Book II: Chapter I

 

 

 

It occurred to Sergei as they stepped from their limousine into the blinding light of a battery of cameras, how intensely he hated the public side of his life. Thronged along the pavement, roped off from the invited VIPs were members of the public who, inexplicably to Sergei, had come out on this summer night to star gaze. Did they imagine that his was a world of unimaginable pleasure worthy of their time? Why were they not channelling these precious hours to fulfilling their own potential rather than frittering it away in passive observation of those who society deemed had already reached theirs? Had they no idea of the reality of such occasions: another evening of stifling tedium, of gritted teeth and small talk, filled with streams of faces he would forget as soon as he passed them by.  Would that they would forget him so easily.

He took no pleasure in hiding behind an exterior, playing a part, acting a role, pretending to be a man who actually cared about the shallow lives of the other rich and famous guests. He would be on show, no different from a rather dangerous and exotic animal that had somehow been restrained and caged. He would have to choose his words carefully, never reveal his true feelings, resist the urge to sink a few drinks in case the loosening of his tongue made it harder to keep up the pretence. In other words- just another day at the office.

A glance across at Zoe showed him that she was similarly stiffening her resolve.  He squeezed her hand; she squeezed back, their eyes locking in a secret smile of understanding. Later at home, they would strip off the glittering carapace and find their true faces beneath; he would mix up a cocktail- and their real selves would slowly edge back out into the light. She at least was his constant, the guiding star and compass showing him the way home. For when she was at his side, he could confront his life as never before. His former reputation for surly arrogance - his only defence mechanism to keep the world at bay - was now disappearing to be replaced by charm and grace as his new signature. All because of her and the simple fact that now he was a happy man, with a family and private life to centre him.

Tonight's glittering occasion was a reception at the Elysée Palace hosted by the Sarkozys honouring various major French charitable institutions, the Paris-based Litvinov Foundation being one of the largest. Long ago he had chosen Paris over Moscow as its base; too many concerns about how charitable institutions might be subverted for criminal practices, fraud and money laundering in his homeland had driven him elsewhere. Paris was also nearer home for Zoe, a mere hour's flight across the Channel. It gave them a good excuse not to make Russia their primary home without ruffling too many feathers.

The evening progressed on the usual wave of champagne, rich food, rambling speeches and sycophantic chatter. Zoe, as ever the perfect partner, charmed the men, and won over their wives. She might resemble another remote, flawless beauty, shimmering in silvery beige, her dark hair pinned up in artful disarray, tiny diamonds at her throat and ears but her manner was unfailingly approachable, warm and friendly, setting people at ease in that classless, irreverent, shared camaraderie that came so easily to Australians, even if delivered in her perfectly modulated British tones. Sergei basked in her glow, drawing warmth from her sun that melted his taciturn stone. He even found himself enjoying the occasion more than he had anticipated.

There was, of course, an added frisson, to their presence this evening. Necks craned even more than usual to catch a glimpse of the famous couple. Ears strained to hear some reference to the events of recent days. Eyes scoured for any sign that the Litvinovs were under stress, that their guard had increased, or that something was about to happen to rock the international community back on his heels. Was Litvinov embarking on a presidential campaign?  Was that the real agenda behind the speech he had made at the Global Leadership Forum?

Sergei and Zoe did not slip once. Any direct question was dismissed with a smile and a shrug. Subtle approaches revealed not a single detail. The couple remained relaxed and seemingly unconcerned, often glancing across at each other, exchanging secret smiles - but nothing more than one might expect from lovers not yet two years' married. The general consensus was that they were either consummate actors -or they were indeed ready for political power. They were thriving on the adrenalin of these uncertain times.

At a break in the proceedings, just as coffee and chocolates were being served, Zoe excused herself to go to the bathroom. Sergei raised his head, giving a surreptitious nod to Gudovin who was waiting by the main door, leaning against the wainscoting. Dressed impeccably for the evening, he gave the impression of being there in an official capacity. It was not immediately obvious that he was a bodyguard.

As Zoe passed through to the ante-hall beyond, Gudovin fell in at her shoulder, his hand above her head supporting the door for her to pass beneath. She glanced up sharply.

"There's no need to get so close. Back off&ldots;! You never heard of discretion? Your behaviour screams security..."

Gudovin ignored her, striding along side her towards the ladies' room, his hands in his pockets, lengthening his stride lazily as she sped up. Zoe had a sudden urge to slap his handsome face.

