Chapter 23 Gabi
GABI
Ever since Mother Lucia’s death, I’ve been torn, with the only solution being prayer.
On the one hand, there’s the intense need to pray for her soul. On the other, the need to give God a piece of my mind for how she suffered after everything she’d done for me.
Now, I’m on my knees for a whole different reason, and Ivan walked in on me.
I’m not embarrassed; praying is what good Catholic girls do, especially those straight out of a convent.
My performance is on point. I’m mortified that I’ve developed the need to argue over him with a third party in my head—and not Chiara. She’s only adding spice to the mix.
I’m trying to smother my attraction to him while simultaneously battling to block Chiara’s teasing from some other corner in my head. At last! Isn’t this fun? Told you so. Can’t wait to see my little devout Catholic virgin spread her legs for a man so much older than her.
Who the hell am I fooling? I’m equal parts eager and petrified. Even if I want to, though, I can’t. My mind is a swamp my body can’t wade through, refusing to give me what it needs. It’s gone so far, I couldn’t sleep last night, my body too aroused with unsated need.
I’d just fuck him already, Chiara whispers in my head.
Of course you would, I whisper back.
I groan, because I have been lusting. A lot.
Overnight. The visual of his body, strong and muscular, tattooed and marked with gunshot scars, ran on repeat in my head like a movie.
His soft touch, his quiet whispers, both in such contradiction to his body, only throwing fuel on the fire.
It got so heated, I had to open my bedroom door to stop myself from pushing my hand between my legs and touching myself.
That’s something no good Catholic girl does, never mind one who grew up in a convent.
It’s no fun being a good Catholic girl…
“Oh, for God’s sake, Chiara, just shut up already,” I whisper back as I rush over to Ivan’s room.
Funny thing is, in the moment with Ivan, that pithy voice was dead quiet, as I was too into him and what he was doing to me.
Katya wails ever louder, and I’m grateful for something to take my mind off a need that’s never bulldozed me like this before and to block any witty remarks in-my-head Chiara throws at me.
“Here, sweetheart,” I murmur as I rush into the treasure chest where Irisha is sitting up in bed, still sleep-dazed, staring at her little sister.
“I want Papa,” she whines in Russian.
Me, too zaps through my mind, and I suppress a snarky laugh. The Devil’s still at work this morning despite all my prayers. I have to bite my tongue to not respond, here where I’m alone with the girls, in their mother tongue.
“I’m here, Katya,” I say, sitting down on the bed. “Papa had to go to work.” Ha! And that is God’s work. Separating me from my temptation.
That Ivan is gone seems to upset Katya even more. She breaks down in sobs but clings to me as I wrap her little body in my arms. Irisha clambers over and settles on my other leg, pressing her face into my neck.
We’re still sitting like this, Katya slowly quieting down, Irisha sucking her thumb, when Yuri peers into the space.
Irisha pops her thumb from her mouth. “Yuri, did Papa really go to work?”
“Yes, malyshka, he will be back tonight,” he says, and then stares at me. “Get going, I have many meetings today. You can be with the girls in the conservatory while I’m on calls.”
I nod as a shudder runs through me at his heavily accented English, his cold eye and emotionless delivery of instructions. He is direct with the same glacial charm from yesterday.
“Let’s get you dressed, girls,” I say, forcing myself to be chirpier than I feel after a restless night.
Yuri is like a bucket of cold water on any desire, even if the soft swipe of Ivan’s thumb over my cheek still echoes, so tender, as if he could erase all my hurt with his mere hands.
That touch was a quiet promise, a promise I shouldn’t read anything into, but I can’t help myself.
From now on, I provide and care for everything you need, understand? Everything and anything.
Even in this, he’ll care and provide for me, and the thought makes me ache because what would it be like to belong to a man like Ivan?
Needless to say, Chiara has many things to say about that, but by nine in the morning, she’s finally shut up.
We’ve had breakfast, and I made a shopping list for Yuri to pass on to Kostya to fetch.
