15. Ciro
15
CIRO
“O ooow…”
“You were not saying ow a moment ago,” Vanya purs.
“I was completely lost in you a moment ago. I don’t think my body’s been this sore in a long time.” I punctuate the statement with a painful, grunting laugh as I flop back on the bed.
“What you’re saying is that you cannot keep up?”
“Oh yeah? You ready to go again?”
Her side-eye has me laughing again and dodging away from poking fingers in my ribs.
“Maybe after a short break.” I know damn well she is as sore and bruised as I am.
The past few days have been a gauntlet of car chases, gunfights, and more recently, nonstop party-till-you-drop marathon of lovemaking mayhem.
Safe to say, I have not slept much.
Neither has she. And I am here for it.
If there was a challenge for every single position attempted in twenty-four hours, I think we’d give somebody a run for their money. It’s like, regardless of how many times I take her from however many directions, I can’t seem to get enough, I want her more and more. She wants me again and again.
Every time we kiss, every time she touches me, it makes me fucking nuts. Simultaneously we let out long, moaning, satisfied sighs. Followed by a shared, conspiratorial grin.
“You know, that thing you did with the legs bent back?—”
“Oh, definitely. I didn’t know you could bend that way, let alone me,” I marvel, ticking my neck to the side with a loud pop.
“I think I call that one ‘Break-Back Mountain,’ da ?” She snickers, nestling into my chest.
“Ha! Clever. But um, maybe a different name…that one makes me think of, well. Other things.”
“Like the thing I did with my finger when you?—”
“Hey! You know, sometimes we both get caught up in the moment.”
“Don’t tell me you are shy now!”
I swear, she is unstoppable. And just as willing as I am to try… anything . Bold does not even begin to describe her confidence in the bedroom.
“No, no, no. I’m just saying that compared to the Gulag, you’re next level shit, baby.”
And I grin ear to ear as that fiery look takes over her face again.
“You say things like this, makes me want to take you one more time.”
“Then take me one more time, baby,” I rumble in her ear.
Her instant gasp and back arch absolutely do the trick for me, raising me right to attention again. Especially when she brushes her spectacular breasts against me. A slight groan escapes my lips as she climbs on top of me again.
Then it’s like I’m renewed. Replenished and ready to go.
Never mind the claw marks down my back, the teeth marks accenting both of us from head to toe. I’ve never seen something so beautiful or arousing in my life.
Wait, scratch that.
Vanya stretches up, craning her neck back, her arms overhead in a long, languid stretch. The midmorning sun clips through the curtains, kissing her pale skin, spotlighting her above me.
I could stare at her forever.
Until she backs that ass up, slipping me effortlessly inside of her again.
“Holy…”
“More like unholy,” Vanya croons, gyrating her hips. If I was hard before…
“How do you do that!” I gasp as she flexes inside.
“Secret Russian technique.” She bears down on me harder, biting her lip.
“If you tell me, you’ll have to kill me?”
“What do you think I am doing now?”
“Good point. Death by pussy was always my preferred way to go?—”
She drops down, snapping at my lips. Moaning, laughing, gasping, I flip her over, slamming her back into the mattress. My turn to rotate my hips, flexing up into her, hitting exactly where I know she wants me to.
“How do you do that ?!” she cries, her hands gripping the sheets and twisting.
“No secret. Just my magic dick.”
“You are insufferable.” Her words gust out between ragged breaths.
“Suffering never felt so good,” I mumble and claim her lips, plowing deeply into her over and again.
“Do the thing…”
“Which thing?”
All she manages is a clap of her hands above her head and I know exactly what she means. Drawing her thighs along my sides, I settle back, flicking one of her legs then the other up over my shoulders. Easing out of her, just to the tip of my aching shaft, I slide my hands all the way up, past her knees, her calves. Grabbing her ankles, I grip tighter, letting her anticipation build.
When I shift forward again, I fold her in half, sliding deeper than ever into her depths.
“Fuck!” she screams, her lips pulling back in a smile that turns into a jaw-dropped moan.
With her totally pinned beneath me, nothing keeps me from pounding down into her, rocking the entire bed with my powerful thrusts. The whole fucking room starts to roll with our joined cries.
Vanya quakes under me, that unbelievably sexy look in her eyes locking me in, captivating me. It’s so intense, almost angry, and slightly confused. Like she doesn’t know what to do.
Like she can’t believe how good it feels.
Believe me, you goddess, I can’t either.
Her silken, soaked center pulls me in every time, hugging me so tight. Gripping me in heavenly velvet.
“Harder, fuck me Ciro!” she begs, finally closing her eyes as her hamstrings start to shudder. At this angle, it’s a one-way ticket. Like a fucking roller coaster straight off the edge of oblivion.