At the door, she spun round. "You coming in then? Perhaps you'd like to hold my skirt while I pee?"

The muttered comment he returned by way of reply was hard to hear; she caught only the tail end. 

"What did you say?" Zoe turned back, ready for battle. Gudovin's face remained impassive.

"I said I will wait outside, Madame..."

He had said nothing of the sort. She had heard the culmination, something ending in: '...your fantasy, no?' Gudovin wasn't going to admit to it because he knew she had heard enough to get his implication. The arrogant bastard dared to say she was wishing she could hold his dick? It was almost laughable. Nor was it worth pursuing. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Slamming the door behind her, much to the surprise of several women at the mirror, she took refuge in a cubicle, breathing deeply to restore her calm. When her father came over, she was going to set him on Gudovin's case. In the meantime she was going to get Jamie sniffing about. Valeri Gudovin might not be aware of it, bathing in the glow of victory, but he had just declared war.

After a quick check in the mirror and a smear of lipstick, she exited, paying scant attention to the buzz of whispers in her wake. After a while one became inured to the attention. At least she had the satisfaction of looking good tonight.

Outside, Gudovin jumped off a chair in an exaggerated sham of attentiveness. This time she ignored him, setting off back to the banquet hall with a toss of her head, striding out on her high, narrow stilettos. No doubt, Gudovin would be enjoying the sight of her rear as she strutted; in the sleek gown every contour was emphasised, every bounce accentuated. She could only give it her best and make him lust all the more after what he could never have.

On re-entering the banquet hall, acknowledging a few faces on the way -but not slowing for fear they might try to engage her in conversation- Zoe observed with surprise that a woman had joined their table and was deep in conversation with Sergei. The two were standing close, but not unacceptably so. What struck Zoe immediately, however, was the relaxed ease between them. This was not the polite chitchat of corporate networking. These two knew each other - and something told her the knowledge was more than in the general sense of the word.

Sergei's arms were folded, his head dipped in towards the woman's. He was smiling, his eyes dancing -his last comment must have been an audacious reply, the sort of flirtatious remark said to tease a woman. That much was clear from her response: a hand placed on his arm, a broad smile accompanied by an admonitory shake of her head, as if to chastise him for his boldness.

If Zoe needed further confirmation of her suspicions, she received it seconds later when Sergei's attention was caught by her approach. His hands instantly fell to his sides and he straightened his shoulders; he was rattled.

Zoe felt breath on her neck and smelt tangy male citrus cologne. "Chiara Bellini...she's an Italian movie star...Mr. Litvinov and Ms. Bellini met in Rome yesterday...What a coincidence to find her here as well, no...?" Gudovin's voice dripped with insinuation; she could almost hear the amused sneer as he pretended to do his job and fill her in on important guests, whilst his real aim was to hurt her feelings.

"I know who she is! I watch movies too, you know? She can't act but you have to give it to her- she knows how to take off her clothes..."

Gudovin's answered with a suggestive snigger that carried several meanings. Zoe flinched, aware that she had given him exactly what he wanted.

Sergei coughed nervously as she approached, adjusted his bow tie, ran a hand through his hair, expressing all the telltale signs that betrayed his embarrassment. But why was he embarrassed? What did he have to hide?

"Ahh, here she is... I was just telling Chiara that you would be back any minute..."

Chiara gave Zoe a smoky-eyed half-smile, extending her arms languorously to embrace the younger woman, placing a flamboyant air kiss in the general vicinity of each cheek. "She's so beautiful, Sergei...! Chiara Bellini, darling. I have wanted to meet you so much! I'm an old friend of Sergei's...unfortunately, I missed the wedding..."

Zoe shot a glance at her husband whose lowered eyes told her he was in no doubt of his wife's reaction. She paused, forcing herself to keep her cool. This woman would eat her alive if she showed her discomfort. "I'm afraid I've not see any of your films but of course no one could miss you in the magazines...Very nice to meet you. Do you represent one of the charitable foundations? Or is Gucci more your banner?"

She could almost hear Sergei's sharp intake of breath at her comment. He dropped his head into one hand, rubbing at his brow, tension headache gripping. Chiara, however, was unfazed.

"I was invited as a personal friend of Carla... Bruni-or should I say Sarkozy, these days? We know each other from way back...I'm on the President's table," she added.

"Big whoop," Zoe muttered under her breath, as she took her seat and sipped at her coffee, indicating that the interview was over. Chiara was left -somewhat awkwardly- still standing; Sergei, too, appeared unsure what to do now that his wife had summarily ended the conversation.

