An Aria in Venice: A Musical Interlude Novel (8 page)

“Do
I get to meet your friend?” he asks, giving me the once over, the kind that
makes me want to run home and grab every piece of clothing I can find to cover
myself. I choose to cross my arms tightly instead.

“Do
we get to meet yours?” Luca asks, holding his brother’s gaze. A silent
conversation passes between them.

“Forgive
my manners. This is Elle, my arm candy of the week,” Giovanni explains.

“Ciao,
Elle, and welcome,” Simona says to the girl.

“Nice
to meet all you good folks,” Elle says in a Midwest American accent.

“This
is Adriana Dostovsky. Luca’s girlfriend,” Simona explains, taking my hand in
hers. “She’s coming with us to Venice.”

“Dostov
… Dostov,” Giovanni repeats in such a way that makes me feel as though I just
got name fucked. His lips turn up in some type of smirk, the kind that’s a
cross between sexy and dangerous and maybe even a little borderline psychotic.
“As in the Dostovskys? You’re joking, right, Mama? Why don’t we invite the
Stalins over since my baby brother’s now fucking the daughters of Russian crime
lords?” This time I’m not imagining things. I get a narrow-eyed glare from the
Cruiser, and suddenly, I don’t want to be around this particular brother anymore.
I don’t care how sexy he looks. There have been times when I’ve thought about
getting married just so I could change my burdensome last name.

“Back
off, Giovanni,” Luca warns, standing. His brother laughs, but the look in his
eyes doesn’t reflect his grin. The way Luca’s fists are clenched, the tension
in his arms, and the way he doesn’t back down from his brother’s
glare—although, Gio is the more muscular of the two men—tells me that the
designer who everyone considers a player can easily go from poetic to kick ass
in zero point no seconds.

“It’s
all right, Luca. I’m used to people who enjoy making small talk about my
family,” I assure him as I glance at Giovanni and narrow my eyes, holding his
gaze that has now drifted to me. So this brother wants to be a challenge as
well. Not a problem. Trials and obstacles are the story of my life. He has no
idea just how well I can give him exactly what he wants. I am a Dostovsky.
Controversy runs through these veins of mine. I don’t know why I expect things
to be different with Luca’s family, but I’m not backing down either.

“He’s
right. This isn’t the time to start your sh— your issues,” Rafe corrects,
stealing a glance at his mother whose face has gone pale as she glances back
and forth among her three sons.

Giovanni
grins, but it’s a humorless one. “My issues? My little brother can’t keep his
pecker out of trouble for one minute, and I’m the one who has the problem?”

Luca
scoffs, “Maybe if yours was more noticeable then I’d have a little competition
with my problem.” Giovanni shoots to his feet and so does Rafe.

“Boys!
I will not have this. Not in front of our guests. I will turn all three of you
across my knee. Do not think I won’t do so,” Simona warns and I believe every
word of her threat. Obviously, her sons do, too; all three kind of sulk back to
their respective spots at the dinner table. As soon as they’re settled down,
Simona closes her eyes and sighs deeply. “This is the first time we have all
been together at the same table in months. You will honor your father’s memory.
All three of you. Or I won’t speak to any of you again until after Venice.”

“Mama, you’re upset. You’ll hurt yourself
if you aren’t careful,” Luca says, his words piquing my curiosity. He moves
over to sit beside his mother, taking her hands in his. “Mi spiace.” He kisses
his mother’s knuckles as he apologizes, showing me yet another side of the man
who is nothing like the person he allows the public to make him out to be.

Chapter
8
: Olive Trees & Bumblebees

Adriana

Later
in the evening, Luca leads me outside. He’s completely subdued. No poetry or
telling me how gorgeous my body parts look, or even that overcharged grin I’ve
seen him use on women. The one where he seems to be pulling his target under
his spell the longer she glances into his eyes, which are absolutely gorgeous
when the rosy colored rays of the sun hits them the way the beams are doing
right now, giving his irises a deeper hue of blue, a hypnotic shade.
Snap
out of it, Adriana!
I can almost hear Lis’s voice in the back of my head,
chiding me for drooling over ten guys at a time; a characteristic that’s more
like something my brother, Alek, would do.

