa while he watched sports. Having utterly no interest whatsoever in sports, she sat for several minutes with her legs curled beneath her. His arm wrapped around her and she basked in the warmth his body radiated and in the clean male scent of his skin.

Practically unbidden, her hand rose and splayed over his heart, feeling the steady thump-thumping beat beneath the heavy pectoral muscle. Then she started petting him, her hand sneaking through the placket of his shirt to touch the bare skin beneath the crisp, curly hair. He glanced down at her, but her eyes were closed and her mouth curled in a knowing little smile. It pleased him that she would initiate intimacy with him, although he’d never allow her to control their play in the bedroom. He leaned his head back to continue to watch the game, although he wasn’t really paying attention to it any more.

Gia’s other hand strayed across her body to rest lightly over his fly. She felt him quicken beneath the quiescent warmth of her hand and absently began to stroke the rapidly swelling flesh. With a quick twist of his fingers, Vitaly unbuttoned the waistband and unzipped the fly to free the turgid length of him.

“Suck me,” he said as her hand lightly stroked the delicate skin.

“Hm?”

“Suck me.”

He gasped as she bent down and obliged. Absolutely no longer paying attention to the game, he enjoyed her oral ministrations for a couple of minutes, then pulled her off him. With dexterous practice, he stripped her and settled her on his lap.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she purred as she ground her pussy against him.

Cloth ripped and buttons popped as he tore off his shirt and flung it away. A quick shove had his pants pooling around his ankles. With one hand he cupped the back of her head to hold her for his kiss and with the other he positioned his swollen cock at her entrance. She rose and slid down over him, moaning into his mouth as he impaled her. Her hips rocked over him; his hips rocked below her. His hands clamped over her hips to guide her movement, to hold her where he wanted her as he drove up into her body. Once again the air filled with the thick, wet sounds of vigorous sex punctuated by breathy moans and guttural grunts until she keened her climax and he let loose a shout as raw as he jetted thick, hot cream into her body.

Gia found herself draped across Vitaly’s chest, lungs heaving as she gasped for breath. Suddenly she realized that they were seated on the sofa in view of a large picture window and anyone passing by could peer inside and see them naked, entwined, obviously engaged in conjugal relations. She turned her face to his chest, pressed her sweaty forehead against the perspiring skin, and groaned.

“What is wrong, moy sladkiy?” Vitaly asked, feeling her body tense.

“We’re in view of the entire neighborhood,” she muttered. “Who knows who’s seen us?”

He grinned at her shyness and modesty, which he considered positive attributes in a good wife. Reaching behind him, he pulled an afghan that lay folded across the top of the sofa and spread it over their bodies.

“Now we are covered,” he said as the blanket settled in place.

She looked at it, fingered the intricate stitches. “This is beautiful. Who made it?”

“Olivia crochets. She gave this to me several years ago when I was indisposed.”

“Indisposed? Like sick?”

“No, indisposed like recovering from a bullet wound.”

“A bullet wound!”

“Giancarla, you’ve seen me, you’ve seen my scars.” He voice was at once indulgent and reproachful as he stroked a hand up and down her back beneath the blanket.”

“I know, Vitaly. I know. I just don’t like to think about it.”

He tilted her head back with a finger under her chin and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. “You know what I am. You cannot forget.”

“It’s not that I forget, it’s that I don’t want to acknowledge it.” She turned her head away and shifted on his lap. His wilted penis slid from her body and she sighed at the loss of its warmth and fullness within her. “My dad left the mob because he didn’t want any part of it. I never intended to be the child of his who went back to it.”

“Sometimes what we intend matters little in the course of our lives.”

“How did you get involved in the Russian mafia, Vitaly?”

He sighed and supposed that he owed her his history. A wife had a right to know her husband.

“I was an orphan, one of hundreds, thousands even. Life in the orphanage was…hard. We fought for everything: food, water, baths, clothes, blankets, shoes. We formed gangs, small brotherhoods who looked out for one another, supported each other.”

“It sounds a lot like a Lord of the Flies situation. Barbaric.”