“Yes!” It’s all I manage to growl out, my entire body flexing, burning.
The intense rush of my climax is imminent, building in my core.
My full weight bears down on her as she clutches around her legs, behind my back, crushing me to her. And without warning, she lunges for my bottom lip as we kiss, hard enough to draw blood.
The effect is mind-blowing. The sharp pain, the aching muscles, the rippling waves of pleasure. I want those teeth on my neck, my shoulders. Anywhere she wants to bite.
I hear her voice repeatedly panting my name as I bite down on the pillow beside her head with a deep, wild growl.
The tidal wave crests, her core flooding hot, slick magma around my cock, a split second before she screams at the top of her lungs, convulsing beneath me. And I can’t stop myself from tumbling over the edge with her.
Her inner walls spasm, enveloping me in heated ecstasy. And we plummet together. Starbursts explode inside my head.
Vanya’s wail rises to a fever pitch as I unburden myself completely inside her.
I feel like I’m frozen, my back arched, locked in a moment of total abandon.
Then we both go slack, my arms trembling, her thighs settling around my middle. I slip to the side, rolling off of her.
Right off the bed.
Thump!
“Wha?!” She giggles.
“I swear to God, I nearly passed out.” Gamma particles warble at the edges of my vision, red and green spots dancing.
“I think I did blackout for a moment.” She peeks over the edge of the bed. Right before she flops down on top of me, snuggling into my arms.
“I’ve never felt anything like you.”
“And you never will, lover,” she whispers, pinching my chin between two fingers and forcing me to look at her.
“I never want to,” I say sassily.
“Careful saying these sweet nothings. I might have to take you again.”
“I will actually die if you do.”
“Same. My body is depleted.”
“I need water or a meal or a ten-hour nap. Oo! Or maybe vodka!” I say in my best-worst Russian accent, eliciting a scowl and a slap across the ass from her as I bounce up from the floor. I shake my ass just a little on my way to the kitchen.
“Yes, vodka! Pour me a glass.”
“Geezus! A glass? I was gonna take a shot.” Dammit, the stuff is growing on me.
“Babies take shots. Have drink with me like man.”
“I mean, if we have any grapefruits or cranberry juice…” The flat stare that I get around the corner has me snorting with laughter. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. I would never ruin perfectly good vodka with juice.”
“You ever put fruit in my vodka, you get a fruit in your ass.”
“Whoa! Don’t tease me with a good time, Vanya. We’ll get to that stuff later.” I wink, hopping out of view. Her snarling growl of…anticipation? Promise?
Either way, it sends shivers up my spine.
A few shots and a delicious meal of potato soup and bread with cheese later, we’re on the couch, wearing slightly more clothing than we’ve had on in quite some time. The afternoon sneaks up on us, napping for a few hours.
“Wake up, Shakal. I want to hit something.”
“You are the most incentivizing alarm clock.”
Before I know it or want it, we’re out back training for the rest of the day. I’ll admit, once I stopped wanting to puke, the exercise does me a whole shit ton of good.
Target practice proves that we can both hit a fly from fifty yards. Vanya does not like flies.
Sparring renders the usual results, both of us scraped, panting, and contemplating heading inside for another romp in the sheets. My only advantage this time is the lack of a certain black-and-tan-furred ally to keep me on the ropes.
Vanya’s worried about Skanda.
But until we can make our way back to St. Pete’s there’s no way to know anything for sure. If we get to go back. There’s been a conspicuous radio silence ever since we left the city.
Aside from one message alerting all Volk nearby to lay low.
So we lay low.
And wonder where the fuck Pyotr is. Where the fuck anyone is.
Sparring and practicing with Vanya is the only thing keeping her occupied enough not to go rushing headlong back into danger. So I will spar twenty-four seven.
Not that I don’t want to figure things out myself.
We will need intel soon.
“Seriously, every time I think I figure out how to pin you, you somehow manage to bend the wrong way and get me in a choke hold!” I snap, dancing away again.
“Every time you try to pin me, I simply refuse to let it happen. This is mentality you must have.”
“Gee, thanks Miss Miyagi.”
“Dōitashimashite, Ciro-san.”
“You speak Japanese?” I duck a flying kick.
“A bit. Pyotr sent me for a year to train with instructor in Kyoto.” She bobs back on her heels, narrowly missing a swipe of my hands.
“Wow. And here I thought boxing with Fat Mike at Rumble Guts Gym in the Bronx taught me everything I needed to know.”
And just when I think I’ve got her timing down and lunge in, she tricks me.
You know that spinny, ridiculous, stupid flippy leg thing superhero chicks do in the movies? Yeah. That. But harder. With a backflip.