“This
is so beautiful,” I say as we walk through the olive garden. Casa Blanca sits
at the top of one of the rolling hills, so everything beneath the villa is
covered in shades of peach, red, and orange.

“I
used to come back here and hide from my brothers,” Luca begins, shoving his
hands in his pocket as he glances across the hillside, the wind teasing his hair.
I can tell he’s lost in some deep thought, but tell-tale signs of the
testosterone that was brewing between the three men still exists in the tense
way he stands.

“Why
were you hiding?” I ask.

“Can’t
tell you that. You would think the worst of me,” he answers, smiling with sad
eyes.
What’s your real story, Luca Martuccio?

“I
already have my doubts about you,” I tease. He looks absolutely crestfallen.
“Just kidding, all right? Trust me when I say there’s no way I have a right to
judge anyone. Like seriously.”

This
earns me a smirk and a dimpled grin. He’s fantastically handsome when he’s
genuine and not trying to be a New Age Romeo. “I would hide from my brothers.
Mama and Papa attended church on a regular basis, leaving me to defend myself
against the spawns of Dante himself.” I can only imagine what someone as
devious as Rafe and as violence prone as Giovanni would do to the fair-haired
brother amongst the trio. A vision of a frightened little boy with blond,
shaggy bangs hanging on his forehead crosses my mind, and a fierce feeling of
wanting to protect him sweeps over my body. I understand being the underdog in
the family, the bright child, the one who’s never supposed to feel sad,
overwhelmed, or neglected. Everyone else is so busy loving me that, they have
never really seen the person I truly am, the woman waiting patiently inside the
girl’s body.

“Do
you see this tree?” he asks, taking my hand and leading me over to one of the
largest trees in the garden. “This was the spot where I hid.” Bending down, he
reaches inside a large hole in the trunk and removes the jar filled with corks.

“Wait.
Are these corks?” Taking the jar, I glance at Luca. A serious look crosses his
face as he stares at me holding his collection.

“Si.
They’re from my parents’ collection. Wine they drank to celebrate each
anniversary, every birthday. Good times,” he explains. Moving closer to where I
stand, he places his hands over mine, our gazes locking, and I can’t help but
to recall the way he stood up for me against his older brother. Why did he do
that? He didn’t have to. This is a game we’re playing, a charade, nothing more;
yet, clearly Luca’s taking our game a bit more seriously than I thought he
would. And now he’s choosing to open up to me. The more I learn about the
famous designer with the scandalous past and an inability to keep his hormones
in check, the more intrigued I become.

“You
miss your father, don’t you?” I ask. He lowers his eyes and works his jaw
muscles, the two gestures giving me my answer. This is where he and Nikolai
share similar characteristics; they both seem to develop the inability to
express themselves around me. I move closer to him and place my hand on his
shoulders, my eyes moving to the way his hair has turned almost golden in the
last rays of the sun. He’s truly a beautiful man, scarred by the loss of
someone he barely got the chance to know, feeling guilty for some reason I
can’t understand, while being tortured by his older brothers who are obviously
jealous that he’s his parents’ favorite.

“I
know what it’s like to miss someone so badly. I never had the chance to say
good-bye to my father, either,” I say as I close my eyes and envision my
father’s face, thinking of the way he used to take me horseback riding.
Remembering the way he threatened Ravi Salidov when I told him I had a crush on
the boy with the sad eyes and empty wallet. These are things any loving father
would do, not some boss who’s known for his unspeakable acts.

When
I open my eyes, I find Luca studying my profile with an intensity that’s hard
to describe. Staring out across his mother’s garden, I focus on the trees
closest to the bottom of the hill and the way they’re now shrouded in the
shadows of the evening, reminding me of the parts of ourselves that Mother,
Alek, Nikolai, and I left behind in Russia. Luckily, there’s one good thing
about being covered by the shadows in a garden; you can count on the sun to
come out the next day, covering you in its warmth and making you feel all
better.

