2. Vanya
2
VANYA
T oo tall.
Too pretty.
My first thoughts meeting the legendary Diamante twin months ago.
They told me they broke his nose in the hole. Not enough damage to make him quite rugged. The other scar on his face is much more appealing.
But it is the way he looks at me as he grips his rock-hard dick in his fist that has me sweating in the cold. Fire and hatred. Desire and anger.
They are so often one and the same.
He is fucking beautiful.
Even so, every time I see him grin, I want to put my fist through his smile. Smug prick.
Almost as much as I want to kiss him right now. It’s purely infuriating.
“What are you staring at?”
“A prick taking a shower.”
Ciro chuckles, sending shivers along my back.
“Your prick, or so you said,” he growls, pumping along his stunning length.
Heat flushes through my face and chest and my hand twitches, dying to slip into the front of my pants. Fucking intolerable.
“You need to be taught to behave,” I growl, shaking my head and approaching him again.
It was not my intention to demean him so when I picked him up. But dammit, he pushes my buttons, makes me instantly furious and insanely aroused.
Everything about him is clean lines, muscular, flawless.
My instinct is to break him. To have him begging at my feet. Yet I get the distinct impression he is enjoying this way too much. And that I am not entirely in charge.
Almost like he wanted to make me do this.
Staring at his soaked skin, I trace the tattoos on his arms, his back and sides as he turns. Scars mark his flesh all over, likely from attacks in the middle of the night at the Gulag. I want to lick every single one.
To taste his pain, and soothe it.
I raise one eyebrow as he tilts his head back, thrusting his hips slightly as he jerks himself off. I could have him right now. Or I could laugh in his face for being so eager to obey.
Why am I letting him get in my damn head?
“ Pizdets ,” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Come here. Closer,” I order, squaring my shoulders.
This is taking too long. Pyotr will be expecting us soon.
But I can’t help myself, savoring the sight of this magnificent man.
“Down on your knees.”
A low growl escapes his lips as he lowers himself to the cold tile at my feet, droplets of freezing water trickling down his chiseled chest. His nipples are hard, his skin covered in goosebumps.
“Faster.” I glare down at him, matching his scathing gaze. Unable to resist any longer, I bend down, cupping his chin with my hand and leaning close to his ear.
“When you finish, you think of me, grinding my ass on you,” I whisper softly, biting his earlobe and pulling lightly.
“Ffffuck…”
Against my better judgment, my other hand trails down his front, encircling his manhood and stroking delicate fingers up his shaft. Right before I turn and stride from the room, my heart pounding.
Behind me, I hear a low grunt as he comes, breathing heavily. The sound rushes through my core, soaking my underwear.
I really mustn’t do such things.
Outside, the crisp air cools my blushing skin. A few deep breaths clear my head.
As a leader of my family, I should deny myself pleasures like these. Especially if I want to be taken seriously in a male-dominated culture. I must be twice as tough. Untouchable to their eyes.
Like my mother taught me, I can be their fantasy, a brutal ideal. But never attainable.
Not that I can’t have fun.
I love to dance. To drink. Occasionally I find a friend for the night.
But as Pyotr always says, appearances are everything. Keep what belongs in private behind closed doors.
In other words, every fucking Bratva man can fuck to his heart’s content, but a Bratva woman can’t. Double standard, old-world yerunda .
“Towel?” he shouts from inside.
“In first locker. Clothes too. Hurry the fuck up.”
“Keep your skintight leather pants on, I’m coming.”
“Again?” I close my eyes, cursing softly. No one has ever gotten under my skin like him. And I have never wanted someone to want me as badly as I do him.
Glupaya devchonka . Foolish girl.
At least it will be interesting. We shall see how the Shakal handles this world, so different than his home. Regardless, he is not of that world any longer. He is one of us now whether he likes it or not.
For life.
“Ready?” He emerges from the bathhouse, flushed in the cheeks, an involuntary shiver quaking through him.
Despite my better judgment, I lean into him, sharing my warmth for a moment. A soft sigh from his full lips ruins the moment.
“You smell better, at least. Less like filthy animal.”
“You try showering in a frozen mountain shithole with twenty dudes who want to kill you.”
“If I wanted an easy initiation, I would. Mine was far worse.”
His eyes narrow, genuine concern flashes over his face. I change the subject.
“Do you like the outfit I picked for you?”
“Needs work. I’m definitely gonna need to go shopping as soon as I have some money to spend.”
“Priss.”
“You won’t be saying that when you see me in a proper outfit.”
“Then we arrange this. I go with you.”
