Kirill And Lucy bonus stories
Some years later…
Lucy
“Mama, look it!”
I had been looking. I was lounging under an umbrella, sprawled on a beach towel, and kept a watchful eye on Violet. My two-year-old was busy renovating the sandcastle Kirill and Damien had built this morning. Violet was a headstrong little girl who her Papa had declared was just like me. Meanwhile our five-year-old son was more like Kirill. Damien had taken to being protective of his sister the second she was born.
“Mama,” Violet repeated petulantly. I laughed, too comfortable lying on top of the warm towel to get up, but her rosebud pouty lips were too cute to ignore. I groaned dramatically and crawled on top of the towel into the late afternoon sun.
“You skipped your nap, pumpkin,” I told her. Violet was squatting with her back to the ocean. The rolling waves thirty feet away gently washed up the shore. She was wearing her frilly hot pink polka dot bathing suit—her choice—with chubby arms and thighs sticking out so adorably.
“But, Mama,” she repeated. “Look it.”
“I’m looking, baby.” Then I laughed. “You decided the castle needed a moat around it.”
She drew her brows together. “No. Pool.”
She pointed to the ocean. “Water.”
“You want me to put water in it?”
She nodded vigorously.
“Okay, but don’t move.” I hauled my lazy ass from the sand and picked up the bucket and trudged where the waves did their blissful crashes against the shore.
I scooped the water, longing to take a dip, but Kirill forbade me and Violet to go into the ocean without him despite having guards stationed around. It was a private island in the Caribbean, previously owned by Kirill’s associate, Ahmed. My husband insisted he won it in a poker game, but I had a feeling Kirill just wanted to preserve the memories of our beach wedding here.
A few months after Kirill reestablished the Triumvirate of the Zahkarov bratva, he gifted me with my dream beach wedding. Only close family were at the ceremony. I thought Mamma would balk, but she was genuinely thrilled for me. I think my brush with death had set things in perspective. And because she didn’t make me feel guilty about the simple ceremony, I even told her she could throw us a lavish reception when we returned to the States. Which she did.
I considered our beach wedding my real one. I’d never put up the photographs of our Marriage Ink nuptials. But the photographs of our sunny wedding, which was full of smiles, happy tears, and pure candid joy, were displayed prominently in the family room. Kirill looked handsome in a linen suit, and I had my strapless white dress.
As though thoughts of my husband conjured him up, I heard Violet squeal, “Papa!”
I straightened from scooping water and shielded my eyes, looking off into the distance where two figures approached. A tall one and his mini-me beside him.
My boys.
My heart somersaulted. It might have been my trip down memory lane, but Kirill and I had fought hard for our happily ever after, which made us value who we were to each other. We had our fights. We had our clashes. He still infuriated me occasionally, but not enough for me to want to stab him anymore.He was still an overbearing man, and I was still a stubborn woman not willing to take his shit, but that frequently led to fiery make-up sex. We thrived on the power exchange and the respect that came with it.
Violet balanced on her heels and pushed herself up from her squat, and as fast as her little legs could support her, she ran toward her papa. She stumbled along the way, but she only giggled and got up again. I could definitely see the steely determination in my daughter even only at two.
The second time she fell, Kirill swooped in and scooped her up, holding her up high, and my daughter’s delighted laughter drifted amidst the sound of the waves.
My family.
I approached them. Damien ran to me with excitement on his face.
He stopped in front of me, and I tilted my head in question.
“He found you something,” Kirill said, joining me with Violet perched in the crook of his arm. When Damien turned four, he refused to be carried anymore. He was a well-rounded boy. Although he had problems in school at first, it turned out he was highly intelligent and was easily bored. That was when Kirill suggested getting him started in martial arts with the other bratva kids. I was concerned at first, but Kirill assured me it was to teach him discipline.
Damien extended his arm, flipped his fist, and opened it. I gasped with delight.
In his palm was the most gorgeous sea glass I’d ever seen. I picked it up carefully. “Oh, Damien, honey, this is so gorgeous. You found this while snorkeling?”
“Yes, there’s more, but Papa said to pick the prettiest.”
“It is beautiful, Damien.” I held it out against the setting sun. It was a big piece, around an inch and a half, matte green with faded etchings of a floral design, worn out by decades of seawater. I kissed the top of my son’s head. Even now he didn’t want to be babied and wanted to be treated as a grown-up. He was growing up too fast.