“I
get that Father’s supposed to be this bad man and everything, but he never
treated me with anything except love and kindness. No one asked me how I felt
about leaving. I woke up one night and was told I had to go. So I did. Because
that’s what good little Russian girls do. Follow orders. Ask no questions.” My
nose stings, and if I snot all over myself here in front of Luca then I’m going
to be embarrassed. Lowering my eyes, I blink away my tears.

“I
am sorry, little Maia,” Luca says, and lifts my chin so he’s staring into my
face. He kind of reminds me of the sun with the way he’s smiling inside his
eyes, a look that’s doing something inside my stomach, making me want to rip
his clothes off and forget about the stupid bet I made with Lis and Jojo. “Yet
another connection between you and me. I think I’m getting spoiled by all
this.”

I
laugh because he’s right and because he turns everything into some type of
poetic rambling that truly works for him. “You’re already rotten. Your mother
adores you. I think you could run naked through the Duomo plaza and she’ll love
you all the more for it.”

He
frowns as though he’s in deep thought. “You are right. She would forgive me.”

“Wait.
Don’t tell me you’ve already—”

“Through
the plaza, no. Once before in Venice, yes. During the Carnivale.” He beams that
dimpled smile at me and I can’t help but to burst out laughing. I can already
envision a skinny little boy running butt naked through the Venetian streets
and shocking the crap out of the attendees at one of Italy’s largest, most
famous events. “Ah, so you think it is funny, do you?” He grabs me around the
waist, pulling me to him, and I already know what’s coming. He starts tickling
me and we both laugh until our sides hurt.

After
our laughter dies down, we’re left staring at each other. “You feel better
now?” I ask.

“Doesn’t
matter what I feel or think. What matters is that you’ve chosen to be a part of
something that’s deeper than you could ever imagine.” He’s talking about me
agreeing to accompany them, or more specifically, Simona on a trip to honor her
late husband. From the brief tidbits she has already given me, I can’t wait to
learn more. Plus, there’s a motherly quality to Luca’s mom that calls to me,
filling a void inside my body; and I’m not sure, but I think she feels the same
way about me.

“I
would never do anything to hurt your mother, Luca,” I assure him, bending down
to pick up the jar of corks. “She’s a fantastic person. I want to see her
happy.” Releasing a deep sigh, he props his elbow on his arm and covers his
mouth, closing his eyes for a brief second. Once he opens them, he reaches
toward me.

“I
know there’s more to this,” I say, allowing Luca to ease the jar out of my
hands, “but I’ll leave it alone for now. I just … please, don’t ever feel like
you have to go through anything alone. You can talk to me.” I get a playful,
side-eyed glance and a smile that sends a jolt of warmth through me. Yeah, I
don’t think life as a tree sitting in the shadows is all that bad when you have
someone like Luca Martuccio promising to shine his light over you.

Nikolai

I
want to beat the shit out of him, the playboy who has nicknamed every woman he
has ever fucked Juliette. Adriana dances around the studio, her arms long and
graceful, and her perfect lips set in a determined line as she tries to master
the moves of the dance I have created. The poses are based more on the Russian
style of ballet than the Italian one, so she is struggling with the precision
of the moves. I am grateful for her assistance with my group today, but not so
happy that she chooses to punish me with her silence. I am a hard ass in dance,
in business, a mastermind of deceit, a man who can stalk his prey just as
casually as he seduces a woman. I can turn off my emotion without thinking
about doing so.

All
of these things, I can do to almost anyone, everybody except her ... Adriana.

The
two of us have a lot in common, but she harbors this strange desire to become a
journalist. And me? Well, I want to rule the world, to have both the American
dream of freedom and the Russian dogma of monetary and political prestige to
pull it off. This is why I am no good for her. She has no desire to be queen,
and I cannot think of anything except giving the woman I choose to rule by my
side all of me and everything I hold inside, including my body, heart, soul,
and wallet.

Ballet
lives in our souls. When we were children, before life got in the way, we both
said we would start a dance group together. We would organize a show to rival
any of the greats Russian choreographers. We would train a large dance group
and even throw in a production of the
Lion King
, Adriana’s favorite
Disney movie. At the end of each performance, we would celebrate with a bottle
of Riesling, one of my favorite wines.