“Ah, so it’s like that? You’re my shadow as long as I am a pleb?”
“Something like that.”
“Or are you my handler?”
“You would love for me to handle you, no?” I smirk, watching his brow furrow. “No, I volunteered to handle you, to train you. You were outsider. I capture. I make decision. You passed test, now you are in. Clear?”
“As mud.”
“Matvey spoke true, your sense of humor is shit.”
“My humor is shit?! I haven’t heard a single good joke since I got here.”
“You haven’t understood a good joke, yet.”
“Right, must be me.”
I smile genuinely at his frustration, leading him alongside the baths toward the barracks.
“Welcome to St. Petersburg Volk compound. Main gate is there, large building there is for business. Offices. Armory. The big house is my father’s.”
“Wait, your dad lives here?”
“Uncle, technically, but he raised me.”
“So your room is…”
“In the same house.”
“Cool, I’ll drop by sometime.”
“You are presuming so very much.”
“And you are slowly falling in love with me.”
The stare I give him makes him squirm.
“Now, back there is gym and sparring circle, past that are the barracks. You will stay in bunkhouse there.”
“It’s like I’m going away for summer camp! Pillow fights and experimental kissy-kissy. Do all the Volk live here?”
“No,” I ignore his commentary. “Squad leaders and their chosen men have apartments around the city. You will earn better housing as you go.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less or anything more.”
“This is why I chose you. You are bold. Tough. But…be careful how to speak to Pyotr.”
“Pyotr, right. He’s the big boss?”
“ Da .”
“Wait a minute…Pyotr is your dad. Uncle. Dunkle. Shit. I forgot you’re the boss’s daughter. And I’m the boss’s daughter’s slave! Do I have to wear a maid outfit?”
“Only if he really likes you,” I snap, hiding my grin.
Ciro raises his eyebrows suspiciously. “You do get my jokes!”
“Pyotr will not. He is old blood.”
“Club soda works wonders to get that out.”
I stare at him for a second, trying to decide if I should hit him. Instead, I lead on, heading toward the house. Ciro follows closely, silent for a brief moment.
Odd.
“Did you have to go through…what I did?” he asks quietly as we approach my home for as long as I can remember.
“In my own way. My mother and grandmother trained me, until they died. Then, I was sent to boarding school. The matron there, she tried to break me. I broke her knee and her hip. Then I was sent to juvenile detention center.”
“That’s…rough. My childhood was unusual too. How did you get out? Get back?”
“I killed four women who tried to rape me. Pyotr found out and got me out before they could send me to prison.”
He is finally silent, truly this time. Strangely, I find I like it less when he is not speaking.
At the door, I pause, leveling him with a stare.
“ Dyadya will see you alone. He will assign you duties based on your skill, or he may decide to punish you.”
“For what?”
“For whatever he sees fit.”
“Neat. Seems fair.”
“Either way, it will be a welcome to the brotherhood. How you respond is important.”
“So he’s a little touchy? Been there, done that. I was a choir boy.”
“He is veteran of Cold War. Ex-KGB. Pyotr is bold, cunning. He is also suspicious.”
“Got it. Why are you warning me? You’ve left me on my own thus far.”
“Because I do not want him to shoot you in face.”
“I do have a nice face. Don’t much care for getting shot in the mouth. Is that why you left the bathroom before I finished? Family preference?”
It takes me a moment to recognize the joke, he speaks too fast. Not that I am a stranger to American humor. I spent three semesters at college there. He does not need to know that.
“With me, you joke all you want. Same with Matvey. Just be careful around elders. They will not like you on principle, Shakal.”
“Why not? I’m so cute.”
“You are jackass. You mock. You taunt.”
“That’s not it though, is it? I’m postoronniy .”
“Yes. Even after the Gulag. You are outsider. Many of them know your family a bit too well.”
“I thought those rivalries were dead.”
“They were. Until Dom Vipera burned us once more.”
A confused look passes over his face as I lead him through the hall of the main house. The main conference room takes up the bulk of the first floor. Through the dining area, I wave to Bolko and Yeff, heading toward the office in the back corner.
My father’s office.
Each of the men nod at me as I pass, acknowledging my position as daughter more than my place as Pyotr’s second. I see it in their eyes every time I pass.
One day, I will destroy that mentality.
The fact that my uncle married my mother when my father died. He built this place with my grandfather. It should be my birthright, but for the backward chauvinist bullshit.
This is how things are in the Old World.
And I know Ciro sees it, the similarities between this and the other half of his bloodline. The Italian Mafia.