Onto my stomach with her still locked around my neck.
When I wake up from my tiny little nap, she’s standing stock still. It’s hard to make her out in the half light of dusk.
“Van?”
“Shh!”
Instantly, we are both on high alert. I’m on my feet with a pistol in my hands veering off around the far side of the house while she takes the nearer side toward the sound of an engine on the road leading to the cottage.
Posting up at the corners of the building, I signal that I’ve got eyes on the headlights through the trees. Inside the house I can just make out the beeping sound of the perimeter alarms we set near the road.
Fortunately, we hadn’t turned on any lights inside for the evening yet.
“Who would know we’re here?” I hiss.
“Only a handful of people. Unless they tracked us.”
“Doubtful. We should neutralize whoever it is just to be safe.”
“Wow. Great idea master and commander,” her reply barely reaches me in the dim. Vanya is getting really snappy with those comebacks. Good to know she’s learning as much from me as I am her.
“Don’t worry, I am not trying to undermine your authority.”
“Thanks for clarifying. You are so fucking dramatic.”
“I—” I drop it as the car comes into view. Even in the low light I can tell it’s beat to shit. It putters around a bend in the drive, moving slowly. Whoever it is must be watching for movement.
I realize something is wrong with the situation, more than the fact that someone is here, as the car wavers. They nearly hit several trees as it clears the base of the hill, slowing to a stop.
Vanya is strafing down around the slope, staying just out of the eyeline of the driver as I spot her, trailing behind low and slow.
Movement at the car.
The door. A body slumps out onto the ground.
“Ciro! Come!”
“Woof,” I mutter, running to catch up.
“It is Fyodor. He is bleeding, help me.”
“I mean, he’ll probably just keep bleeding if we don’t do anything. Problem solved,” I joke, getting a narrow-eyed glare over her shoulder. Risky, that line of joking when her Volk family is in question. She’ll probably kick my ass later.
In the meantime, I’m hefting the heaviest sack of borscht up the driveway, through the door and into the kitchen. With a mighty heave I manage to get him up on the island counter.
He’s pale as fucking death. There’s blood everywhere.
And more pooling.
“Where is he bleeding from?”
“Where isn’t he bleeding from?” I settle his head on a towel, raising an eyelid to check his pupils, a finger at his neck for a pulse. That’s the extent of my medical knowledge other than stitching up a few of my own bullet wounds over the years.
“F-fucking Diamante…” gurgles out of his mouth and I can’t help but smile.
“Well, he’s not dead yet.”
Vanya tears his shirt open, tracking the worst of the wounds to a gunshot on his side. Scanning down his body, he’s battered. Two more bullet wounds gush a steady trickle from his upper arm, his lower leg.
Other than that, the only thing I can think that would cause as many cuts and burns on his skin and clothing is…
“I think he went out a window,” I sniff, helping Vanya turn him over enough to check his back. He must have been in the barracks when the bomb that clearly went off in the remains of that building went off. Not surprising he made it out.
The guy is basically an eighties movie action hero.
Dick.
“Second floor,” he mumbles.
“He will bleed out if I cannot stem the flow. But I need to know if bullet is still inside.”
“Th-through…” Fyodor mutters, passing out again.
“Hearty chap, ain’t he? And so helpful.”
“Now you be helpful. Get me hot water, towels. Medical kit is in hall closet.”
Immediately I hop to it.
I scramble through the house, gathering the rest of the gear she needs. The tool kit for cauterizing, the med kit for sewing and clearing. Every towel we have.
Soon the water is boiling on the stove and I’m standing by as she sets to work.
“I will do the best I can. You must hold him if he wakes. I do not have anesthetic.”
“Yes, doctor.” I chirp.
Vanya’s shoulders drop just a bit, her tense stance relaxing a fraction. The faintest smile passes over her lips as she meets my eyes. She nods once, as if to thank me.
Weird.
My humor has always gotten in the way.
For the next two hours, I play nurse to my least favorite member of the 1980 Soviet Olympic hockey team. It gives me time to think of some deep cuts to compare him to.
Adrenaline starts to fade in hour three, but when Vanya slumps back into one of the dining chairs, Fyo is breathing steadily. Sleeping from all appearances.
The sheer amount of blood on everything in the house would make Jackson Pollock jealous. That’s my only art reference outside of movies.
A slight queasy feeling has me heading to the kitchen to wash up. I’ve never really been squeamish about wounds and blood, but Adriano or the Diamante squad doctor Julian usually handled the bulk of the “hands-on” or in this case “hands-in-guts” work.
Pinching together Fyodor’s meat will be a lovely nighttime dream companion for me for a while.
That came out wrong. I didn’t pinch his meat.