But
then, we grew up, and life got complicated. Men like the Phoenix entered mine,
and playboys like Luca Martuccio are trying to find ways to slither into my
Rishka’s panties. When I think of the innocence we have lost, I cannot help
feeling the ache inside my gut.

Consumed
by my thoughts, I feel Adriana staring, her innocent face studying mine with an
intensity that reminds me of both her brother and mother. I want her. God, I
never understood how much until I saw her fooling around with that designer
playboy.

“Nikolai!
Geez,” she scolds, her lips twisted in a smirk, tempting me with an image of
taking her bottom one in between my own and sucking it until she begs me for
more.

I
will protect her, cherish her. Tonight, in my dreams, I will have things my
way. I am caught up in these thoughts when suddenly she lunges forward, throwing
her weight at me in a way that makes her body too heavy for me to lift. We both
falter and tumble to the ground, her body on top of mine. All eyes in the
studio drift toward the two of us.

“Now
that was definitely an interesting move,” she says, her gaze locked on me.

“You
did that on purpose,” I accuse, trying to deflect my attention away from the
way her body is pressed into mine.

“What
if I did?” she answers. “What will you do about it? Send me a text and scold
me. Or maybe you could spank me instead.” I work hard to hold back a smile. She
can outwit her brother, and when she finally does realize her potential, that
womanly hold she has on the men around her, then she’s going to be an
unstoppable force. God help the man she targets when that day happens; he will
not be able to resist her. I know this. How can I be so certain? Because I am
already fighting my own internal battle, the one that has me caught up in her
gaze, wrapped inside the storm of emotion riding inside her blue eyes. They
remind me of sapphires, expressive gems that pull every ounce of emotion I have
inside of me to the surface, threatening to drown me as I lose myself inside
their caress.

The
other dancers standing around us make a start, ripping me back to the world
outside the girl … no, who am I kidding, the woman lying on top of me. The
thing I did for her all those years ago, the nightmare that still haunts me
when I sleep and when I am awake, has proven to have been well worth losing a
part of my soul.

As
though she can sense my thoughts, she gives me a hint of a smile, a small
gesture that floors me with a sudden urge to take her, a desire that comes from
me knowing I can do no such thing. Not only would Katerina mail my head on a
plate back to Russia, but Aleksandr would take care of the rest of me as well.

A
couple of the male dancers rush to our aide, their hands lingering on Adriana’s
arms longer than necessary. I slap them away at once as I ease her body over to
the side and work myself out from underneath her, pulling us both to a standing
position as I do so.

Control,
Kolya. Get it together.
I now have a hard on that’s not so easy to hide in my black tights and an
audience that I am almost certain will make sure I do not forget the reason for
it anytime soon. What do I do? The only thing I know to do when I feel
vulnerable … and weak. I lash out at the thing causing it.

“That
was sloppy. You can do better,” I snap, a little more than I had intended. Her
smile fades at once. “One would think you are an amateur.”

She
glances around a brief moment before folding her arms. “I’m sorry it wasn’t
perfect. Guess that’s what I get for doing last minute favors. What do you
think?”

My
physical therapist, Meiko, a Japanese acupuncturist hired by Katerina, rushes
to my side at once and begins assessing me. I ignore her while I focus on
Adriana, who has not really pissed me off because of her unprofessionalism.
Instead, I am angry she has chosen to spend more and more time with Martuccio
and his designer, Erin Angelo, the new quest of my horny comrade, Alek.

“I’m
going away for a few days. To Venice, with the Martuccio family. Can you help
keep my secret, or not?” she asks, slapping me with this statement.

“Fuck
no!” I growl and pull her off to the side, my fingers digging into her arm a
little more than I intend to do. I already know this has something to do with
that slick bastard, a man who knows how to find his way into the bed of every
single woman he targets. I will kill him before I let Adriana become one of his
conquests. “There are things you do not know about your brother’s designer.”

“Ow.
You’re hurting me,” she says, and I ease my death hold on her arm.

