Chapter 48

Kimberly

M y time in Orlando has been frustrating, to say the least. While I understand the need to be careful, not being able to talk properly to Yaroslav and be myself around him is driving me crazy. Ninety percent of the time I’m kept isolated in my room. During my time in captivity, I grew used to solitude, and this is, in essence, voluntary but that doesn’t make it any easier. I can’t even talk to David for long without someone interrupting us under some flimsy pretense. The house is heavy with suspicion, I suspect everyone, and everyone suspects me.

I wish I knew what Yaroslav was thinking, but for obvious reasons, he has to keep his distance. Sharkozi wasn’t lying when he said he has eyes on me wherever I am. His notes and instructions somehow always seem to find their way to me, though I never see the culprit. The notes are getting more threatening, he’s not happy that I’ve so far been unable to provide him with any kind of useful information. My fear for my grandmother grows every day and then I feel even more anxious knowing that stress is bad for the baby.

I feel as if I’m adrift. Stranded and alone in a vast ocean.

I’m depressed and lonely. The people I used to rely on to get me through the hard times are all gone. Gran is god knows where being held captive, I can only hope that her Alzheimer’s for once is a saving grace and she doesn’t understand the danger she is in. Yaroslav is here, but has to be so distant he may as well be on another planet. My brother is gone, and that relationship broke down long before now. And my former best friend turned out to be a sadistic bitch. To say I’m screwed would be an understatement. It’s hard not to feel defeated.

When one of Yaroslav’s men comes and informs me to pack a bag and get ready, I don’t know what to think. I wish I knew what was going on, but I’m continually left in the dark. Are we going back to Atlanta? I wonder. Does this mean progress is finally being made?

Outside, there’s a car and a driver I don’t recognize waiting for me. My heart hammers in my chest as I panic, has Sharkozi sent someone for me and somehow managed to pull it off without Yaroslav knowing? I contemplate making a run for it but then where would I go? Plus there’s no way I’d outrun everyone here. Reluctantly, I climb inside the car’s plush leather interior.

The man accompanying me heads back inside as the driver stows my bag in the trunk. The driver gets back in the car, but he makes no move to turn on the engine and leave.

I can’t help but ask, “Erm… why aren’t we moving?”

“We’re waiting for another passenger, Miss Walsh,” the man replies politely.

I’m surprised that he responded. I’m about to ask where we’re going when the door across from me opens. To my relief, it’s Yaroslav’s handsome face I see. He smiles at me gently as he sits down next to me.

“Ready to go, sir?” the driver asks.

“Yes, all good.”

The driver nods, “Very well, I’ll give you two some privacy,” he says and then proceeds to put up a dividing screen between himself and the back seats.

I feel giddy and confused that I’m finally alone with Yaroslav, we can finally talk without fear of being overheard, I have so much I want to ask him.

“Yaroslav, what’s going on? Where are we going?”

“We’re going to Thomas Gillihan’s house. You’re going to stay there for a while,” he says, taking my hand in his and stroking my palm with his thumb.

The sensation of finally being touched by him sends jolts of electricity all over my body. I’ve missed his touch like a physical ache. It almost distracts me from what he’s telling me. It’s then I realize that he’s only mentioned me staying there and that he didn’t have a bag with him.

“You’re sending me away?” I ask, hurt.

“I don’t want to, but I think this will be best for you. You need space to heal and to be around friends without worrying about putting on a show or worrying about who is watching you. Sharkozi won’t question it, Emma will be safe,” he assures me, his eyes pleading for me to trust him.

“You can’t stay with me?” I ask pleadingly, though I already know the answer.

“Not without giving us away and risking your grandmother’s safety. I promise it’s only for a short while until I can get Emma back and work out who the traitor among my men is. I need to make sure you’re safe.”

He’s right, I know that, but it doesn’t make this any easier. “You trust this man?” I ask.

He nods, “I do,” he says firmly. “There’s something else you should know. Thomas thinks your grandmother is being held at Amelia’s home.”

“Then we can go get her!” I exclaim, wondering why we haven’t yet.

He shakes his head sadly. “We can’t rush in, not without a plan or until we’re certain. It would give you away. And I need to find the spy, too. If we’re hasty, it could put your grandmother at even greater risk. I’ll tell you all about it another time when you’re stronger, but Amelia’s more dangerous than we realized. We have to be careful.”

I want to ask more, what he’s found out about Amelia, but I have to trust him. I saw firsthand the violence in her eyes, that she wasn’t the person I thought she was. As kids, she had a mean streak and when we rekindled our friendship, I saw flashes of it, but I always ignored it, put it down to a bad day, or simply Amelia being passionate. Now I know there must be more to it. I trust Yaroslav will tell me everything, when I need to know.

“Is my grandmother safe to remain there?” I ask, because that is my main concern.

Yaroslav nods, “I have it on good authority that she is being taken care of.”

“I trust you,” I say reaching out and touching his face, looking deep into his eyes.

