Chapter Eight

Celia

This time when I wake up the room is in a soft glow from the lamp at the small desk. Milos is at the desk. He’s looking at his phone, I blink and his eyes meet mine.

He changed. Ever in black, a long-sleeve black T-shirt and black jeans cling to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than when I woke up the last time,” I admit.

“Good. I heard you fell.” An eyebrow is up. It’s clear he’s not pleased.

I shrug as I try to sit up. “Nothing was hurt but my pride.”

“I should not have left you on your own so soon.”

“You could hardly stay by my side the entire time I’m here,” I mumble, only to watch him stiffen. He has been, I can hardly believe it. Since he picked me up off the dirt road, he’s been at my side.

Shaking my head in confusion, “I thought…you said Keith…”

“As much as I wanted to be the one to make him regret ever touching you, it was not me that tortured him. I left it to Peter. You worried me with your inability to wake when the doctor said you should. However, if I had not left to end him the way I wanted to earlier, he would have died on his own. I did not want that.” The words are so calm considering his eyes are arctic cold.

How am I completely unbothered by him talking of killing a man? All I’m wondering about is what might be wrong for me not to wake up. “I wouldn’t wake up?”

He shakes his head. “No, the doctor was sure you would as all tests indicated you should. He was concerned and wanted to stop the drip IV of painkiller. Since your pain ran so deep, I refused to let him cut off the pain relief. I wanted to give you at least a day of respite.”

“You didn’t take me to the hospital?” I wince at how loud the question comes out of me. It’s not fair to him, mafia doesn’t do hospitals.

“I wanted to but he persuaded me against it. We took you to his practice where he has an MRI machine. The only broken skin you had was your cheek, lip, and forehead.” It’s an apology.

An MRI machine in a doctor’s office? I nod. “I’m sorry. It’s fine. I get it. Mafia, Italian or Russian, doesn’t go to the ER.”

Milos is up, only inches from the bed. “I ordered the car to the closest emergency room only for him to assure me they could do nothing for you he couldn’t, and he could do it quicker.”

“I understand. I do. I shouldn’t have gotten...I get it. I’m not complaining.” I reach for his hand, he seems upset. I hate I made him feel that way after all he’s done for me. He takes it, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” His other hand is under my chin, drawing my eyes to his.

“For adding one more sin to all your others. I—”

A chuckle comes out of him, he squeezes my hand then brings the back of it to his lips the way he had earlier. “Thank you for worrying about my eternal soul. However, believe me when I say it was dark long before today by choice. My only regret was not being the one to torture him to within hours of his life. I told Peter I wanted him to pay for days, I meant more than a day and a half.”

I am my father’s daughter, because I cannot dredge up a single ounce of remorse for hearing what they put Keith through before Milos killed him. And nothing at all but satisfaction to hear he’s dead. Carlo had said once the mafia took out the trash of the world—for the most part if you were an innocent, you never knew where they were or saw their face at the same time they held a weapon.

“Still, I have to say I’m sorry. I’ll leave it up to you what you do with it.”

He chuckles. “I will take your sorry if you tell me what you want for dinner. You managed to sleep through lunch.”

His chuckle skims up my tummy, filling me with heat. I shrug. “I can’t think of anything.”

“My chef is excellent. He does several dishes well. His demand of a pizza oven is Aleksander’s favorite. He also does any pasta dish you can think of, as well as chicken parmigiana.”

“Oh, I love chicken parmigiana, it’s one of my favorites. While I like pizza, it doesn’t sound good right now.” I’m not even a hundred percent certain I want the chicken parmigiana, but it’s been months since I had it.

Nodding, he pulls his phone out. “What would you like as a vegetable side, green beans, Brussel sprouts, broccoli, or carrots?”

I frown, none of them. I’m not a huge vegetable eater. A dark eyebrow goes up, telling me my only option is to choose one. “Carrots, please.”

Once again, I’m in awe at the rapid French that comes from Milos as he speaks on the phone. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Six,” he says with a shrug, as if it were no big deal.

“Six? I’m ridiculously proud of myself for three—Italian, Spanish, and English. What are they?”

“You know most of them now. Russian, Italian, Spanish, French, Chechen, Turkish. The ones that will help me most in business. I hear you’re learning Russian. When I spoke with your roommate, I mentioned my surprise you murmured Russian in your sleep.” His smile is knowing.

I blush and force a shrug. “I already know the most common languages spoken in Chicago. It was a business decision. German was during a required class, so it was Russian or Chinese, and Chinese seemed way too hard.” I realize I’m babbling. “I have to pee.”