“You
will not go running off with some playboy who cannot keep his junk in his
pants.”

“You
don’t know that’s true.”

“Oh,
I think so. I have looked into his past.”

I
get an incredulous look that slowly turns into one of curiosity, and instantly
that hard ass expression only Adriana can pull off returns, the one that tells
me she has made up her mind about doing this and no amount of dirt I reveal on
Martuccio will change her resolve. Hell, I feel crazed in the head right now,
so the coldness I am receiving is well-deserved. “The nerve. You can’t tell me
what to do.”

“I
do believe I can. And you will listen.” I feel the eyes of the other dancers
around us hanging on my lips, taking in our every word, so they get the full
heat of my anger. “What the fuck is everybody staring at? Take your places or
take a number for the soup line down the street after I dismiss you for slacking
around.”

“Smooth,
Belikov. Scare everybody to death, won’t you? It’s not like they’re already
nervous about performing for Mother’s precious company,” Adriana says, shaking
her head.

“Was
I slick? Do you understand how smooth works? When it is hitting you straight in
the face?” I ask, the muscles in my neck knotted and uncomfortable.

“We’re
back to discussing Luca again, I see.”

“I
do believe it was your lips he kissed that day in the pool.” I sound like a
jealous, babbling fool. I know, but it does not matter. Keeping Adriana safe is
my goal. I will never let anyone hurt her the way that monster tried to do
eight years ago, when I found her bleeding and unconscious in that alley the
night we left Russia for good, even if she winds up despising me in the end. We
stare each other down for a long moment, her lips pursed and my arms crossed as
we do so.

“Tell
you what. Come find me sometime after you manage to have a good, long cool-down
moment,” she finally says and turns away from me. I do not want things to end
this way. We have never been so uncomfortable with each other. When did the
little girl, who has been like a sister to me over the past decade, become
something that could destroy every single wall I have built up to protect the
small part of the boy I used to be, before everything I held close to my heart
was ripped out of my life like a bad dream?

 “No
good will come of this … whatever this thing is you are trying to do,” I say,
feeling like an ass as I take her by the arm and turn her to face me. “He is
dangerous.”

“So
are you,” she mutters as she lowers her eyes, eases out of my grip, and walks
out of the studio. Her words slice me to the core more effectively than any
knife could ever do.

Adriana

The nightmare rips through my mind like a
hawk devouring its prey. Mother, Alek, Nikolai and I are running through the
streets of Moscow, cowering inside the shadows, keeping to the edges of the
streets as gun shots pierce the air behind us. The port we’re trying to reach
is off in the distance, but I’m not so sure that we’ll make it. I’m only
thirteen years old, a baby, and a girl who is too frightened to do anything but
will her feet to comply. Sobs rattle inside my chest as I lean into my brother
first, and then Nikolai when Alek prepares to head out and look for Hagar’s
car. Alek runs out into the street. Someone has to find out what has happened
to our getaway driver. As I sit in Nikolai’s arms, I glance over at Mother, her
hair plastered across her face just before she screams and gun shots boom through
the air.

Bolting upright in bed, I glance around
the room, my chest heaving as I fend off the anxiety attack. I can think of
only one thing that can ease my mind. Glancing at the night table beside my
bed, I pick up my phone, my finger pressing the three button … Nikolai’s
number. After the second ring, I know he’s not going to pick up. He’s not the
type of guy to let his phone get past the second ring before he answers. He’s
mad, I get it, but he had no right to say those things he said earlier today.
Why does he care what I do with Luca? He’s made it pretty damn clear that
nothing will ever happen between the two of us. Still, none of that changes
anything. Feeling beyond anxious, I try texting instead.

Me: Are you there?

N: Rishka? Yes. Are you all right?

Me: No. Can’t sleep. I’m sorry I upset
you earlier.

N: Forgiven. No worries. I should be the
one to apologize.

Got that right!

Me: Nightmares started again. Miss the
times when you’d hold me until I fell asleep.

N: Where are your roommates?

Me: Gone. Lis is with Byron and Jojo’s
doing her rocker thing. House is too quiet.

N: Have you decided to abandon this silly
quest?