Chapter 22 – Vivian
T here were so many books in the outer room! No TV, no laptop, just shelves and shelves of books. And not the good kinds written by Frieda McFadden or Gillian Flynn, full of desperate twists and turns that tugged at the psyche. These were bound with linen and stamped with foil. They felt…old.
Dinosaur books for a dinosaur man.
The bedroom walls were lined with floating shelves and art. But it was the sitting room that was part library, part office that spoke volumes. Floor to ceiling shelves lined the walls. A high back chair sat near the tall window. It felt like the secret lair of a fairytale prince. A short writing desk with a plain chair was on the opposite side of the room, next to the bedroom door. There were only pens and journals, nothing interesting. Nothing damning. And I couldn’t read what he’d scrawled in the pages, since he’d written in the Russian alphabet—whatever that was, I couldn’t remember.
On the end table next to the high back chair were two books. The Republic and Meditations. He’s into meditating? I paged through the book, wondering what form of mind clearing he preferred. Mindfulness? Visualization? Mantra? The carefully underlined words stared back at me, twisting and blurring in my mind.
Which is recorded of Socrates, that he was able both to abstain from, and to enjoy, those things which many are too weak to abstain from, and cannot enjoy without excess. But to be strong enough both to bear the one and to be sober in the other is the mark of a man who has a perfect and invincible soul.
Confusion flickered through me. “That’s not how you meditate.”
Crunching my damp curls in the hand towel, I did one more lap of the room before a strangled breath caught in my lungs. This feeling of being trapped, after every twist and turn of the emotional rollercoaster I’d been on, was too much. Flying from the room, I padded along the hall in my bare feet. Better to find people than to wait in the ancient rooms. My subconscious took me back the way I’d come, and in a handful of breathless seconds, I found myself in the kitchen.
“Mio Dio!” a petite woman gasped. Hand flattened over her chest, she stared at me.
I tried not to fidget. Her dark hair was pulled off her face and elegantly twisted into a fashionable claw clip. The rich olive complexion was smooth, only crinkled in the corners. She was older than she looked, but her energy cast the illusion of youth.
“Hi!” I gulped, suddenly feeling ten years old under her keen gaze. “I’m with Luka. He brought me here.”
Her eyelids closed, and a deep breath filled her lungs. “That boy.”
I frowned. Did she know who I was?
“Well, friend of Luka’s, come in and sit down.” The woman led me to one of the long counters on the far side of the space and gestured to a barstool. “My name is Chiara. Welcome to my home.”
Pieces clicked into place. This was Luka’s step-mom. And here I was, standing in too big clothes, wet hair dripping down my back, without even a dusting of makeup.
“I’m Vivian.” I held out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I might not have planned to be her daughter-in-law, but something about this woman made me want to make a good first impression. The smile that turned up her mouth helped soften her features.
“Can I get you a coffee?” She held my hand a moment longer. Her warm fingers were firm, but the touch was impossibly gentle.
My heart pounded against the side of my chest. “That would be great,” I choked out.
There was a word for women like her—matronly. The gracious attitude, the kind looks, they twisted and tugged at the organ beating in my chest, making me immediately like her.
Jeeze, and we only just met.
As Chiara moved to the commercial espresso machine, I felt the gaze of the other two women on me. I flicked a cautious glance in their direction. Had they told Chiara who I was to the family? Or did she already know from Luka? Before I could decide how to ask, another woman burst into the room. She rapidly explained something in Russian, and then one of the other women left with her.
“What was that about?” Chiara demanded of the remaining woman flipping breakfast meats.
“Confusion about mopping,” the cook said in a heavily accented voice.
Chiara nodded before turning to me. “Mila is our cook, and her sister is the housekeeper in charge of three maids,” she explained. “They’re fluent in Russian but speak enough English that we can understand one another. I don’t speak that guttural tongue so well, but I’m trying. Do you speak any foreign languages?”
“Two years of Spanish in high school,” I admitted. “I think I can still count to a hundred if I had to.”
