Chapter 13 - Gabi
GABI
It isn’t my Russian. The relief seems to zing through me, even if the notion was totally ridiculous. This irrational fear brewed in me over the past week as Matteo and Dominic set up the meeting with Petrov. Now the tension seeps out of me and it’s almost palpable, rippling over my skin.
When we walked over, I spotted him immediately. Dominic might be staring at Petrov, but Petrov’s eyes are on his two girls as they clamber onto the jungle gym.
The way he stands, long legs grounded, hands on his hips, ready to step in and help one of his daughters in a split second, gives everything away.
He’s a dad, tall, solid, with broad shoulders that look like they can carry any weight.
Dark hair dusts his bare forearms, thinning as it slopes down to big hands, veins mapping out where blood flows.
The scruff on his jaw holds a red glint when he turns his face and the sunlight catches it just right.
Petrov is taller and bulkier than the man I remember, and so much younger, there is no correlation…with not a tattoo in sight on his fingers or arms.
He becomes aware of us and looks first at Matteo and then at me. The stark cold blue of his gaze penetrates mine. That Russian had brown—almost black—eyes, dark and empty like a poisoned pond where nothing will ever grow again.
It isn’t him, and I have time to get my act together and disappear forever when the time is right. The sooner, the better.
I shoot Petrov a small smile as I hide the two pink balloon animals behind my back, then pad over to where the girls are now heading for the slide.
For a sunny Sunday morning in early fall, the playground is empty, especially given how busy and big New York City is.
I glance to where an older man in jeans is sitting, cap on, cellphone in hand, seeming at leisure, but I know better.
This has been orchestrated down to the first yellow leaf floating to the playground floor.
By the look on Dominic’s face, he didn’t expect this, either.
Matteo is strolling over to the two other men, where I won’t hear what they’re saying, not at this angle and with the distance between us.
Let them talk amongst themselves. Let them wheel and deal and scheme.
I’m under no illusion that I’m nothing but a pawn and would never be anything else in any man’s eye, but I have my own moves up my sleeve, and they will learn about them only if I care to share, which I don’t.
“Hey, girls!” I call out as the older one hits the slide.
I go on my haunches to meet her as she slides down with a giggle and a sparkle in her eyes. They’re just as blue as her dad’s, but those beautiful blond curls must be something she got from her mom.
“You play with us?” she asks, eyeing the balloon animals I’m holding.
She’s adorable. “Yes. How did you guess?”
“Papa told us. Is that for me?” she asks as she bounces up, grubby hands hesitant to reach out.
“Yes, if you tell me your name?”
“I’m Irisha! And this is Katya,” she says as her sister speeds down the slide, seeming to lose her balance as she’s distracted by the balloon doggies I’m holding out.
They’re peas in a pod and two of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen.
Together, they are striking, and their mom must have been a true Russian siren.
But she’s dead, and in a way has given me this gap. Who knows why a woman with two perfect little girls would end her life, but I’m not here to dig.
“I’m Gabi,” I say as I hold out the balloons to each of them. Katya is shy, just staring wide-eyed at me. “These are for you, but we can put them on the ground if you’d like so you can carry on playing.”
“Papa will hold them,” Irisha says, grabbing the balloons and trotting over to where Petrov is standing, still in the same stance with his gaze burning on me.
I straighten under his all-consuming inspection, and that hot flush from earlier seems to brush over me again.
My years in convents and some other things led me to being uncomfortable in men’s company and doubting their intentions, cross-examining everything they say to find the lie.
It’s taken these six weeks with my brothers to fully trust them, but when a stranger looks at me, I cower inwardly, looking for the nearest exit.
Ivan Petrov, for all that we haven’t even been introduced yet, seems to look almost right through me like an X-ray, seeing everything that’s hidden from the world.
And I don’t cower. I melt.
Oh, no…this is a first.
My pulse rushes to where I need it least. My heart ups its beats per minute, and that crazy, unwanted heat seems to settle low in my belly, where eventually, with a bit more encouragement, I’ll be wet at my core.
God help me.
My plans are suddenly laced with a danger I didn’t foresee. That need I’ve always suppressed. A lone spark that could flare into a raging fire, destroying me in the process.
The Catholic church’s doctrines were a good foundation for messing with my head when it comes to intimacy, but the men working in God’s name have had me questioning everything for years.
I might question, but the paradigms have rooted so deep that even this sensation feels like sin.
I have no clue what it’s going to take to wipe my slate clean. To reset myself to factory settings.
Focus, Gabriella, I warn myself.