He hesitates for a moment, as though I’m a fragile thing that needs to be handled delicately, and then he kisses me. Gently at first but as I kiss him back, my body responding as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, it becomes deeper.

All my fears and worries evaporate as I lose myself in him. It feels so right. I forget that I’m in the back of a car with only a blacked-out divider between us and the driver.

“I want you,” I murmur between kisses reaching my hand toward his belt.

He pulls away, concern in his eyes, “Are you sure? The baby—”

“Will be fine,” I assure him.

He nods and I continue to unbuckle his belt and pull his already erect penis out of his pants. It’s not how I imagined our first time together since we’ve been apart, but right now I don’t care. I just want him, I want to forget the world for a moment and just submit to the pleasure he brings me.

I’m grateful that I’m wearing a dress as I slide my panties off and move to straddle him. I guide him inside my slit, already wet and ready for him I’m so filled with need. He lets out a hiss as I groan with the pleasure of feeling him inside me again. We fit so perfectly together. Usually, Yaroslav is quite dominant when we have sex, setting the pace and moving me effortlessly between positions, but now he lets me be the one in control. It’s as though he knows I need to set the pace, that my emotions and body are still fragile.

I grind on him slowly, aware that we have to make things quick but wanting to savor the pleasure all the same.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he moans, and I can tell he’s using every ounce of his control not to cum before me.

“I’ve missed you too,” I respond, arching my back and throwing my head back in pleasure.

He kisses me passionately, gently caressing me and looking at me as though I’m the most precious, beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. I increase my pace, feeling my orgasm building. I can tell that he’s close to climax as we move perfectly in sync. I’m trying to stay quiet, worried the driver will hear us but I can’t help but let out loud breathy moans as I feel myself ready to tumble over the edge.

“Cum with me baby,” I gasp, feeling my pussy clench as his cock hits my g-spot again and again.

“Fuck, Kim,” he says as I feel him let go, his seed pumping into me.

I let go, my own climax hitting me in a wave of pleasure. As the orgasms roll through my body, only one thought runs through my mind, God, I love this man.

But for some reason, I still can’t seem to say the words.

***

The Gillihan household is an impressive colonial mansion in a rural part of Georgia. The nearest neighbors are miles away and the house is surrounded by gorgeous woodland and rolling hills.

As we pull up, the front door opens and a couple steps out, waving at us. Gillihan and his wife look nothing like I expected. Thomas Gillihan is a large man, overweight yet in a way that suggests there’s strength behind his considerable frame. He’s bald and wearing a full three-piece suit, despite the heat of the day. His wife is practically the opposite. She’s tall for a woman, standing at the same height as her husband, and where he is large, she is incredibly slim. She has long hair, almost to her waist. It’s tastefully highlighted, giving her a natural look. She’s classily dressed in a pair of loose, cream slacks and a silk blouse in the same color. The kind of effortlessly chic woman that can pull off all white.

I immediately feel nervous and intimidated. What if she’s a raging bitch or looks down on me? I wish I’d worn something classier now than the simple tea dress I have on.

Yaroslav takes my hand, comforting me silently as though he can read my mind, as we get out of the car and walk toward them.

“Welcome!” Gillihan says, breaking into a wide smile and throwing his arms open in greeting.

Yaroslav steps forward to shake his hand, “Good to see you Thomas, thank you again for inviting us. Mrs. Gillihan, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says.

“Likewise,” she replies with a genuine smile.

I note that she has slight wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, and I am surprised that a mobster’s wife has opted to age naturally and forgo Botox or surgery as I might have expected. Her voice is dulcet with a Southern accent, she exudes good old-fashioned Southern charm.

“You must be Kimberly, it’s wonderful to meet you, I’m Grace,” she says genuinely, turning her attention to me.

I like her immediately.

“Nice to meet you,” I reply shyly, shaking both her and Thomas’ hands in turn. “Thank you so much for offering to let me stay here, you have a beautiful home.”

She waves a perfectly manicured hand, dismissing my thanks, “It’s our pleasure, the girls and I will be grateful for the company. They’re at school currently but they should be home soon,” she says fondly, referring to their twin daughters.

“Please, come inside,” Gillihan says, “Grace, why don’t you give Kimberly the grand tour and show her the room she’ll be staying in while Yaroslav and I talk business?”

I’m nervous to leave Yaroslav, but he gives my hand a gentle, encouraging squeeze and Grace smiles warmly at me, giving me the courage to follow her into the house and leave Yaroslav with Thomas.

I’m blown away by the tasteful décor and elegant yet homely feeling that the house has as Grace gives me the grand tour. As we walk around, Grace puts me at ease, chatting amicably and making small talk. I immediately warm to her, she’s nothing like how I expected the wife of one of the most notorious crime families in America to be. I feel guilty for having made assumptions about her before even meeting.

“And last but not least, this is the room you’ll be staying in,” Grace announces, opening the door.