“I do not know this ‘Lord of Flies,’” he said with a small shrug, his accent thickened by old memories. “As soon as I could, I left. I joined the military, accepted their training, became a medic. I entertained grand hopes of becoming a doctor, skilled and respected. The army took advantage of my skill with blades and drugs and turned me into a killer. Eventually, my term of service expired and I had nowhere to go and a reputation for brutality.”

Gia turned her face back to his chest and kissed him above the place where his heart beat. The tender gesture reminded him he still had a heart and that it now beat for her.

“I found new employment with the Bratva. Like the military, they, too, soon recognized my capabilities and, unlike the military, they valued it with bigger and bigger bonuses. I acquired more responsibility and eventually was given to Maksim.”

“What do you mean ‘given to Maksim?’”

“The Bratva is much like the military with its rules and camaraderie. Unless one is high ranking, one is moved from place to place like a pawn on a chessboard. The choice is to follow orders or be killed. I have found the Bratva to be both more disciplined and less rigid than the army.” He kissed the top of Gia’s head, inhaling the herbal fragrance of her hair. He made a mental note to keep her stocked in that brand of shampoo; he liked it. “But there is usually only one way to leave the Bratva and I have no plans to die yet.”

“Die?”

“It is not so unlike your grandfather’s Italian mafia.”

“So we’re stuck.”

“We will make the best of our fate.” He shifted beneath her, spread his legs which spread her legs even more widely as she still sprawled across his lap. He rolled his hips, his recovering cock seeking her pussy like a well-aimed missile. “Lately fate has been very kind,” he added and slowly pushed up into her.

She moaned as he filled her. The hand stroking her back dipped low, teased the puckered opening of her anus. She gasped. He delved lower, gathered the slick cream of their copulation and drew it up to lubricate her back entrance. She gasped again has his fingertip penetrated her, easing its passage with their lubrication, and setting up a shallow rhythm that kept time with the slow pump of his cock. That time he made love to her slowly, tenderly, until they both sighed from orgasms that rolled through them with all the steady, inexorable power of an incoming tide.

At this rate, he thought with masculine satisfaction, his wife would be a mother before a year had gone by. Maksim would, no doubt, use that for endless fodder for ribald humor. Olivia would likely treat the baby as a grandchild.

Exhausted, they fell asleep on the sofa. As usual, Vitaly’s disciplined body woke first. He gently disengaged himself from Gia’s limp body, but not without first licking a pert nipple just to see it tighten in response. He drew the afghan over her and padded naked upstairs to the master suite for a shower and fresh clothing. He had begun cooking breakfast when Gia finally woke.

Momentarily disoriented, she quickly got her bearings and retrieve her glasses from the end table where Vitaly had placed them during their first bout of living room sex. Glancing beneath the blanket, she hissed at the marks his mouth and fingers and left on her body, showing his possession of her. She blushed to remember how they got there, how much she had liked it.

Really, if not for the last week, she would have thought herself frigid for all the disinterest she’d shown in the opposite sex and in romance in general. Her fingertips lightly ran down her chest and belly, tangled in the curls shielding her mound, dipped lower. She sighed, closed her eyes, and let her fingers play.

Vitaly looked up from the waffles he was making and immediately realized what his little wife was doing. His dick immediately sprang to attention. He removed the latest batch of waffles and turned off the waffle iron. On silent, bare feet he crossed the kitchen and joined her in the living room. With intense stealth, he kneeled before her and raised the blanket. He slipped underneath it and, placing both hands on her thighs to hold her open, aimed his mouth at her already wet pussy. She squealed and her sticky hands clutched at his hair as he feasted on her and quickly reduced her to quivering, helpless pleasure. She cried out, rewarding him with a fresh gush of hot honey that he eagerly lapped up.

Finally, while her lungs heaved and she shuddered with aftershocks, he raised his face shiny with her juices and said, “Do not touch yourself without permission, Giancarla.” He stroked her slit, up and down, then inserted two thick fingers inside her. “This is mine. Your pleasure is mine to give.”

She grunted as he pumped his fingers, then crooked them to tickle the g-spot and catapult her into another screaming orgasm. He pulled his fingers from her body and sucked her honey off them.

“Take a shower and get dressed. You’ll be late for school.”