"I had better return to my hosts, then," Chiara announced smoothly, hardly missing a beat. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Zoe... I may call you Zoe, cara?"

"You just did. Love." Zoe replied tartly. There was a pregnant pause while Sergei and Chiara waited for Zoe to relent and return some formal pleasantry but she merely turned to the man on her right and began chatting to him, blanking the other woman completely. Her behaviour had not gone unnoticed. It was exactly the sort of dirt that the company had been hoping for all night, even if it had sprung from an entirely unexpected quarter.

Sergei threw his hands up in a gesture of annoyance, said a courteous goodnight to Chiara -and politely kissed her on both cheeks. She withdrew, taking her time to wend her way back to the main table, stopping to greet guests and drawing maximum attention. Meanwhile Sergei sat back down sharply, shaking out his napkin and setting it back on his lap with a tetchy flourish. He was furious. So was she.

They did not speak for the rest of the dinner.  Sergei remained subdued, merely grunting at any comments addressed to him. Zoe, on the other hand, was the opposite, flirtatious and overly bright, showing up her husband's petulant mood in a poor light. It did not improve his demeanour. As soon as it was possible to do so, he stood up abruptly, throwing his napkin onto the table and announcing his departure brusquely.

"Ladies, gentlemen, we must take our leave...Goodnight...!" He took her hand before she could protest and Zoe found herself jerked up, barely able to collect her evening purse. As they left the table, she shook him away but he continued to steer her by a hand on her hip, whispering: "You show your temper here, madam, and I swear I will make Gudovin to carry you out bodily...and damn the media..."

"Why Gudovin? You not man enough to do your own dirty work?" she hissed back. 

Sergei did not reply other than to shove her by the shoulder towards the exit. Gudovin and the other men fell in behind.

"Get the car!"

"On its way, sir."

Zoe glanced across at Gudovin. She could see the gleam of triumph in his eye. The bastard. He had set them both up. What was his real game? For a moment, the agenda of the bodyguard occupied her mind, distracting her from Sergei's behaviour.

They were now on the steps of the Palace. It was raining, a fine summer evening shower. Sergei slipped out of his jacket, throwing it over her shoulders. An umbrella also appeared as if by magic to shield her from the drizzle. She was hustled to the limousine. Doors were slammed, the engine already purring, and they moved off almost immediately.

Sergei leaned forward to press the switch that closed the aperture between them and the front seat, grunting one word in Russian: "Dom!"  ("Home!"), before throwing himself back against the leather upholstery, reaching for a glass and pouring a large measure of vodka from the bar.

Zoe pulled off his jacket -and tossed it at him contemptuously. He caught it deftly without spilling a drop of the alcohol. 

"What the fuck was that all about?" He almost spat out the words before taking a swig of his drink, grimacing and then tossing the rest down. "Have you any idea how you embarrassed me tonight? You want to fuel speculation in the gossip columns? Are you out of your mind? What got into you?"

She turned away to stare out of the window. "Not here. I am not discussing our private life here with those two goons enjoying the spectacle..." She indicated Gudovin and the driver.

"Those two 'goons', as you call them, are part of our private life, unlike the group of people who witnessed your little meltdown in there..."

"...I'm not talking to you! Save it for when we get home!"

"I've a good mind to get out and leave them to deliver you home...the last I want from you is a session of hysterical paranoid ranting. Or another night locked out of my own room... How come you think that every woman who talks to me is a rival...? What have I ever done to make you doubt me?"

But Zoe refused to enter into an argument with him. Sergei gave up, slumping back into an uneasy silence, pouring another drink. The silence in the car was almost palpable.

Back at the house, Zoe dashed ahead as Sergei dismissed the men with a few curt instructions for the night. She went to run up the stairs, but he caught her half way, taking the treads three at a time to close the distance between them. His hand was tight around her arm, tight enough to hurt.

"You are not going to lock me out tonight!" he barked. "You will talk to me this time...!"

"I wasn't going to lock you out...Let me go...you're hurting my arm...!"

She indicated where he was holding her, harder than he probably realised. Red welts were already rising on her pale skin. Sergei winced and let go. Zoe rubbed the tender area as he stepped back and allowed her to carry on up the stairs.

At the door to their room, he moved ahead of her, opening it and gesturing for her to enter, closing the door behind him firmly - and turning the key in the lock. There would be no chance that one of the children might wander in on this scene tonight.

"Well... what have you to say for yourself? Please tell me why you felt it necessary to insult me and a guest in front of a whole table of witnesses?"

