Lucien
When he came awake next, he waited for his eyes to get accustomed to the gloom.
Where was his woman? He thought with a frown, missing the clean, fresh smell of her body, her warmth, her soft body curled against him, ready for him…
With a start, he comprehended that he was in a totally unfamiliar place.
He was in a room; a small room and it was the smell that hit him. Unwashed clothing and human bodies.
He scowled.
Where in the f*ck was he?
*
Gradually the memories resurfaced.
The last thing he remembered was the snow. Slowly, as he lay there, he began to remember snippets of what had happened.
His quest to find Dmitri Rudenko. Leaving his woman and children behind as he headed for this remote little town in Slovakia.
His lips twisted in a grimace. When he thought of his wife, he longed to hold her soft, pliant body in his arms, to crush those sweet lips and take what she offered him, so sweetly.
*
But it had not been as easy as he had imagined it would be.
The wily Dmitri Rudenko had barricaded himself in the small house on the mountains, guarded by his trusted men led by Mihai.
He hung around for almost a month, waiting for a chance to finish the job he had begun years ago.
To kill the man who had caused so much pain to his family.
*
His mind moved to the last fight, the one that had caused him to end here, in the middle of nowhere.
Dmitri Rudenko. His hands wrapped around Lucien’s throat, as they both went flying over the edge of the precipice, into the icy water. He knew Dmitri had died, had felt the man’s head striking a rock and the loud empty scream that echoed in the cavern, drowned out by the louder sound of the water. And he could still feel the force of the cold water as he, Lucien hit it, sinking, and then, everything was a dark blur.
Making a supreme effort, he tried to sit up and grunted in surprise as he felt something around his left ankle, holding him anchored to the bed.
Chains?
Now he sat up with a roar, tearing off the smelly sheet that had been draped around his waist. Slowly he became aware of the clothes on his body, not the kind of clothes he was accustomed to wearing.
*
He was wearing a pair of pants that were too tight on his powerful thighs, his shirt had been replaced by an old one, and he wore a jacket that had been used so frequently, it had worn thin in places. He wondered for a crazed moment if Dmitri Rudenko had survived the fall and had captured him.
There was a rough bandage, caked with blood, around his chest and he remembered the fight and the fact that he had been wounded.
*
But then, the sound of a man clearing his throat nervously from the back of the room made him spin around in fury.
Lucien Delano scrambled out of the bed, standing, powerful fists clenched, unaware of the savage picture he presented. With his white hair and his grey beard, the muscular physique of his body exposed, and his chest matted with grey hair, he looked like an enraged caveman as he erupted in a howl of pure fury when he tried to take a step forward.
He could not move more than a step away.
The chain attached to his ankle was thick and rusty but firm and padlocked. He could only manage a few steps to the side, that was all. He tottered and roared again, trying to free himself. The bandage around his cheat was stained with red as his wound bled again but he was oblivious to the pain in his struggle, his desperation to get away.
*
Aiyana
She watched cynically as Schwartz almost fell off the bed in his excitement. The emotions chased across his face.
“Proserpina?’ he repeated incredulously,’ here?’
But his face held an anticipation that left her feeling peeved and irritated.
“Why?’ he repeated again, turning to meet her cold gaze.
“She thinks her husband is alive. She has come to search for him, herself. A man who has been declared dead.’
This time, Aiyana could not keep the nasty edge of contempt out of her tone.
Schwartz turned to meet her eyes, coldly.
“Have you ever loved Anyone, ever, Aiyana Laughing Water?’ he asked in a dangerously soft voice, almost pityingly.
*
Lucien
The room was dark, and the voice came from somewhere in the bowels of the room. He could. vaguely make out shapes of furniture, a cramped room with the windows shut tightly to keep out the cold.
The smell that hung in the air was almost suffocating. But then, the sound of a man clearing his throat nervously from the back of the room made him spin around in fury.
An old man was speaking in a rasping voice in the local dialect, causing him to listen carefully, his eyes glittering with rage.
‘No, no,’ croaked the man,’ Do not even try. She has tied you up here. Forever.’
And as Lucien raised his head to stare, pale eyes glittering in the dim light that fell in through a skylight above them, the old man coughed.
After a while, he regained his breath and went on, tiredly.
“She will be back, ‘ said the old man almost apologetically, “And she will not be happy if you are caught trying to escape.’
*
Aiyana
If he had delivered a body blow to her, it could not have had a greater impact.
She shrank, feeling small and dirty.
Sighing, she turned away, unable to meet the keen, green eyes of the sniper.
He was right. She had loved her late husband, but not in an all-encompassing way; not in the way, the passionate, all-encompassing manner in which the Boss loved his wife, and Proserpina in return, adored him. The sparks were there for everyone to see when they were together. It was not only a physical thing, although it was obvious that the man could not keep his hands off his Woman. He kept kissing her, touching her all the while, even as she blushed and pushed his seeking hands away.
On more than one occasion, she had seen him drag his lovely Woman out of the room only to return a few hours later, looking triumphant and satisfied, with Proserpina beside him, her face flushed, mouth swollen and hair tousled.
No guesses for knowing what they had been up to, Grace had cackled gleefully once as Proserpina headed their way.
In the broom cupboard, maybe, she had added, winking at Proserpina, who had turned pink.
But the physical fire they shared was not the only thing. There was a deeper bond here.
No, it was the way his eyes kept seeking her out when they were in a room, glancing at her for confirmation, in spite of his being such a deadly gangster. And she, with her softness and loving presence, was the perfect foil to the rough Mafia Don.
*
Yes, it was petty of her to have said that.
Numbly, she stood up to leave, but he gripped her hand.
“Aiyana,’ he said gently,’ I love you. I love you as a friend. But yes, I love Proserpina, I always will, although she may never know just how much I care for her.’
He smiled again, that rakish smile, with a touch of the mischievous Peter Pan look in his dancing eyes as he went on, but with a wealth of sadness,
“But that does not mean I cannot love another woman. And keep her happy as well.’
And he winked at her. Aiyana knew him well enough to know when he was being deliberately flippant. Taking his hand, she kissed it gently.
Then she kissed him on his firm mouth, taking his face between her hands.
“Yes, James,” she whispered.
*
Lucien
He knew the speaker was an old man though he could not see him clearly. Lucien could understand the Slav language and the dialect the old man was speaking. After all, he had been in business with Siek Toth for more than a decade now.
Lucien Delano winced as the bandage cramped him. His chest hurt. Belatedly, he remembered that he had been wounded. A knife wound.
But Lucien growled,
‘Who is She?’
A renewed bout of coughing overcame the man and he cleared his throat noisily and spat.
Then he went on, wheezing with the effort to talk.
The old man sighed.
“My daughter.’
*
“Why the f*ck have you chained me?’ he roared, livid now.
‘She thinks you are her husband who has come back. And she does not want to lose you a second time,’ whispered the old man fearfully, cringing in terror at this massive man who packed muscle and looked terrifying despite being chained to the bed…
The door opened even as the old man finished his sentence, ending in a yelp of pure fear. Lucien turned to look at the person outlined in the doorway…