She blinked her passion glazed eyes and rose on wobbly legs. Clutching the afghan around her naked body, she staggered upstairs to bathe and dress. It would be a freaking miracle if she could concentrate at all on that day’s lectures.

She had time to wolf down one waffle before Vitaly shooed her to the car and drove her class. Twice her professors called her name to get her attention. Twice her classmates sniggered with naughty amusement. But her professors did not ask Vitaly to leave the classroom; they’d learned that he would obdurately refuse and none of them had the gumption to attempt force.

“Hey, Gia,” Jeremy greeted her with a bright smile and a nod, carefully avoiding touching her as her thuggish husband looked likely to wallop him for so much as laying a finger on her backpack. He almost commented that she looked extra pretty that day, sort of glowing, but immediately decided against doing so. Vitaly Synvolka intimidated him for obvious reason. The thug might not be as smart as he was, but a high I.Q. had never prevented him from being pummeled. “I got that rough draft done last night and emailed it to you. Have you had a chance to look it over yet?”

“Thanks, Jeremy. No, I haven’t, but I’ll do so today. We’ve got a little time; it’s not due until Thursday.”

“Yeah. I never understood why so many people wait until the last minute to write their papers. It’s a lot less stressful to get it done with a bit of extra time.”

“Good thing we think alike on that.”

“Yeah. So, no lab today?”

“Nope, we’re finished with lab work until the next assignment.”

“Cool. I was hoping we’d maybe get to work with actual, you know, marine life.”

“You can’t go swimming with the dolphins in Ohio, Jeremy.”

“Nah, that’s too trite. I’m more interested in rivers and streams. Have you ever seen a hellbender salamander?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

Jeremy’s eyes brightened and he smiled broadly. “I found one last summer. I’m a counselor at a nature camp for middle school kids and we went salamander hunting. I found this absolutely terrific specimen. It was huge! They’re endangered, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. But that’s a good area of study, Jeremy. Ohio’s chock full of creeks and rivers.”

“Yeah. Most of them are used like open sewers or ditches.”

“You’ll do a lot of good with bringing our waterways back to health. I know you will, Jeremy.”

He glowed at her praise and confidence in his ability to make a positive difference in their small world. Vitaly’s chest swelled with pride at his Giancarla’s kind words and generous spirit. Perhaps the nerdy little pipsqueak would make a difference merely because Giancarla had given him the confidence to pursue his idealistic dreams.

It made him want to spread her body beneath him again and fuck her until she melted with delirious pleasure.

The two students parted and Vitaly escorted her to lunch at the grill in the student union.

“I’ve got to pick up my grade from Dr. Cormier after lunch,” she said and pursed her lips. “I don’t have a good feeling about that.”

“Don’t worry,” Vitaly reassured her. “We have already decided what to do if he gives you a failing grade, since you won’t allow me to just kill him.”

Gia spluttered and choked. After coughing to clear her throat, she glared at Vitaly and hissed, “Don’t even joke about that.”

Vitaly met her scowl with a calm gaze. “I wasn’t joking.”

She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know what to do with you, Vitaly.”

“Yes, you do, but you can’t do it in public.”

Her gaze flew back to his face and that time he grinned at her. That time he was joking. Maybe. Sort of.

She squirmed in her seat, aware of a throbbing between her legs.

“You are so bad.”

His grin widened. His inattention cost him. Her squirming saved her.

Glass shattered. Gia gasped and gurgled as a red wound blossomed on her chest. She toppled over. People screamed and scattered.

“Gia!” Vitaly shouted and threw himself to the floor beside her, knees crashing into shards of tempered glass. He ripped off his shirt, wadded it up, and pressed it over the bullet wound that spurted blood. “Call 911!” he yelled even as one bloody hand dug into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

He kept pressure on the wound, murmuring encouragement to his wife to stay with him as her blood pooled on the floor. Sirens and flashing lights soon heralded the arrival of emergency crews who quickly took over and hustled Giancarla Bonetti Synvolka to the hospital. Vitaly rode in the ambulance, refusing to be parted from her.

They arrived, with emergency room doctors and nurses taking over the seeming chaos and wheeling the gurney into an operating room.

“You can’t go in there, sir,” one of the nurses said, pushing against his chest.