Apparently, we don’t do online deliveries here.
Kostya fetches anything at a moment’s notice to avoid unwanted, random packages infiltrating the house. Another security measure.
The girls are busy in the conservatory with arts and crafts.
I must make a proper study plan for them since right now, I’m just snatching at what seems easiest. I need to take stock of all the materials on hand and see what we need and how to best make use of the vast grounds surrounding the house.
There are so many opportunities here, and no, the girls don’t need to leave the compound at all, except for socializing with other kids, which is clearly not in the cards.
In my head, I’m making long-term plans, and I shouldn’t. Getting invested, starting to care for the girls, allowing them to crawl into my heart like they’re already doing, is going to be my undoing. What if I can’t walk away because of them?
Yuri is seated at the kitchen island, one eye and one ear on us.
He’s busy on his laptop, making calls I try my best not to eavesdrop.
It’s going to be a trial to hide my understanding of Russian under this man’s watch.
If he guesses my secret, who knows what he’ll do to me.
Probably hand me over to the firing squad patrolling the grounds.
Earlier, when we went outside to feed the chickens and the rabbits, I could feel eyes on us, coming from all sides.
The forest. The house. With the privacy film on the windows, I couldn’t find the eyes, but they were there.
Milana, security…who knows. I prefer to be inside the house now as it feels less like I’m in a petri dish being observed for weird behavior.
When Yuri walks into the conservatory, holding his phone out to me, I straighten where I’ve been leaning over between the girls, setting down some paint.
“It’s for you. Mr. Petrov is on the line.”
Oh, gosh. Just as I’ve managed to put him on the back burner in my mind.
“Thank you.” I take the phone. “Mr. Petrov?”
It’s Ivan, but don’t worry about it, we’ll get there.
“You don’t have your phone with you, and I want to check in.”
He’s checking in? Of course he is. “Sorry, I forgot it in my room. I’m not used to having a phone with me all the time. The girls are fine, we’re busy painting. Do you want to talk to—”
“I know. They’re safe with you. I’m wanting to make sure you’re okay. To ask if you’ve phoned your brothers.”
I take two steps to the nearest seat and sink onto it. He is worried about me. “I haven’t had time.”
“Make time. Do so now.”
“Okay.”
“Listen, I’m not going to be home tonight.”
My heart skips a beat. The good little Catholic convent girl in me sends a thank you to the Lord above. The need between my legs, which the Devil has been stoking with every rogue thought of Ivan, gives a long and yearning throb. I’m a lost cause. “The girls are expecting you home, though?”
“This is my life, moya ptichka. Prepare them. I have an apartment at the office. You will be fine, won’t you?”
“Yes…it’s just—” There’s so much I still need to learn, to get to know, to organize. This feels like a very deep end.
“Yuri is there. If you need anything, just ask.”
Yuri almost triggered me into a panic attack last night, but I can’t tell him that. He doesn’t mention Milana. Clearly, I’m not going to be officially introduced to his sister or be able to count on her for help. “What about the gate? At night? The girls can’t sleep alone?”
“Sleep in my bed. Yuri will give you the code to the gate. I prefer it that way.”
In his bed? Madness.
But so delicious. Chiara giggles.
Totally, I agree.
I want to slap the voice in my head. “Will you be back tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know. I’ve got to go. Phone your brothers.”
With that last instruction, he rings off. I lower the phone, heart beating wildly. How does this man make me feel seen with a simple phone call?
“Does he do this often?” I ask Yuri. “Stay at work for the night?”
Yuri just gives me that cold stare as he takes his phone. “He is a businessman. He does what he needs to do to get the job done. After hours is after hours. None of my business.”
Right. That went down a path I didn’t expect from Grandpa here, but the idea of Ivan spending the night with another woman… It leaves me cold. I clearly need the distance. Especially after what happened last night and this morning. Especially since he is going to have a wife.
“I have all your brothers’ numbers. Who do you want to call? Matteo? Dominic?”