I let out a gasp of surprise and awe. Like the rest of the house, the room is beautifully decorated, but this room is less minimal than some of the others. The stunning four-poster bed has a brightly patterned quilt on it that looks to be handmade as well as several tastefully clashing scatter cushions. The walls are equally adorned with bright artwork and tapestries. On the floor is a woven rug and some comfy-looking ottomans. The whole effect feels like I’ve stepped into an Eastern bazaar, yet it’s paired back with minimal touches too.

I can’t help but wonder if Grace had the house, and this room especially, professionally styled and decorated. It screams high-quality interior design. Grace watches as I take everything in, gently touching the different textures and items with reverence.

“So, what do you think?” she asks, almost nervously.

“I love it,” I breathe. “The whole house is gorgeous, but this room in particular is something else,” I gush. “If you don’t mind my asking, did you have an interior designer?”

“Of course, I don’t mind. Thank you for your kind words, yes we did… me,” Grace replies humbly.

“You’re an interior designer?” I ask, surprised, for some reason I didn’t think Grace would work, what with her husband being so wealthy and all.

As if reading my mind, Grace replies, “Yep, I couldn’t stand the thought of being a housewife with no job, not that I judge others for doing it, but I’d be too bored. With the girls now in school I wanted to get back into design work. This is the latest room in the house to be redecorated.” She pauses for a moment, thinking. “You know, my husband hasn’t really told me too much about you other than that it’s a relatively new relationship between you and Yaroslav. You know what men are like… they don’t gossip like we do or ask too many questions,” she says conspiratorially. “I apologize for not knowing more. Do you work?”

“I did, though it wasn’t like I was working my dream job, I worked as a waitress and in an art shop to make ends meet, but I haven’t since I met Yaroslav, things have been kinda crazy since then… it’s a long story…” I say, not really knowing where to start and feeling embarrassed about my career, or rather lack of one.

“That’s understandable,” Grace replies not seeming to judge or care.

If she knows about everything that’s happened to me recently, she tactfully doesn’t mention it, which I appreciate. As nice as she seems, Grace is still practically a stranger to me, and I don’t feel ready to discuss everything yet. Not with anyone.

“Do you have a dream job?” she asks curiously.

“Actually, I’ve always dreamed of being an interior designer,” I reply shyly.

I can feel my cheeks flush, somehow admitting to this woman who’s so talented that my dream is to do what she does feels childish.

Grace doesn’t seem to agree. Her eyes light up in delight and she claps her hands together. “Oh, that’s wonderful! How lovely to have a fellow artist in our home. If you’re feeling up to it later once you’re settled in, I can show you my studio if you’d like?”

“I’d love to,” I reply truthfully. “Thank you again for letting me stay, I don’t want to put you out,” I add worried that I’m an unwelcome interloper.

“Not at all, I just know we’re going to be firm friends,” Grace says with a warm smile, and I can’t help but agree. Maybe Yaroslav is right that this will be good for me. “I’ll leave you to unpack and freshen up, you must be tired from your journey.”

She’s right, I suddenly feel exhausted. I’m still weak and simply walking around the house—plus mine and Yaroslav’s steamy car ride—have sapped me of the little energy I have.

“Thank you,” I reply.

“If you need anything, just ask,” Grace says before leaving, living up to her name and being the gracious host.

I continue to explore the bedroom, admiring the details as I unpack. The bathroom is incredible too with a large bath and wet room, there’s a large window overlooking the forest, I can picture myself taking long peaceful baths in here. However, for now, I opt for a shower. I’m just getting dressed, inspired by my colorful room I opt for some brightly patterned silk pants and a cami. They hang off me more than before, I’ve lost weight which worries me. As a pregnant woman, I should be gaining weight.

At that moment, I hear a knock at the door.

“Yaroslav,” I say with a smile when I see it is him.

He steps forward, enveloping me in a warm embrace, and I breathe in his masculine scent. It’s been too long since he’s held me like this. All the stress and the pressure of the past weeks comes bubbling to the surface and I find myself sobbing into his shoulder.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” he soothes, finally able to comfort me for the first time since we’ve been reunited.

We stand there for a long time, holding each other. “Will you stay tonight?” I ask pleadingly.

I know he has to leave me here, that the whole reason we came was to keep up appearances and pretend that I’m here because he doesn’t trust me and I need to recuperate outside of his home, but I can’t help myself.

“You know I would if I could,” he says softly, gently stroking my cheek as he looks into my eyes. “I promise, it won’t be long.”

I nod glumly, “I understand. Do what you have to do to keep Gran safe and get her back as soon as you can.”

“I will,” he swears. “I have to go now, but you’ll be safe here, Thomas and Grace will keep me updated.”

“Okay,” I agree sadly.

He kisses me, pulling away and wiping a tear from my cheek he looks at me. “You just worry about getting some rest and looking after our baby, alright?”

“I will, I promise.”

As he leaves, my heart aches and I miss him already. My hand goes to my stomach as I remind myself why we’re doing this. I want my grandmother to meet our child.