Dude is HUNG, though.
Boiling water for some tea feels like the right thing to do next. It’s something Aunt Eva would always do in these sorts of situations. She was such a warm, matronly lady.
At the same time, that woman had ice in her veins when it came to saving her family.
I once saw Aunt Eva stone-faced amputate one of our guy’s feet to save his life. Two of Giancarlo’s bodyguards puked.
Vanya reminds me of her in so many ways.
Sitting across from her at the small table, she glances up after a long while.
“Thank you, Shakal.”
“For what?”
“It’s Fyodor.” She shrugs.
“Just cause I don’t like the guy, doesn’t mean I want him dead. Much. And he means a lot to you.”
“ Da . Not in the way he says, though. You know this, correct?” Her eyes belie her hesitance.
What the ever-loving shit? Just when I think there are no more layers, she goes and shows me more strength. More vulnerability.
“Van, you don’t owe me any explanation.”
“He’s like…brother to me. We grew up together. He was always there for us, watching out for me and Matvey.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s always been anchor. Steadfast. He does not change. Reliable. You know?”
“My oldest brother was a lot like that.”
“I wish I could be like him in many ways. Fyo never becomes overwhelmed. He never hesitates.”
I nearly do a double take at her words. “Vanya, you are…”
All I can do is shake my head.
“What?”
“Let’s just say I’ve only ever met one person who handles life-threatening situations as well as you. And she was a refugee from Italy in World War II.”
“This story I will hear sometime. In detail. For now, I am, how you say, bushy.”
My snort makes me check to see if I woke up Fyodor. “Bushed. You mean bushed.”
“ Da . Now we wait to see if Kapitan wakes up. Without blood transfusion, I worry.”
“He has to pull through. Fuck, he’ll do it just to spite me. And to tell you what happened to Pyotr and the other council members.”
Vanya nods, her eyes red.
After a quick shower, she collapses into bed. After I had to repeatedly assure her that I would sleep in the living room to keep an eye on Fyo in case he wakes up. Stubborn woman.
I love it.
Lying on the couch, a fire crackling to my right, I stare at the ceiling for a long time before sleep takes me. Despite the stress, the lack of sleep…
I’m frayed. Wired.
And somehow…inspired.
Holding Fyodor’s hand while she dug those bullets out, the fucker didn’t flinch. Not once.
I’ve always just joked my way through things, but these two…they face it head-on.
Just like Aless always did.
Just like I always dreamed I would someday. Instead of faking it until I make it.
I guess our lives define us. And mine wasn’t nearly as hard as theirs. Until recently, anyway.
We were rich. We partied, drank. Girls, movies, TV, upscale, rich New York living.
And I took every second of it for granted.
Now, looking up at the ceiling of an old, simple cottage somewhere in Russia…
I don’t miss it.
Okay, maybe a little .
The thrill of a night out, music, booze.
But getting by with nothing but the gun in my hand and the clothes on my back with the girl of my dreams at my side? What else could I want?
Good God, I’m a fucking delusional sap. And I’m probably still smiling like an idiot when I finally doze off.
I smell the coffee machine brewing. Open my eyes. Despite the general lack of rest, I feel pretty good. Rising to check on Fyodor, I nearly jump out of my skin to find him up and around the kitchen.
“Uh. You know you almost died.”
“Yes. And?”
“You look like shit.”
“Not all of us are pretty boys.” Fyo leans over the sink, his shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths. “How many?”
I hesitate, leaning against the counter. “Too many. But we took out a lot of their guys.”
“Pyotr? Matvey?” His voice is gravel.
“Vanya should be the one to?—”
“I did not ask Vanya. I ask you, brother.”
His tone is pure hate, but it’s the first time he has ever come close to acknowledging me as one of them.
“We think Pyotr was taken. Matvey…”
“Mat is dead,” Vanya’s harsh words ring out through the living area.
For the first time since I’ve known Fyodor, I see him flinch. His face goes slack for a moment.
“Who?”
“A man in a black mask.”
Fyo nods slowly. “I followed him. He was leaving the compound in a rush.”
Vanya and I share a look. Sounds familiar.
Fyodor digs into the pocket of his tattered jacket on the table, tossing Vanya a glimmering object, covered in blood. A ring.
“Took it off the squad leader the masked man met with at the docks.”
“Ciro, look…the same symbol as their knives,” she offers it to me to inspect.
Immediately it tickles something in my memory, an old wives tale Uncle Giancarlo used to tell about spy craft and the old mafia. Twisting the signet on the ring, it clicks open.
“Microchip.” I hold it up.
Vanya’s eyes narrow as she takes it from me.
“And I know just the man in Moscow to help us figure out what is on it.”