“And so, you know about Luka’s occupation?” Chiara set a miniature saucer with a cup on it in front of me.
I met her gaze. “I know the title, but I’m not sure what it entails.” Before she could ask another question, I inserted one of my own. “Did they tell you who I am?”
Chiara blinked steadily. “Luka’s wife.”
The moment swelled. Before it could pop, I took the small cup of midnight black coffee, sipped, and—
I choked.
Holy schnikes. That was the real deal.
Chiara cocked her head. “You don’t like it? I can make American Joe.”
Across the room, Mila visibly shuddered.
My pulse doubled. “No! It’s delicious! Just a bit…hot.”
The woman continued to give me a skeptical look.
“And it’s not sweet,” I added, realizing I needed to give her something.
“Ah! Zucchero. Here.” She opened a drawer and swept her hand over the organization tray of individual packets of sweetener.
I plucked the cane sugar and dumped it in my drink. I didn’t have the heart to tell the petite woman that I couldn’t stand the European version of coffee. I’d toured over there with my legal guardian, dined at some of the best cafés in France, Germany, and Italy, but I always longed to come home to my 24 oz. coffee concoctions with cream, cold foams, and flavored syrups.
As I sipped the drink, I surveyed the room. Besides the banks of stoves and ovens, there were several large islands. This kitchen was equipped to feed an army. Maybe it does. But it didn’t feel like an industrial mess hall. There was a coziness, a warmth about the room. Behind me, there was a breakfast nook, set against a large window that looked out on a tumbling, vibrant garden. The rustic table had a bench with a back on the far side and chairs tucked in the front.
“We rarely eat the first meal of the day together,” Chiara explained, freshening the flowers on the end of the island before setting chaffing dishes and warmers across the stainless-steel expanse. “Everyone has different schedules. But by keeping the food hot and ready, the early birds can snatch something in passing and the night owls can grab a bite later.”
It was obvious the effort took a lot of work, but the domestic vibes felt nice . Her family was cared for, no matter what they were doing. Or who they are…. Curiosity surged through my mind. Luka had been impossibly tight lipped on the topic of organized crime as we drove out of Nashville.
But I took too long deciding on the series of questions to ask this woman.
A taller man with a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard stopped in the doorway. “Bon giorno a tutti,” he boomed.
“Your pronunciation improves every day, caro mio,” Chiara chuckled. The tips of her cheeks pinkened.
I hid my surprise behind the sip of my still scalding coffee. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said she was honeymoon blissful with this man.
Chiara bustled to fill a plate with toast, two sliced hard-boiled eggs, and sliced avocado.
My mouth watered. After the endless munchies, fast food meals, and car dining, I suddenly felt a wave of homeliness wash over me.
As Chiara bustled about, the man caught her around the waist, tugging her into his space. The intimacy had me finding anywhere else to look, but I couldn’t help sneaking a peek. The man cupped his hand under Chiara’s chin. He looked into her eyes, words whispering across his lips. And then he bent to make up for the height difference. The kiss was slow, but there was a palpable fire behind it.
“Gross, da! PDA doesn’t make a great side dish to eggs.” Luka’s teasing didn’t break the moment.
The man continued to explore Chiara’s mouth.
But I looked at the man who hadn’t kissed me like that.
Luka’s gaze drifted to me. There was something packed in that look, but he hid his feelings behind the smile he flashed me. “I went looking for you, Vivian.”
“Sorry, I didn’t feel like being trapped in the psyche ward disguised as a mausoleum,” I said with a smile.
Luka let out a short laugh, and then slid a look over his shoulder. “Incoming, madre. The whole gaggle is descending.”
With a squeak, Chiara untangled herself from the embrace and began to bark orders about the breakfast. “No one is ever up at the same time! I was just telling this nice lady that.”
The silver fox stepped into Luka’s space, pointed a finger at his chest, and let out a low string of Russian. It sounded like a warning. A chill ran down my spine when a finger flung toward me and then stabbed Luka’s chest. The smile never wavered, but it changed shape. It went from light and uncaring to hard and lethal. I clutched my cup, debating interceding despite the language barrier.
