Chapter Forty
In which a Dark Lord of the Underworld needs an equally dark wife.
Vadim…
"We hoped to wait until you were healthy enough to close the doors of the shipping container yourself," Grandfather says, disappointment heavy in his words.
"Your injuries were too severe. A collapsed lung, six broken ribs, the jaw fracture, the back lacerations from the whip, and...
" His jaw tightened and it took him a minute to continue.
"The burn from the poker they shoved into your thigh. "
Father smiles, and it's not pleasant. "We did set up a camera inside, should you ever want to watch any of the footage.
The captain uploads the footage and sends it to one of our servers every night.
" His smile sharpens even more, showing the points of his canines, like a wolf.
"We kept most of the men who tortured you alive - not in good shape, mind you - but they were alive when we put them into the container.
"It's been two weeks since the cargo ship sailed to the Northern Sea Route. The captain knows to drop the container out in international waters before making port."
I've finally been released from the hospital and we are back in the Moscow penthouse, though it feels less like home to me now.
I'm still confined to my fucking bed, aside from slow walks around the place every few hours.
All these multiple entries and hidden passageways are much less desirable when it takes longer to find my wife.
But the sight of Oksana weeping in terror when I pulled out my IV tubes was enough to force me to play patient for a few more days.
I'm willing to endure it because after the medical personnel, guards, and family members finally leave each day, she crawls into bed with me and we talk.
About returning to the States. Back home, to Chicago.
We talk about Charon and Zlo, and galloping along one of the trails in the forest behind our house.
Grandfather flew to Chicago to oversee production on the ghost guns while I have been trapped in this goddamned bed. I receive messages daily from Ivan and Natalia, the chief engineer, plaintively asking when I'll be back. It is a given that my grandfather's presence is never reassuring.
I'm sure they're deeply relieved that he has returned to Moscow today for a Council of the Six. The Morozovs have also been invited as the most powerful Bratva from St. Petersburg.
"Why the meeting?" I ask. "Traditionally the Pakhans do not like to meet together because of the security risk."
"For this gathering?" Father shakes his head. "There is a level of security that surpasses anything that Putin, the King of England, and the President of the United States combined could achieve."
"Has there been any pushback from the families who lost someone in that pathetic crew of wife-beaters?"
He shrugs. "Some noise from a couple of the cartels, but they know better than to push it.
The Irish immediately disavowed any connection with Murphy.
The MacTavishes were instrumental in getting the Irish to agree to step back.
" Father smiles cynically. "The Italians, who started this shit in the first place, now want to meet to discuss and I quote, 'how to move past this'. "
The door opens, and I hope it will be Oksana. Instead, it's my cousins, Dmitri, and Andrey.
"Vadim, our beloved cousin," Dimitri says gravely, but with a slight grin tugging on the corner of his mouth. "Your lovely bride has made it clear that if we stay longer than ten minutes, she's going to stab us. She was very descriptive about where the knife would go."
I love my wife.
“When a woman is capable of shooting her own father in the face, it is best to take her seriously,” I agreed.
"Before the summit this afternoon," Andrey says. "We want to present a possible solution for those who feel their private family issues should not be exposed to the entire crime world."
"If they're beating their wives and selling their children," Grandfather rumbles, "they deserve so much more than being exposed."
"We're proposing that anyone in our world can present a petition for protection or relief.
Or, a defense against the same," Andrey says, as animated as I've ever seen him.
He does love creating solutions. "It will not be something taken lightly.
Penalties for anyone involved in a petition could be very severe.
Death, disfigurement. There's many options. "
Andrey says this in the same tone he’d use to talk about what he’s having for lunch, or the color of the tie he selected when he got dressed today.
"A tribunal of sorts?" I ask.
"Exactly. Members will be selected from each of the key families and designated to represent each region of power. From the Yakuza to the Bratva, the Mafia and the Syndicates," Dmitri says.
My gaze moves back to Andrey. "I feel certain that you, our New York State Supreme Court Justice, was the one to present this idea."
He bows his head gracefully with a hint of a smile.
When the door opens again, my wife is standing there, murder in her eyes. One hand is on the doorknob, but I can't see her other one, and I wonder if she's hiding something. My favorite knife, perhaps.
"We'll take our leave," Dmitri says dryly.
Dedushka rises, nodding to my father who stands as well. "You need rest," he says, squeezing my shoulder, one of the few uninjured spots on my body. "We'll speak later."
As they pass my bride, she nods in respect with a warm smile.
When they're finally gone, she closes the door and hurries over to me. "You must be exhausted, moya milaya."
"Not exhausted," I say. "Starving."
Oksana turns back, heading for the door. "I made beef stroganoff, I'll be right -"
"Not for food."
Here comes that delicious rose pink on her skin as she blushes. "We're not doing that again!" she hisses, looking at the door as if someone is listening. "I could have smothered you. You wouldn't have been able to push me off. I'm pretty sure if the rest of the family knew they would shoot me."
I crook two fingers, beckoning her closer.
Oh, my bride is wavering, I can see it. She's looking at my chest, bare except for a swath of bandages and I reach down to squeeze my dick, already hard in my sweats.
"Vadim…"
"Do I have to get up?" I reach for the IV in my hand and she darts forward.
"Don't you dare!" she gasps.