He glared at her, but she held her ground.

“I’m sorry, sir, you cannot go in there.”

“She’s my wife.”

“I’m truly sorry, sir. We’ll let you know what happens with her. But right now she’s in good hands and you’ll just have to trust medical staff to do everything they can to save her.” She gestured toward the waiting room. “Have a seat. We’ll let you know something as soon as there’s something to tell you.”

Dejected, Vitaly accepted defeat. He wasn’t a doctor; he had no authority in the hospital. He trudged to the waiting room and settled heavily into a chair and absently realized that he still held his phone in his bloody hand. He dialed.

“Da, Andrupovich here.”

“The bitch shot my Giancarla.”

“Montoya?”

“Da.”

“Oh, Vitaly, that’s most unfortunate. Where are you?”

“In the hospital’s emergency waiting room.”

“We’ll be there.”

Several minutes later, Maksim and Olivia arrived, flanked by Pyotr and Gennady. Other waiting room occupants took one look at the formidable men and prudently moved out of their way.

“What happened?” Maksim asked, keeping his usually booming voice low and private.

In clipped syllables, Vitaly reported the shooting.

“Did you see her?”

“No, but I did see the flash of a scope. You’ll find it on the rooftop of a dormitory building across from the student union.”

“Tough angle. Good shooting,” Gennady commented.

“Are you sure it was Montoya?”

“No one else would want to harm Giancarla.”

“We have to take care of this quickly or her grandfather will get involved.”

Pyotr’s naturally pale complexion turned ashen. He’d witnessed what Giuseppe Maglione’s people would do upon the capo’s order. It made the Ukrainian thugs look positively civilized. And he had a greater range of influence than did Maksim.

“Will she come after Cecily and Latasha?” he asked, determined to protect his plump, sexy cook and her skinny, sharp-tongued friend whom Bogdan and Iosif seemed to admire.

“Doubtful.”

“Get Zakhar on the line,” Maksim ordered. “Find out what happened.”

A stone cold voice answered: “Bogdan here.”

“Where is Zakhar?”

“The bitch killed him. I’m tracking her now.”

Maksim cursed. Vitaly buried his face in his bloody hands. Then he lowered his hands and stared at them for several seconds. He raised his face and Maksim felt his testicles shrivel. Vitaly had always—always—been a reliable soldier, a dutiful second in command. He had the ability to lead. But the sheer, vicious rage in the man’s eyes iced his guts. This was a man who cared nothing for hierarchy; only for vengeance.

“Find her. Then bring her to me,” Vitaly snapped out the order, his eyes and voice colder than ice and sharper than broken glass.

Pyotr looked at Maksim, who nodded his approval. Pyotr relayed the order to Bogdan and added, “Bring in whomever you need to do this.”

“Da.”

“Vitaly.”

He turned is face toward Maksim, his eyes still icy, the skin over his cheekbones stretched tight, his big, bloodstained hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. He said nothing, just looked at Maksim, who dared rest a heavy hand on his shoulder in a gesture meant to calm, to comfort, to steady.

“Before you kill her,” he said in a quiet tone in Russian to avoid the wrong persons overhearing their conversation, “find out where she put my money.”

Vitaly blinked once and turned his face away. His silence discomfited Maksim.

They continued to wait in silence. They listened without hearing and observed without seeing the chaos of pain and misery that filled the emergency room in fits and spurts. Somewhere a small child cried. Two low level thugs shouted epithets at each other while being physically restrained by police as a third was wheeled through a pair of swinging doors. A middle aged woman with a bruised and swollen face wept as she was escorted into an examination room.

The outdates magazines held no interest for them.

“Mr. Synvolka,” a short, plump man in blue scrubs called.

Vitaly stood and face him. “Da.”

The man’s eyebrows rose as he took in the big Russian’s imposing stature. “Your wife is out of surgery. Please come with me.”

Maksim stood also.

“Are you a relative, sir?” the man in scrubs asked.

“I am Vitaly’s uncle,” Maksim lied.

“Only immediate family are permitted to visit at this time,” blue scrubs said.