A small smile then he’s turning away, grabbing something at the bottom of the bed. As he hands it to me I realize it’s a pretty silk white robe. “Put it on, I had no idea the nightgown was so…” His eyes run over me with heat that scorches me. Then he’s turning away.

The heat turns me into fumbling mess, it takes a few tries before I get both hands inside the sleeves. I scoot to the edge of the bed. The sheet and comforter are pulled from my hand by Milos. I’m up in his arms. I open my mouth to protest but I don’t want to—all I want to do is cling tighter to him.

My heart is pounding so hard against my rib cage it aches, and my stomach is tumbling at a thousand turns a second. Too soon he’s sliding me down his hard, long body and oh god, everything, absolutely everything in me melts in the fire raging inside me.

His large hands are on my waist, holding me up. “Are you good to stand?” is whispered over my hair. I shake my head. A hiss comes out of him as I can’t believe his body goes even harder against me. “Kotyonok, you are still weak. Too weak for what you’re inviting.”

Face flaming, I force my legs to take my weight. Letting go of Milos, I can’t bear to look up as I step back and hate the way I sway. His hands tighten around my waist. Shaking my head, I step back and push against the wall of his chest. He’s immovable.

“I can stand.” I force the words out between my teeth.

He sighs as he lets me go. “Call me if you need me.”

I nod, keeping my head down. I’m grateful when he closes the door behind him with the lightest of clicks.

Done. I spend far too long washing my hands then my face, wincing as I see how awful I look. No wonder Milos could barely stand to look at me.

He was being nice and I was clinging to him like an idiot. He’d saved me and I was repaying him by forcing myself on him. Poor guy.

When I open the door Milos is less than a foot away. He reaches for me, I step back. I don’t understand why he reacts as if I smacked him. Fear at the flash of anger in him sends me another step back—right into the wall.

A firm hand wraps around my arm, steadying me. “Careful. Come.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to go back to bed. I can’t take another minute in it.” He sighs. “Please.”

“All right.” He guides me across the room toward the French doors. “It’s nice and cool out tonight.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. The balcony is huge and wide, running the length of the room. “It’s beautiful. How many acres do you have?” I ask as I take in the huge expanse of thick green trees running the perimeter. It isn’t easy to see everything in early twilight. The enormous, enclosed pool that looks like something at a five-star hotel is only visible because it’s lit up all the way around it.

“Not as many as it appears, seven. Due to security we would prefer more, we have purchased properties around us over the years.” Milos smiles as he pulls out my chair and keeps hold of my arm until I’m settled into the thick padded chair. While it could easily seat four people, there are only two chairs across from each other.

“How long have you lived here?” I do my best to keep my eyes off him.

“I grew up here. My father bought it before I was born when he married my mother. She wanted ten children, so he needed a home big enough to house all of them.”

“You have nine brothers and sisters?” I gasp.

A small chuckle. “No, only five—all brothers. My mother had an issue delivering my youngest brother and an emergency hysterectomy was done.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.”

Wide shoulders lift. “She was bereft at first, but she did have six children all under the age of ten, so she had her hands full.”

“She’s still alive?” I find it hard to believe Milos was once a baby. Anything other than this fully formed, enormous, imposing man doesn’t compute.

“Very much so. As I said, this is the family home. She lives here. As do I and my two brothers who are here in Chicago—on occasion. My brothers in Philadelphia will often stay when they visit her.” A brief knock sounds. “Come,” Milos calls out.

The woman is back with another cart that she pushes across the room to us. She settles chicken parmigiana on a pile of thin spaghetti and a side of baby carrots covered in some kind of glaze in front of me.

On Milos’s plate is a juicy stuffed pork chop between the same carrots I have and steamed broccoli. “My chef likes to show off. It’s rare for me to eat at home. Usually he cooks for staff who he calls heathens, and my mother is not impressed with anything.”

“Staff? How big is your home? It feels large, obviously—this room and bathroom are half the size of the house I grew up in. How far north of Chicago are we?” I’m curious and wonder if he’ll show me the place.

He shrugs. “An hour north. There are more than twenty rooms to be maintained so we have three maids, two who live in and the other fills in as needed, like when one of my brothers come to visit. When that happens my other two brothers who are in the city stay here. It’s also an issue of security, I have eight guards here full time, four of them live-in and a further six who will come in as needed.”