She's close enough now for me to take her wrist and gently pull her closer. Keeping her gaze, I slide my other hand up her smooth thigh and under her dress. Frowning when I find a scrap of cotton blocking my fingers, I say, "Step back and take them off."
Watching her hands slide her dress up is the worst kind of torture. When her fingers hook on the band of her panties and pull them down, I have to squeeze my dick harder. Sliding them off her ankles, Oksana looks alarmed when I hold out my hand for them, but she reluctantly hands them over.
Just as I thought, they're already wet. Pressing the cloth to my nose, I let out a growl before sliding them under my pillow. I can still smell her sweet scent and it’s making me feral with need. "Take off your dress."
Each inch of skin revealed to me is beautiful, her long legs, toned from years of riding, her soft belly and pert, round breasts. Prettiest of all is her hair settling around her shoulders after pulling the dress over her head and dropping it on the floor.
Wrapping my arm around her waist to hold her still, I slide two fingers inside her.
"So wet," I say. "So good for me." One of her hands wraps around mine, feeling my wrist flex as I toy with her pussy, my thumb circling her clit, pushing my fingertips against her satiny walls, finding that spot that makes her knees weak and she sways closer.
"If I scratched this spot inside you, how would it feel?
" I ask idly, letting go of her waist and putting my hand behind my head.
Her lashes flutter and she lets out a whimper, held in place with only my fingers shoved in her pussy.
"Not hard. Lightly." I slide the tip of my nail over that swollen patch inside her and she lets out a choked gasp.
"That sounds like approval," I murmur, running both fingernails against it. Her knuckles turn white, gripping my wrist. I don't think she's aware that she's pushing my fingers inside her harder.
This is what gives me the greatest pleasure, watching my bride carefully, noting her breathing, her pulse speeding up.
Just before she can let out that little, desperate breath that signals she's coming, I pull my fingers out, shoving them into her mouth, hooking them against her teeth and pulling her down to me.
"Climb on," I say, pushing my pillow flat. "If you want to come, you're going to have to work for it."
There's something that sounds like a growl from her, but my Oksana is already straddling me, using her knees to position her spread pussy over my mouth.
"Fuck, so pink and swollen," I growl. "You're wet down to your thighs.
" Brushing a knuckle over her clit then pushing it hard, I watch her hands fly to the headboard, gripping it tight.
For the first couple of weeks in the hospital, several of my fingers were numb, and I spent hours squeezing a stress ball, willing the nerves to regenerate.
This is my reward, feeling the soft globes of her ass as I hold them in my palms, squeezing them, pulling her pussy against my mouth.
I give her a long, filthy lick from her clit to her channel and back, sucking her lips into my mouth, nibbling them with my teeth.
"How can this be so good?" Oksana moans. "I'm scared I'm going to kill you and I still don't want you to stop."
I pull away from her cunt long enough to tell her, "You can't hurt me.
Now rub this greedy little pussy all over my face.
There's a reason I didn't shave this morning.
" I give her a dark smile. "You like my stubble, so rub on it.
Get yourself off. Tak sladko i gryazno, so sweet and dirty, aren't you? "
She's mine now, all her resistance and common sense is gone, and my bride is writhing on me, back arched and twisting her hips as I push my chin up against her opening. "Your pussy is so swollen, so close now, aren't you? Come on me. Soak my face."
Squeezing her ass harder, I chuckle internally as her needy cunt pushes down on my mouth and my nose. In seconds, my girl detonates, crying out and moaning, tears on her cheeks, and I slide my fingers back inside her. Her cunt is pulsing against them, squeezing my fingers.
"Better now, hmm?" I ask, helping her get settled on my (slightly) less injured side, her knee drawn over my thigh and her hand tracing one of my tattoos.
"Selfish," she sighs. "I haven't done anything for you."
Pulling her hand down, I rest it over my cock and the wet spot on my sweatpants. "You made me come in my fucking joggers." I bite her ear. "I haven't done that since I was a teenager."
Laughing helplessly, Oksana kisses my tattoo, one of my bandages and then my mouth.
The last rays of the afternoon sun are reaching golden and red fingers into the bedroom, illuminating her blonde hair, making her glow.
Almost an angel.
Taking my phone off the bedside table, I rest it on my chest. "You were listening when my grandfather and father were here."
Cringing slightly, she asks, "How did you know?"
"I could see your reflection in the terrace windows," I say, kissing her forehead. "So, you know what was done to the hunters, and several of the men involved in your kidnapping."
She looks up at me, her lips pressed into a flat, angry line. "Far more importantly, the men involved in torturing you."
"Then you know there's a surveillance camera inside the shipping container," I say.
"When they realize they're stacked in the cargo hold of the ship with fifty other containers and no one to hear them screaming, I suspect it will be compelling viewing.
" I hold my phone up. "Would you like to watch a few minutes with me? "
Now, my soft, pink-cheeked angel turns into the Queen of the Underworld, her eyes darkening to slate gray and I see the fury simmering there. Her smile is small, and vulpine.
"Just a few minutes," she says. Delicate or not, Oksana is unafraid of seeing or even doing what it takes to make our families - to make us - safe. I can share with her all of me and she will never look away.
She scoots a little closer to me as I pull up the video feed and press play.
***
moya milaya - Russian for my sweetheart