The emergency room doors opened to admit an elegantly dressed older man whose polished dress shoes slapped authoritatively as he strode across the tile floor toward Vitaly. The male nurse tensed; there were few in town who did not recognize Giuseppe Maglione.

“My granddaughter. How is she?” the old man demanded, each syllable snapping off his tongue like a whiplash.

“Mr. Maglione, only immediate family are permitted to visit her at this time,” he repeated, his expression and tone cautious.

Giuseppe slapped his hand against his chest and said, “Do you know how much money I have donated to this hospital? I will see my granddaughter.”

The old mobster glanced up at Vitaly and subsided a little. “But her husband may see her first.”

Vitaly said nothing, but gestured toward the nurse to lead them to Giancarla. By rote, he memorized the path, took note of exits, visualized ambush points. He exhaled explosively when he saw his wife lying on a bed, her skin ashen, wires and tubes sprouting from her and connecting her to various pieces of equipment.

“Giancarla,” he groaned hoarsely and collapsed to his knees beside the bed. He took no notice of the bits of glass still embedded in his knees as he took her limp hand in his, carefully avoiding the intravenous drip taped there.

“Sir! Sir!” a nurse cried out. “You’re bleeding!”

“Get away from me,” he growled as she rushed to urge him to sit in a chair rather than kneel on the floor beside the bed.

“Vitaly, let the nurse help you,” Giuseppe’s voice ordered coldly from outside the door. “You will do Giancarla no good injured.”

The mobster’s reason penetrated Vitaly’s mind and he rose with a grunt. The nurse called a doctor, who arrived within a few minutes.

“You’ll have to come with me,” the doctor said.

“Nyet,” Vitaly replied. “I will not leave her.”

The doctor glanced at the big man’s face and gave in. Unless he wanted to wrestle his patient’s husband—and he really, really did not—then it was best that he simply gave in to the inevitable and treated him right there. He turned to the nurse and snapped out orders. She nodded and returned a few minutes later with the necessary supplies.

“I will have to cut your pants, Mr. Synvolka,” he said.

Vitaly grunted and shrugged, his gaze never leaving his wife.

The doctor shrugged, snapped on a pair of exam gloves, and removed the lower half of Vitaly’s jeans. He pursed his lips seeing the shredded skin, the shards of glass embedded in the man’s legs. He also noted the other old scars decorating the man’s skin. He’d seen similar scars before on soldiers who had returned from heavy combat.

“Iraq? Afghanistan?” he asked.

Vitaly ignored him. The metal bowl plinked with each bloody bit of glass extracted from his flesh. He squirted sterile saline solution over the wounded knees without care for the resulting puddle on the floor. The nurse, however, did care and wadded towels around Vitaly’s feet. At the doctor’s command, the nurse handed over a threaded needle and a syringe.

“No drugs,” Vitaly grunted.

“I have to stitch these deeper cuts,” the doctor said. “It’s going to hurt. A lot.”

“No drugs.”

“Then you’d better hold still.”

Vitaly shrugged. The doctor shrugged and set aside the painkiller. The big man’s lips tightened with the first puncture of the needle, but he held still. Sweat beaded on his skin, but he held still as the doctor stitched first one wound, then another, then another. None of the wounds was very large, but together they required enough thread to make his knees look like a child’s inept embroidery project. Cutting off the thread after the last stitch, the doctor rinsed the wounded knees again, slathered them with antibiotic ointment, and then wrapped them in sterile gauze and medical tape. An orderly arrived to clean up the mess.

“Mr. Synvolka,” try not to get your stitches wet. The dressings will need to be changed in two days, then every day after that, assuming no infection sets in.” He held up another syringe. Vitaly shot him a cold glare. “It’s not a painkiller, Mr. Synvolka, it’s an antibiotic to help ward off infection.”

Vitaly nodded and the doctor quickly jabbed him.

“Mr. Synvolka, you should go home and get something to eat. Rest.”

Vitaly grunted.

“She won’t wake up until tomorrow morning at the earliest. She doesn’t even know you’re here.”

Vitaly felt a slight twitch of her fingers. “She knows. I will stay.”

The doctor looked at the dapper man hovering outside the door and nodded. “Mrs. Synvolka is your granddaughter, Mr. Maglione?”