I glanced at Kirill. “Are you still looking for Ahmed’s treasure?” It was rumored that the Dubai billionaire had bought the island initially because there was a myth circulating around that a pirate ship and its bounty had sunk near here.
My husband smirked and dragged me into his arms. “I have all the treasure I need right here.”
Happy sigh. Around family, he’d been more vocal with his affection. In public, not as much. Which was fine by me. I loved my ruthless protector, and he had a reputation as pahkan to preserve in front of the bratva and keep the associates in line.
It was for our security.
In the years since he’d taken over, the bratva had become one of the most powerful not only in the U.S. but in the world and had overtaken the Moscow mob in terms of influence. My husband, in one of his unusual humble admissions, told me it was because of me. We were a team. Although, if I were honest with myself, it was because Luca and Kirill had forged a closer partnership, and it was making everyone else wary.
Dom kept Zio Luca in check; I did my part with Kirill by not letting the power go to his head.
Zio Luca, Natalya, and their kids were joining us on the island in a few days with the rest of the family, De Luccis included.
We turned around to head back to the house. Mamma had completed the renovations to the villa, and that was the reason for our huge family gathering.
“Three more days before we get invaded,” Kirill sighed.
“Oh, you’re excited to go treasure hunting with the guys,” I told him.
“Can I go, Mom?” Damien asked.
“No, you can stay with us on the boat,” I told him.
“It’s a yacht,” Kirill said dryly. “You can stay on the bridge with the captain and Ivan. We have some equipment installed to track us.”
“But it wouldn’t be as fun,” he grumbled.
“You’re too young to go scuba diving,” I told my boy.
He scowled. “I can’t wait to grow up.”
“Don’t do it too fast.” How could I tell him I wis he’d remain five forever?
Their nannies came forward with the guards.
“I’ll give Violet her bath,” I told them.
I was about to follow the kids when Kirill held me back. “How’s my baby?” he murmured, his hand splaying over my slightly rounded belly.
“He’s fine.” I tipped my chin up for his kiss and he planted a sweet one on my lips.
We were having another boy in five months. My exhaustion wasn’t like my first two pregnancies because Kirill had finally fine-tuned my diet to include the times when I was expecting. Yes, my husband was determined to keep me healthy at all costs. But also, the bratva was like a village. Everyone pitched in to raise the kids. I was never alone, and that wasn’t even considering the support I had from my De Lucci family.
“I meant you,” he whispered, gently turning me around so my softly rounded body molded to the hardness of his.
“I’m fine, although I could use a foot rub,” I teased.
“You got it, Lusenka.”
Three years later
Kirill
The heavy blue curtains drew open once more and allowed the cast of Little Red Riding Hood to take their final bow.
My daughter Violet, becoming quite the prima donna at five, won the leading role and couldn’t wait to wear the iconic red hood. She bravely and sassily spoke her lines to the big bad wolf, a boy borrowed from the fourth grade to play the villain. Another kid from the third grade was cast as the huntsman.
Although if you asked me, I would have rewritten the play to have Violet save herself. However, the school might balk at the thought of a five-year-old holding an axe.
The rest of her kindergarten class dressed up as woodland animals, trees, and forest creatures.
We all stood up to applaud them.
Damien was a proud older brother, but he fell asleep before the play began and woke up at the dramatic part at the end. Our youngest, Mason, was going through the terrible twos and stayed at home with Sorcha.
Both sets of grandparents were in attendance: Ivan and Irina; Lottie and Paulie.
You might think I’d given up my bratva duties. As much as I wanted to be in every school activity, like plays, musicals, and sports events, that was not possible. But when I promised my kids I was going to attend, nothing short of getting arrested would make me break my promise.
The bratva was a well-oiled machine nowadays. It helped that I trusted my brigadiers not to fuck shit up while I spent time with my family. I knew they appreciated their family time too. In that we’d taken a page from the Italian’s playbook. I’d seen how Luca and Dom thrived when their core families were given respect and importance.
Our crowd slowly inched forward to greet the participants. Violet launched herself into Paulie’s arms, who later surrendered her to Ivan. The two grandpas competed for my daughter’s affection. She was the only female grandchild so far. My sister had boys. Dom and Sloane had boys. There was a shortage of mafia princesses.