“So your brothers don’t live here full-time?” I want to know everything about Milos, including his family. Hm, these carrots are tasty—there is a sweet glaze of maybe honey or syrup on them.

A small chuckle heats my skin. “They prefer their condos in the city. It’s easier to bring women home.”

Heat floods my face. Even though I’m dying to ask him if he has a place in the city, I don’t dare. “When your brothers come to visit? You mentioned Philadelphia, right?”

“Yes, three of my brothers are in Philadelphia where they run our family’s interests. My younger brother is the pakhan there, with my two other brothers supporting him the same way two of my brothers do me.”

I might have done a ton of research on the Bratva after I met him, and know the pakhan is basically the equivalent of the Don to Italian mafia. With two spies as his underbosses, their capos were called brigadier and their soldiers bratok. “I thought you headed your family. Why is he also a pakhan?”

One broad shoulder lifts. “I do head our family. And among our family it’s known that for any major issue Vasily is to consult with me and will follow any decision I make. However, with the various mafia we deal with we found it best for him to have the title of pakhan as titles are such a big deal to everyone. I have complete trust in Vasily. He wouldn’t be allowed to run our interests if not just me but all my brothers didn’t all trust in his ability.”

“So do you have the tattoos?”

I can’t help from running my eyes over his chest. I’m not sure why I’m disappointed when he shakes his head. “I have many tattoos but they are all hidden. I need to maintain the bland businessman portrayal. They are also not in the old style of your body being your testimony of deeds. My father would not allow it—too easy for the Feds to take note, then try and pin crimes to us. So I have a lion of our name, the same as my brothers. As well as several I like.” A small, wicked smile. “I was surprised to find your tattoo. Although I guess I should not have been.”

Now I’m blushing again. The tattoo is a silhouette of cat in all black—two dimensional, but it has yellow eyes. It’s on my right hip where no one is supposed to see. “That’s very ungentlemanly.”

Actual laughter comes out of him that skims down my tummy to the apex of my thighs, leaving me wet and aching. “I do believe it has been established I am no gentleman. I was not willing to leave you alone with the doctor who was intent on finding all your pains.”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe how stupid I was. Going to see miniature horses. What pisses me off is I swear I would never have been that dumb if it happened in Chicago. There was something about him that niggled at me the moment he said something. It’s just…”

“Just what, kotyonok?” Those yellow eyes are soft as they study me.

“Outside of Chicago and on a college campus meant outside of the Outfit. It meant less of the scary things that I grew up fearing. But that’s a lie. They hide their intent, but they are no less evil or out to hurt—I’ve talked to two girls already who have been raped since I got there.”

His strong jaw clenches tight. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to see the good in people. It is their wrong for being evil, not you.”

I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but for some reason I feel worse. Does he see it?

“Talk to me, kotyonok. Tell me, have you enjoyed school so far?” It’s an order.

Shrugging, I cut another piece of the yummy chicken parmigiana. “I failed a couple of classes so I don’t get to take time off this summer. Which is why I’m studying during spring break while everyone is partying. I decided to make them up over the summer so I’m not behind. And I found a roommate, he’s so sweet. He mentioned his family knows yours but he said he’d only met you once before. You talked to him, Sergei?”

A stiff nod makes me wonder if he didn’t like Sergei’s father or something. “Yes, his father and I have done business in the past. He’s a nice enough young man. Although he should have kept a better eye on you—”

“It wasn’t his fault. The poor guy has the flu. He’s the sweetest. He’ll feel awful enough for the both of us. I’m so grateful for Sergei. That reminds me, I really should check on him. I hope he’s okay.” I wonder where my phone is.

“He was feeling better when he called to check on you. Do not be concerned for him. It is yourself you should focus on,” Milos commands.

“I’m feeling better too. In fact I’m feeling so much better I’m starting to stress about all the studying I’m missing without having my books and everything.” I sigh.

“Your things are here. You will get everything back at the end of next week. Once you’re healed.”

I’m shaking my head. “I can’t stay here that long. I’m feeling better.”

“Allow the doctor to take another look at you and we’ll see what he says.” The words are short.

It isn’t easy not to sigh. “Milos, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I’m really feeling better. In fact, I could even go back tonight. I hate being a bother to you.”

An eyebrow goes up. “You are not bothering me. You are here because you need to be. You should care more for yourself. We’ll see what the doctor says tomorrow. The discussion is closed. Eat your carrots.”