I guess I am fortunate that Pyotr is somewhat progressive. Even if he relies on our relationship for my viability.
“Papa.”
“Vanya, zaychik . Voydite .”
“Ciro Diamante, as you requested.”
“ Otlichnyy , excellent. So this is American. Italiano.”
“Volk,” Ciro snips, with just enough of a bite that I hide a smile, but worry for his life.
Pyotr stands, circling the table like the massive bear that he is, storming right up to place his nose an inch from Ciro’s. To his credit, Shakal does not flinch.
He should.
Suddenly, Pyotr throws his head back, laughing uproariously. Clapping both hands on the shoulders of the stunned, slender man before him, he shakes Ciro and hugs him before letting him go.
“They say you are fucking nails, da ? How was hell?”
“Um, not the best place I’ve stayed. Not the worst.” Ciro smirks. That smile spreads into a wolf’s grin, aimed at me, then back at Pyotr. They are two of a kind, these two.
“You chose well, doch .”
“Thank you. I will go now.”
“ Net . You are ready. And he is yours. Stay.”
Nodding, I step to the door, closing and putting my back to it, in the fashion of the guards. It is ingrained in me, and stunned as I am that he is letting me stay…
“So, Shakal. Do you miss your family?”
“I miss my brothers.”
“You have new brothers here.”
“Yes. I do. Thanks to you. To Vanya.”
“There is no need to hide it for fear of retribution. You want news from home. I can give you this.”
“Being out of the loop for three months feels like…”
“Like lifetime. I know.”
My father watches Ciro closely, that piercing cold gaze so familiar to me. He is regal, graying at the temples, still good-looking as he ever was. And as brutal as he ever was too. Pyotr fought alongside my father, clawing their empire out of nothing.
“I don’t expect you to tell me everything, just?—”
“Dom Vipera was taken by FBI. His empire is scattered. No one knows what has become of him.”
I watch Ciro’s eyes widen, his face falling slightly with the news. What this means to him, I have no idea. Vipera was part of his family, then took over, apparently.
“The rest of your people, they have gone to ground, lying low. That is all I tell you for now. The rest, you will work for. You will earn.”
“My…brothers…?”
Pyotr’s eyes harden, his hand lashing out to take hold of Ciro’s shirt, shaking him like a ragdoll and pulling him in close. “Your brothers are here. The Volk. Never forget.”
“ Da, Pakhan ,” Ciro snaps immediately.
Thank goodness he learned how to respond…
Pyotr’s rage abates as fast as it flared. Smoothing out Ciro’s clothes, he pats him on the chest, then hugs him.
“You will earn the privilege of knowledge. Give me time, and I will also consider allowing you to reach out, to find them. Until then, do not test me. Do not rock boat, yes?”
“Yes sir.”
“Great! Now, Vanya will show you to your room and get some food and vodka. We need to put some meat on those bones!” His laugh lightens the room, like it always has, scattering the storm clouds that shadowed Ciro’s face.
“Thanks.”
“You can thank me by doing your job. Lieutenant will have orders for you tomorrow.” Pyotr’s smile fades. “Boy, I will ask this before you go. We intend to take some of what once belonged to your family. The trade in the North. Does this pose a problem to you?”
Ciro sniffs a small laugh, smiling. “What was once mine is yours, Pakhan .”
“All’s fair in love and war, right?”
“I try not to get bogged down in love. And from the sound of it, the war is over.”
“We will always fight. So too, we must always rejoice and find pleasure in life. They said you were a joker, a jester, a man who laughed in the face of danger. But now, I do not see the smile in your eyes, only your mouth.”
“My sense of humor has…changed.”
“This is what scares them, the men you fought in Gulag. They say you have no soul. I hope that you will find that passion you once had here with your new family. Otherwise, what is the point of living?”
Ciro nods, turning to leave as Pyotr waves us out.
“Come. You look tired. We get you a meal and a bed, baby boy.”
“Baby boy, huh?” Ciro whispers, brushing his shoulder into me as he walks down the steps beside me. I can’t tell if it’s on purpose, but the contact and the way he moves sets my heart thumping. He should not be doing this to me.
It’s pathetic.
The day fades as we enter the barracks house on the back of the property. Even these halls are so familiar to me. I remember when my family built them when I was a girl.
Sounds of cheering, laughing, fighting, reach us as we pass the common room. It brings a smile to my lips. Even as it stings my heart. I never had that, the comradery of the men.
I have always been alone. Aside from my brother, that is.
“Bunks are through here,” I offer, pointing toward the east wing.
“How many—” Ciro’s question is cut off as a fist connects with his face.