I craned my neck to see Lucy finally getting her chance to hug our daughter. I followed suit. But Violet’s eyes were on me.
“Papa, did you see when I said, “My, what big teeth you have?””
“That was great acting, baby,” I told her.
“I still think they should have let you kill the wolf,” Damien muttered.
“Yes!! I said to them…” Violet clung to Damien’s shirt, and the two walked ahead.
“Dinner at home?” Lucy announced to our gang.
“What did Sorcha cook?” I asked.
Lucy laughed. “Mason commandeered her time. I told her she can order delivery.”
We might have to hire a separate chef for the house. We had a legion of house staff, but Sorcha always liked to supervise dinner, especially when there were guests. Our long time housekeeper was a control freak in that manner.
“I could have offered to cook,” Lottie said.
“Me too,” Irina said.
“No.” My wife sandwiched herself between Irina and Lottie. “Tonight the adults are going to relax. I even told Sorcha to use paper plates since I invited the other kids over. We don’t need to worry about broken plates and messes tonight.”
Sounded good to me.
Much later, I finally managed to get my wife alone. Everyone had gone home, and the kids were finally settled in bed. And as much as I loved our growing family, the kids were taking up too much of her time and I was finding out three kids were the limit that I was willing to share my wife with. And at this moment, I needed my wife’s undivided attention. So, sue me. I was selfish when it came to Lucy.
It was time for an island getaway. Just the two of us.
“No more babies,” I growled as I crowded Lucy into our room and slammed the door.
We both winced and stared at each other, listening to the baby monitor listening in Mason’s room. Thankfully all the excitement of having guests around tonight wore him out.
“You’re the one who insisted on a third baby,” Lucy pointed out with a breathless laugh as I backed her against the door.
“You should have stopped me,” I groaned.
She rolled her eyes. “As if I could. You keep messing with my calendar for the shot appointment.”
After I nipped her bottom lip, I dropped to my knees, my hands sliding under her skirt to slip down her underwear. I grinned at her. “You’re gorgeous when you’re pregnant.”
But it was the sight of one-year-old Violet toddling between Lucy and Damian, holding their hands, that spurred my desire to put another baby inside my wife. I kept track of Lucy’s birth control shot. I didn’t like her putting anything unnatural in her body, but she had a husband who was constantly ravenous for her.
I inhaled her scent, nosing and kissing my way up her thighs to the core of her, and tasted her. “Delicious.”
She shuddered and moaned, “Kirill…”
Fuck, the way she said my name when she was needy.
Much later, after I’d fucked her against the wall and followed up by fucking her on the floor and from behind, we made it to the bed and collapsed on the mattress.
“Wow,” she breathed. “You really missed me.”
“You’re always busy with the cockblocker.”
My wife rolled into me and muffled her laughter against my chest. I loved my youngest, but he’d been a terror in the past two months.
“He’s more a handful than the other two, that’s all.”
Tell me about it. “We need to send him to camp.”
She pinched my ab muscle. “Too young.”
Our kids seemed to have less tolerance for regular education. They needed an outlet for the restlessness rampaging inside their systems. Being exposed to a family and organization where extreme circumstances were handled with expected levels of precision tend to yield high-achieving competitive kids. So Kolya and Sato developed a program. Basically, it was a bratva training camp, but we tried not to call it that because our wives glared at us when we did.
“That’s what worked with Damien,” I told her.
“Damien was four.”
“Too bad,” I muttered. “I’m taking you to the island for a week and informed Irina she will be taking care of Mason and Violet. Damien is sleeping over at Kolya’s, but I told Kolya to evaluate Mason. So you and I? Seven days of uninterrupted time on the beach.”
“A week? Really?”
“Yep.”
Lucy pressed her mouth against me. “I should feel guilty, but I don’t.”
“You shouldn’t.” I chuckled and brushed her hair from her face, still flushed from our multiple rounds of sex.
“I really missed you,” she whispered. She fitted her body closer, and my cock hardened again. Her hands feathered across my back, and she threw her leg across my hip and drew me into her. I would never get enough of my wife. Lucy lived inside me, deeply embedded in the husband and father I’d become.
She was the air I needed to breathe.
“I love you,” I told her. The words were easy when it came to her and our children. But nothing came easier than showing my wife the depth of my emotions.
So I did.