The urge to argue is high, but I can’t bring myself to. Because darn it, I’m already getting tired. I stab a baby carrot with my fork and chew. Something hits me. “Is your mom okay with me here?”

He chuckles. “My mother is out of town for the week, visiting my brothers in Philadelphia. Mainly my nephew, her only grandchild. She will spoil my nephew and badger my brothers until they take her to New York for a few shows. Ensuring they take time off they never would without her pushing them to.”

“That’s great that she leaves the house and everything. My mom never leaves except to go to Carlo’s. Carlo’s only real taking her out thing is to the movies and for lunch or dinner at his restaurant. Even though when he goes to events to do the handshaking thing, he always takes his girlfriend.” I’m not hungry anymore. I push my plate away.

“If you finish your carrots I will allow you to have a very large piece of the tiramisu Chef made,” he offers.

“How did you know my favorite dessert is tiramisu?” I’m shocked.

One large shoulder lifts. “Your roommate told me. He babbled on about your likes, dislikes and needs.”

I laugh. “Sergei tends to babble. I think it’s what I like about him most. We both babble and neither one of us gets annoyed with the other that we do it.”

A woman brings in the two plates of tiramisu then removes our dinner plates.

We spend dessert talking about favorite movies. Milos hasn’t watched many of the newer ones—his mother was a lover of classic movies she watched to learn English. He shrugged, he preferred to read with what little free time he had. I find out he reads mysteries and thrillers—several I have as well. We even share a favorite author who has had several of his books made into movies.

“Oh, I really want to watch the latest. I’m dying to see how they turned it into a movie. Usually the movie ruins the book for me, but somehow the movies of his books have been really good.”

“Tomorrow, if you are good, I will order it for you to watch,” he offers.

I’m wary of his definition of good. “What would being good include?”

Laughter pours out of him so rich it leaves me smiling to hear it. “Getting plenty of rest tonight, eating your breakfast and if the doctor says you need more rest, you do it here where I can take care of you.”

“Okay, but only if you watch it with me.” Then I realize how that sounds. “I mean, if you have time or—”

That barely there smile twists me up inside. “I would like very much to watch it with you. Now, I’d better leave you so you can get some sleep. You appear to be wilting as we speak.”

I allow the yawn I’ve been holding in to escape. “I am more tired than I thought I would be. I’ll try not to fall asleep in the bath. Is there by any chance another of these nightgowns I could use?”

Yellow eyes run over me as he shakes his head. “I only bought the one for you. I will call the nurse who has been watching over you to help you.”

“I don’t need the nurse. I’m not fussy. If you could loan me one of your shirts, I’d be happy with that.”

An eyebrow goes up. “You will have the nurse in case you need help, you could easily fall and hurt yourself. In exchange for one of my shirts you allow the nurse to assist you.”

I pout, I don’t want someone helping me bathe and seeing how fat I am. “Fine.” Because I can’t not take a bath now that I’ve thought of it.

“Good girl.” The murmured words are low and husky and glide over my tummy, leaving heat where only Milos can. “I will go get your shirt.”

I push up from the table when he comes back. He lays a white dress shirt as well as a white undershirt on the bed. “I wasn’t sure which you would prefer.”

“I didn’t know you had anything white. I thought all your shirts were black,” I muse as I study the large white dress shirt.

He chuckles. “I have them. There are even occasions when I wear them. Although I prefer the black.”

I study him. “They fit you better.”

Yellow flares to life, and oh god, I think my bones are melting.

A woman appears. “You are ready for a bath?”

Tearing my eyes from Milos, I nod. “Yes, thank you.”

“I will leave you. Rest. If you need anything at all, remember to press the button by your bed.” Then he’s gone.

Thankfully, the woman is nice and understands when I ask her to just help me in but leave me alone to bathe. She refuses to leave the bathroom but sits turned away at the edge of the bath. Although the huge bath is one I would love to enjoy soaking in, I can’t bring myself to do more than wash quickly and get out.

She helps me out of the bathtub then she leaves me alone for the night, wrapped in a fluffy robe. I climb onto the big bed and study the two shirts he brought. I bring the soft undershirt up to my nose. Hm, it smells kind of like him. It’s softer than the fine linen of the dress shirt. The dress shirt would swamp me completely. I go with the soft undershirt, only to find out it’s so fine it’s almost see through. Okay, sleep in it then when I want to get up and move around, I’ll throw on the dress shirt, I promise myself.

As I get into bed, I long to think of tonight and go every minute I spent with Milos. But I barely have the covers over me before sleep overtakes me.