Be ready to serve, and do so in God’s name, Gabriella. You’re about to be tested like you’ve never been tested before. That night, after I read Mom’s letters, Mother Lucia hugged me close and whispered these last words to me…as if she knew.
The memory of Mother Lucia presses up in my throat, and I swallow.
She’s dead, because of me. I’m grieving, and I will serve, in her name.
No man will stand in my way, but this I will swear to God: I will honor Mother Lucia’s death by being the good Catholic convent girl she expected of me for as long as it takes to get away from that Russian monster for good.
Then I’ll run, ripping myself from my family not only to save myself, but to protect my brothers and their wives.
In the process, I’ll strip away my past and weed out every overgrown religious paradigm in my mind.
It will be my final salute to Mother Lucia, my ultimate fuck-you to every corrupt priest, and the pinnacle of the freedom I crave.
With this plan in place, I steel myself and walk over to the three men, eyes downcast but feeling every gaze on me.
I bet he makes you want to drop to your knees, ready to serve, doesn’t he just?
Chiara’s voice chimes in my head out of nowhere, and I trip at the shock of it, almost stumbling right into him. A hand shoots out, steadying me.
Petrov’s hand. On my arm. Warm and firm, setting alight a buzz that travels through my veins.
I look up, right into his blue eyes, needing to catch my breath.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes. Thank you.”
He lets go of me, and I step away, then slightly forward again to hold out my hand to him. “I’m Gabriella Scalera. I used to work in a kindergarten in Italy.”
Petrov doesn’t smile as he takes my hand, engulfing it in his for a firm squeeze that seems to spread a soft glow over my skin.
“Ivan Petrov. Your English doesn’t seem rustic at all. Any chance you know some Russian?” he asks, a slight tease in his voice.
“No,” I lie, cursing a little fuck in my head. Not even a minute in, and the good Catholic convent girl in me is starting to evaporate.
“Irisha and Katya will teach you,” he says.
Best I prove to be a slow learner.
“You’re good to go?” he asks then.
Wait…what? This was just supposed to be recon. I shoot Matteo and Dominic each a glance, my pulse ratcheting up again.
This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to spend a few days in New York, and we haven’t even gone to our hotel yet, only hopping over from Boston with the jet this morning. My things are in the car, since we came here directly, but—
“I spoke to your brothers, and they’re happy for you to come home with us today. Now.”
Petrov’s tone is so final, I’m left gaping for words.
Fear bubbles up in me, and I’m gripped by uncertainty. I’ll never know what was said about me between these three, how Petrov negotiated this while I was engaging with the girls for all of one minute.
But this is the out I was begging for. Still, I look at Matteo and then at Dominic, seeking guidance. I’ve prepared myself for a meeting, not for this.
Matteo nods. Dominic grinds his jaw, not saying yes, not saying no. He is pissed…and I’m cornered.
“Yes, sir,” I say, having no another response. “If we can just get my things from the car?”
“Sure.” Petrov nods at the man on the bench, and he stands, stretching languidly as if nothing untoward just went down. “Irisha, Katya, poydyom, my ukhodym.”
We’re going.
No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What I wanted is being handed to me on a platter.
But this man—I hardly know him, bar his résumé Benedict and Luca slapped together from what they could find on the dark web and wherever else they go when they start to dig.
His business dealings and his family’s weapons and rare earth minerals smuggling doesn’t interest me.
All I want to know is if he’s safe. Will I, as a woman, be safe with him? In his house…alone?
His girls are with him, Irisha already holding his hand.
Petrov scoops Katya into his arms and scoots her up until she’s comfortable.
As she curls her small hand around his neck, squeezing her cheek against his, my heart heaves.
There’s been no rehearsal for this. It’s all natural.
And no man with daughters like these who clearly love him could be bad… could he?
Rule number three to survive in my world, as dictated by Mother Lucia: if a haven is offered, take it, because that is God looking after you.
Petrov’s household is my haven. The man might not be safe for me, but at least my brothers and their families will be rid of me and stay unscathed.
Dominic has me by the elbow, leading me a few steps to the side.
“It’s going to be fine, cara,” he says softly in Italian. “We’re tracking you. We’ll watch over you, I promise.”
Matteo closes in on us, his eyes dark in checked anger, deep lines cupping his mouth. Something went down, and I don’t know what.
“Cara, you know what to do if you need to get out, okay,” he says in Italian. “Just do it, and we’ll come.”
I bite my bottom lip and nod. It’s not as if we didn’t prepare for every eventuality. I’m not bracing for a shootout yet, even though Team Scalera came ready for one, all weapons concealed.
“My things—” I can’t be separated from my satchel.
“We’ll go get them,” Dominic says with a comforting squeeze to my arm. “Come along.”