Zoe contemplated her husband. He had re-dressed in his tuxedo jacket on leaving the car. No man wore evening dress so well. The formal wear, coupled with his glowering, simmering rage -civilisation straining against the inner beast- made her catch her breath. He was magnificent. Even as infuriated as she was, he still excited her. Maybe more so now that there was a dangerous element of rage in the mix. What lay in her darker side that she found pleasure in driving a strong man to the edge? Her heart beat fast as she faced him back.

"I was angry because I saw you and your ex- girlfriend together. When I came up, she treated me like a little baby. Sergei, she patronised me in front of everyone! She talked down to me like you were the adults and I was some cute little child...you must have heard the condescension in her voice! She was doing it on purpose! She challenged me like a man throwing down a gauntlet before a fight! I will not be humiliated like that!"

Sergei pursed his lips, shrugging his shoulders in grudging acceptance. "For sure, Chiara can be a difficult woman...she has a very vicious tongue...I know she was trying to score points over you...it's her way..."

"...and it's my way not to let bitches like her work their evil while I have to stand there and take it. She needed to know what I was made of...!"

"Not there, Zoe. Not there! That was not the place to demonstrate the force of your temper. You merely handed the gossip columns inches of their vile speculation..."

"Why didn't you say that to her when she insulted me? She started it!" Zoe exclaimed.

Sergei paced back and forth, circling his wife, frustrated. He was beginning to struggle with the language; his English was impeccable but under stress it was harder for him to make his meaning absolutely clear. And this was a minefield where one careless word could trigger a major explosion.

"For the same reason. It was neither the time nor the place. I hoped you would show some restraint, avoid an embarrassing incident and thus come out of it looking the more dignified woman. But no, you chose to roll up your sleeves and give her more than you had gotten...I call that immature, validating her treatment of you as a child..."

"Oh you do, do you?" Zoe bridled. "Thanks a lot for taking my corner when I feel threatened..."

"...Threatened? No one was threatening you! This is about your own neurosis. You were jealous of someone I used to know a long time ago... ...she and I are old friends...so we stopped to talk...so what? You cannot erase my entire past!"

"Old friends?" She threw back her head and gave a shrill laugh. " Sergei, you and Chiara Bellini were lovers who almost got married! How would you feel if faced with a man you know has had sex with me? Like Jamie, for instance? You can't even be in the same room as him!"

At the mentioned of her sexual history, Zoe saw Sergei close down. He wouldn't go there. He would walk out at this point if she pushed him too far. "...I'm sorry, Sergei... That was tasteless of me to bring up..."

"...Indeed...Extremely...Zoe, I haven't seen Chiara in eight years...we were bound to meet eventually...that is all it was...!" His anger seemed to subside as he resorted to pleading -but she knew then that she had him. He had just lied to her. No wonder he was trying to wheedle her into accepting his explanation. He was riddled with guilt and denial.

"That's not quite true, is it, Sergei?" She paused to let her answer sink in observing the flicker of realisation that crossed his eyes. She already knew about Rome. "...It isn't in fact eight years since you and Chiara last met. I believe that it's only one day... because you met her yesterday in Rome..."

Sergei stared at her in disbelief. "What? How? I mean... what makes you think that?" He almost gave himself away, pulling back in time so as not to incriminate himself when she might merely have been stabbing at shadows.

"I think that, because I know it to be true. It was what made me so angry when I saw you two together, chatting like lovers, up close and personal...it was the first time you'd cracked a smile all the night...Don't lie to me, Sergei! Flirting with an old girlfriend is one thing - but lying to me about her is an entirely more serious matter...!" Zoe warned.

For long moments they stared at each other. Then he sighed deeply, rubbed at his face and stepped towards her. "I bumped into her in Rome. She had been having lunch at the same hotel as I was staying. We met in the lobby. It had been eight years, Zoe...! We talked awhile. That's all. I swear it...and then she turns up tonight! We both laughed at the chances of that after all this time...Zoe, that was all there was to it...I'm not lying...I swear..."

"...You just said you hadn't seen her in eight years! That was a lie!"

He shrugged with a dismissive air. "I lied about that, okay...but only because I knew what your reaction would be. I knew you would make something where nothing existed! Women always do. Why mention a casual meeting in a hotel lobby that had no significance? There was so much else that happened yesterday - much more important things- that I hardly paid it any mind..."

"Yeah, and you never told me about those either..." she reflected.