“Don’t worry, uncle, I already shot at him this morning,” a tight, strained voice menaced. The speaker stalked through the door, glowering at everything. Deep shadows painted under his eyes.
“A pity you missed,” the silver fox muttered. “Would have done him some good.”
Wait, actual shooting? I would have asked what the hell they meant, if I wasn’t too busy shitting myself. I’d seen criminals during the semester course on the justice system. This man was a brute. He wore terror like a second skin, an impossible cold seeping from his pore. Whereas Luka was lean and chiseled, this man had bulk. His sharp gaze cut to me and narrowed.
I had to fight every urge to squirm under that blue green stare.
“I take it you’re the cause for all this trouble.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Even if it had been a question, I wasn’t accepting that statement. “In my book, you’re the cause of my trouble.”
The silver fox chuckled. It was almost familiar. I blinked, doing a double take. There was a definite resemblance through the trio of men.
“And then, Dimi shot at him,” a light, breezy, feminine voice said.
“Did he hit him?” another woman asked, voice breathless.
“What do you think? It’s Luka.” The first laughed. “It’s like you always said, he’s allergic to bullets.”
Arm-in-arm, two women appeared with another brutish man taking the rear. He was less scary than the bull who was still giving me the stink eye. Maybe it was the small toddler in his arms.
“Lapachka! I’ve missed you, sweetest girl,” Luka said, bounding across the room. He plucked the child out of the man’s arms without bothering to ask.
The little girl lit up like a Christmas tree. Her squeal filled the kitchen. She had curly brown hair and wide, glittering eyes. The button nose and cherub cheeks completed the picture.
“Sure, she’s teething and miserable for us, but the moment Uncle Luka is back, she’s smiling,” the woman with shimmering blonde hair huffed, falling into a seat.
The redhead brought over two small coffee cups and a silver coffee pot. The strong brew trickled into the cup. While their interactions seemed completely normal, their quick glances in my direction were tangible taps of attention.
I glanced between the pregnant belly of the blonde and the espresso she blew on.
“Something on your mind?” she challenged, but there wasn’t any snark in her voice.
Not wanting to start on the wrong foot, I merely shook my head. “It’s just a lot, but I supposed after being kidnapped I should be used to the unexpected.”
“Kidnapped?” the blonde drew the word out, glaring up at Luka.
“What the hell did you do now?” the redhead snapped.
“Yeah, let’s hear the story,” the blonde insisted, and there was a touch of venom in her words.
At least it wasn’t directed at me.
“Everyone get food while it’s hot,” Chiara insisted, bustling about.
The men discussed something in hushed tones by the doorway. I kept flitting glances at them. But Luka couldn’t have been concerned in the least. He tore small pieces of toast for the child cocooned in his arms.
“Sparkling water, Dani?” the redhead asked the blonde.
Dani nodded. “Thanks, but I can get it!”
The redhead shook her head. “Absolutely not. You just got over your morning sickness period. Let us spoil you a bit.”
“And fatten you up,” Chiara agreed. She brushed a touch down the woman’s face.
That small gesture was the final straw. My heart clenched tight to see it. This was a family . Their details might be a mystery, but there was so much love here.
The twisting inside only tightened. This only existed in films. And yet it was right here, playing out in front of me. I slammed walls around my heart. I wouldn’t let this bother me. I was an outsider and an intruder. What Luka and I did was a counter move, and I wasn’t sure it was the right one. I would not catch feelings for this group of people, nor would I allow myself the delusion that I belonged.
Because I didn’t.
“I believe introductions are in order.” The silver fox broke away from the men. “I’m Vasil, and welcome to my home, Vivian.”
The kindness in his eyes sent a tremor through the hastily constructed wall.
“Come, join us, and let us get to know the newest member of our family,” he added, handing me a plate.
There was a definite crack, and if I wasn’t careful, that wall would crumble.