“Sí. She will recover?” Giuseppe asked as he stepped inside the room and approached Gia’s bed. He reached out to stroke his fingertips across her forehead.

“She should,” the doctor replied with cautious optimism. “The bullet nicked both the pulmonary artery and aorta, but missed the heart itself. Its passage shattered two ribs, one on the entry and another on the exit, which we’ve pieced back together. The exit wound is extensive. The back muscles are badly damaged, but should heal sufficiently for her to live and work normally. She’ll be scarred for life.”

The old man closed his eyes to control his grief and anger. When they opened, the doctor and the nurse both took backward steps. Every rumor about the old man’s ties to crime raced through their minds and they knew they stood in the presence of a killer. The nurse glanced at Vitaly’s expression of glacial wrath and amended that: she and the doctor stood in the presence of two killers.

“Do you know who did this?” Giuseppe hissed.

“Da.”

“Tell me, boy.”

“This is my vengeance to take.”

“You have three days, Vitaly Synvolka. If my granddaughter is not avenged, then I will ensure it is done.”

“Uh, sir, you really can’t plan a murder. I’m duty-bound to report that to the authorities,” the doctor ventured, his voice shaking with fear.

The short man drew himself to his full stature and sneered down his hooked nose at the doctor. “I am Giuseppe Maglioneand no one tells me what I may or may not do.Capisci?”

The doctor and nurse both nodded. They understood.

“Tre giorni,” Giuseppe reminded his granddaughter’s husband, not caring whether the man spoke Italian. He walked out, patting the blankets draped over Gia’s legs on his way.

Vitaly didn’t speak Italian, but he needed no translation guide to understand what Giuseppe meant. Unfortunately, leaving Giancarla’s bedside wasn’t something that he could force himself to do. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up, concerned with not having heard anyone approach him from behind. Maksim met his gaze. The older man’s eyes were hard, his expression stony.

“We’ll find her,” he vowed. “You stay with your wife. We will find her.”

“Spasibo,” Vitaly replied with true gratitude. “Let me know when you have her. I want to interrogate her myself.”

Maksim’s expression tightened with bloodthirsty satisfaction.

“Da.”

With a squeeze to his subordinate’s shoulder that was meant to reassure him, Maksim left. Pyotr followed.

Olivia kindly arrived a few hours later to give Vitaly a break at Gia’s bedside with a satchel containing a clean change of clothes. “If you won’t go home to rest, then at least get something to eat and put on some clean clothes,” she insisted. She dug in her purse and held up her cell phone. “I have your number. If anything changes, I’ll let you know immediately.”

Vitaly’s belly growled loudly, eager to take Olivia up on her suggestion. He bowed to biological need and promised to return shortly. His boss’ wife then settled in a chair with a paperback novel. Before cracking open the book, she took Gia’s fingers in hers and said in a quiet voice, “Come back to him, Gia. Vitaly loves you. He needs you more than he knows. You are the one who will keep him human.” She sighed, laid the book on her lap, and continued. “My Maksim was much like Vitaly: cold, driven, calculating. He liberated me from a human trafficking ring quite by accident. He had intended to use me and then sell me, but we fell in love and he lost his taste for the business. He has worked these last fifteen years to move into legitimate business and it has saved his humanity. But, alas, the shift is not complete and Vitaly has been his right hand man for enforcement and interrogation and it has blackened his soul. I feared for him before he found you and I fear for him if he loses you. So you must fight to come back to us, Gia. You must fight.”

She watched the young woman lying still and pale and hoped for a reaction, but she saw nothing. She lightly squeezed Gia’s fingers and then picked up her book. Nurses came into the room and checked on Gia’s vital statistics with quiet efficiency.

When Vitaly returned, she met his hopeful gaze with a small shake of her head and relinquished her seat. He returned her silent communication with a curt nod, loosed a sigh, and sat down.

“Talk to her. Hold her hand,” Olivia advised gently. “Give her spirit something to grab onto.”

He nodded and began to talk, beginning with the harsh story of his life. Softly spoken, Russian words flowed in an endless stream broken only by the occasional pause for a sip of water. Then he talked of her classwork.