“Dominic,” I say, not thinking twice. I’ve spent much more time with him than I did with any of my other brothers.
“Here.” Yuri hands me his phone. “It’s ringing.”
“Those are so good, girls,” I say, giving their activity a once-over.
Irisha is concentrating very hard in doing black outlines on whatever person she’s roughly painting.
Katya is busy painting her hand and using it as a stencil to print patterns in different colors.
It looks quite artistic for a fumbling three-year-old, and she’s extra cute with the tip of her tongue sticking out as she paints the lines of her fingers.
“Thank you.” I walk a few steps away, to the veggies trellised by the one glass wall. “Dominic? It’s Gabriella,” I say in Italian when he answers.
“Thank God, Gabi, we’ve been worried,” he says, his voice strained. “How are you? Are you safe? What’s happened?”
“Everything is fine. The girls are wonderful. They are crawling into my heart at speed.”
“Good. And Petrov? How is he treating you?”
“He’s fine, very busy. He’s been working, so hasn’t been around a lot,” I say, knowing that even the slightest pause will make Dominic assume things he shouldn’t. I don’t need my brothers rushing to my aid or messing with my plans. “He’s been the perfect gentleman in every sense of the word.”
“Okay. Good, very good.”
I can almost hear how he deflates over the phone. “It’s all going to be fine, Nicky.”
“Well, keep us posted. If you can call every day, even better.”
“I’ll try to message and call, but to be honest, the two girls keep me busy.” Kids are, after all, a full-time job, especially at this age.
“I understand.”
I clear my throat. I must ask, even if I’m not going to like the answer. I dread to learn what the outcome of Mother Lucia’s torture was.
If she gave away where I went, that I left Italy with my American brothers, it would be just a matter of time until that Russian comes looking for me here. If she didn’t say a word, then the hunt will go on in whichever form it takes, and similar deaths will make headlines.
I brace myself. “What news is there from Italy?” I ask, tentatively, testing the water. It’s not as if Dominic or any of the others know about my suspicions regarding Mother Lucia’s death.
“Everybody is doing well. Stephano and Gigi are fine, Don Trapani is in good shape, better every day, actually—”
“That’s good,” I say, somewhat relieved. If Mother Lucia spilled the beans about my American brothers, all roads could lead to Stephano and the Trapanis. I already hate myself for it. “What about church news? I mean, is there anything more like what happened to Mother Lucia?”
For what feels like an eternal beat, Dominic is quiet. “Why are you asking, cara? Wasn’t what happened bad enough?”
I close my eyes. I’m still digesting, keeping up a massive front. “Yes, but our community…we were all sisters, and if the perpetrators are caught, or if they are still at liberty to carry on—”
“There’s been nothing more, cara. No more murders. The latest news is that they’ve apprehended two men, refugees, who seem to have been involved.”
My stomach fists. More innocent people who will pay the price for me. “I see. That’s great news. Thank you.”
We touch on a few more things while I try my best to hide my inner turmoil, but when Katya tugs at my hand, I have the perfect excuse to cut the call.
“I’ve got to go, Nicky. The girls need me, and I’m trying to contain the mess.”
He gives a dry chuckle. “We’ll chat again later. Let us know—”
“Yes, I will. Thank you. Bye.”
As I hand Yuri his phone back, I couldn’t be more grateful. His one eye burned into my back the whole duration of the call, watching me.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I say, pinching the wet page between two fingers to take it from her.
“I messed it up,” Katya whimpers, tears shallow in her voice.
“No, you haven’t, sweetie. This is perfect.” I glance up at Yuri where he stands close by. I might have spoken in Italian with Dominic, but Yuri’s read my body language like a book. I’ll have to keep my wits about me around this man or he’ll be on to me.
I force my attention to Katya’s art. Many prints of messy blue and green hands, but the last one is a violent red, blotchy and thick where she planted her palm on the page and dragged her fingers along, making a child-sized hand stain that looks like blood dragged to the last corner of pure white on the paper.
My stomach turns. It looks like a premonition.