“Your professors,” he said, “will surely forgive incomplete homework assignments this time. Even they cannot expect you to meet their deadlines now. I will ask Pyotr to make sure your friends get to and from their classes without fail and to speak to your professor about assigning Jeremy a new laboratory partner.”

A knock on the door interrupted his somewhat hoarse monologue.

“Hi, Vitaly, can we come in?” Cecily asked, peering into the room.

“You may,” he agreed and gestured for her to enter.

The plump blonde stepped inside, eyes wide and mouth agape at the tubes and cords and beeping machinery. Latasha followed immediately behind her and picked up Gia’s medical chart. Pyotr lingered just outside the door. He nodded at Vitaly, eyes tired within his usual inscrutable expression. Vitaly nodded back in silent gratitude. Perhaps having her closest friends near would help Giancarla.

“Good Lord,” Latasha whispered as she read the chart. She looked at Vitaly and said, “School officials aren’t saying anything about the shooting, except that it wasn’t a student who went crazy.” She pinned him with a piercing look. “Was she targeted?”

“Da.”

“Why? Gia’s never hurt another soul.”

“Because of me,” Vitaly admitted.

Cecily sobbed once and then choked back her distress. Latasha glared at him.

“I ought to kill you myself,” she snarled in a low, intense tone.

With an icy look at her, Vitaly simply replied, “Better to kill the shooter who did this.”

Latasha narrowed her eyes and asked, her voice filled with suspicion, “Do you know who did this?”

“I do.”

“And?” She tapped her foot impatiently when he did not answer. “Vitaly, I’ve got four brothers and ain’t none of them upstanding citizens. But they love me and they’ll go after whoever shot Gia.”

“I appreciate that, but the Bratva will find this person and then I will make her pay.”

“Her?” Cecily gasped, latching on to the pronoun. “A woman shot Gia?”

“You don’t think a woman can shoot a gun?”

“But…but…” Her shoulders sagged. “It doesn’t fit that profile, that’s for sure.”

Vitaly agreed and ignored Pyotr’s warning glare.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Cecily suggested kindly, seeing the weariness of body and spirit in his haggard face. “We’ll stay with her for a while. Surely, you need to eat.”

“And a shower wouldn’t hurt either,” Latasha added with a pointed sniff.

“Go, I will stay as well,” Pyotr said in English, then switched to Russian. “If it were my wife lying there, then you would do the same for me.”

“Spasibo,” he thanked them and rose from the chair with all the slow, creaky carefulness of an old man. Pyotr patted him on the back and gave him an encouraging nod. Vitaly nodded his head toward Cecily who had taken over the chair and was talking softly to Giancarla. Sticking to Russian, he asked his colleague, “So, are you going to marry this one?”

Pyotr’s expression softened infinitesimally and the corners of his mouth curled in the faintest of smiles. “She cooks the best food I’ve ever had and is a wildcat in bed. Yes, I’m going to keep this one and put babies in that belly.”

Vitaly glanced back at the demure looking blonde and said nothing. The image of Giancarla with her belly swollen and ripe with his child taunted him. He wanted that. He wanted to build a family with her.

“She looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but that woman is hot under the sheets,” Pyotr bragged.

“Congratulations. Tell me when you set the wedding date. I’m sure Giancarla will want to plan a party to celebrate.”

“I’m waiting for her to graduate. Just a few more weeks and she’ll be wearing my ring.”

“Congratulations,” he repeated with sincere regard. “And what of the other girl?”

“Ah, that one.” Pyotr’s expression turned sour. “I’m half-tempted to sic Gennady on her.”

“He breaks women.”

“I know.” Pyotr’s brief smile wasn’t pleasant.

“Don’t.”

Pyotr sighed. “If she did not mean so much to your wife and, therefore, to you, then I would. She’s a shrew, that one. As soon as Iosif gets back from his trip, I’ll throw her at him and see if she sticks. Bogdan’s interested in her, too.”

“He likes a challenge.”

Pyotr shrugged, dismissing the matter. Whether Iosif or Bogdan decided to keep Latasha wasn’t something he’d waste time worrying about. He patted Vitaly again in a wordless gesture of comfort and stood alert while his woman and her friend chattered at the patient lying pale and still.