He hunched his shoulders, this time with true submission. She felt for his dejection. He was just a guy who had made a mistake. The tension in the air vanished. Zoe ran a hand down his face. He raised his eyes to hers.

"I'm sorry..."

"I know...Me too...I shouldn't have behaved like that. I embarrassed us both...and I'm sure she loved it..." Zoe gave him a shy smile.

Sergei grinned. "Oh, I'm sure she did..."

They both shared a rueful moment, a little ashamed of their outbursts of moments before. Already the incident at the charity ball seemed unworthy, immature and petulant behaviour that reflected poorly on them both. He raised his hands; she rolled her eyes at their madness.

"You free tomorrow?" She asked, unhooking her earrings and tossing them down on a side table, freeing her hair from its pins and shaking it out with her fingers.

Sergei watched her, muttering: "No. Early start. Meeting with some of my Directors. The ones who are fucking me about. I need some reports and some answers..."

She sighed. Work was again about to intervene. It was already late. By early he would mean up at five for a gym workout before he set out for the office. Even though tomorrow was Sunday. He needed to get some sleep now. It looked like they didn't have time for make up sex. Her hand reached under her other arm to unzip the dress.

But Sergei stopped her, twirling her round, his hands on her hips. Leaning in close, he pressed in against her back. "Let me...!"

His hand slid up her waist to where the gown met the soft warm flesh of her underarm. He found the hidden zip-head and eased down, making of the simple movement a sensual journey through hill and valley. His lips touched her shoulder; his tongue tasted her skin. She breathed a soft and low sigh as his nearness and touch caused shivers to course through her.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you looked tonight? My God!  It was the only thing I could think of all evening...how much I wanted you..."

"Until she walked up..." Zoe whispered.

The deep rumble of his laughter reverberated down her spine. "...Even then...I may have wished to throttle you...but that only heightened my desire ...In your head, you were fighting for your man ...what's not to like about that?"

She made a half turn, her cheek tilted towards him, the tinge of a blush warming the smooth alabaster finish of her perfectly applied foundation.

"Then it's even...Do you have any idea how much you turn me on, so urbanely dressed yet raging round me like the king of the fucking jungle about to pounce...?

The casual use of the expletive raised the heat another notch. This time he didn't answer. Not with words, at least. Instead, his fingers unhooked the tiny straps of her gown and eased them down. The dress slipped to the floor until it pooled in a froth of fabric at her feet. With one neat movement, she stepped aside.

He moaned softly at the sight of her, clad only in her bejewelled stilettos - and the flimsiest of panties, merely enough to conceal her pubes, the thong hidden in the cleft of her tiny buttocks where his fingers now followed, tracing their sensual route downwards, slipping beneath the silken crotch to dip into her creamy-wet flesh.

She arched her back against his chest, her thighs parting to allow him free rein. Her head rested against his shoulder, she murmured: "I want you..."

Her needy husky whisper made his head reel. Blood pounded in his temple and pooled in his groin. "...Not as much as I want you...!" came his raspy reply. "...Every time I see you. Night or day. This is how you make me feel..."

He ground his genitals against her thigh until she moaned and bore down instinctively against the probing fingers now deep inside her body, trapping his arm as she closed her legs to force him further, heightening her own pleasure.

He pushed her gently from him, extricating the hand, raising it to his face, rubbing the cream between his fingers and inhaling. Then he slipped his fingers into her mouth, forcing her to taste her own arousal as he pulled at his bow tie with the other and began to rip at the buttons of his dress shirt. He wanted flesh on flesh.

But her hands on his chest stopped him. "No...Don't! I want you fully dressed...I want you to fuck me just as you are...Do you know what is the most erotic sound in the world...? It's the scritchy-scratchy sound of the zip on a man's dress pants ..."

Sergei did not need to hear the rest. He hooked his thumb into the scrap of silk covering her sex and slid it down her slender thighs; she steadied herself with a hand on his shoulders as she stepped out. With a casual toss, they joined the dress on the floor. She turned to face him, now completely naked, her back arched and her breasts pressed forward.

For a long moment their eyes locked. Then he kissed her roughly, his hand tangled in her long thick hair, dragging her head back to bare her throat, his tongue plunging first into her mouth and then taking its wet trail to bite gently on the pulsing vein that his action had revealed. She moaned crudely driving him onwards to cup and then suckle on one perfectly formed erect nipple. One of her hands flailed out to grasp his groin, squeezing the hard ungainly bulk of his erect cock, strained against the expensive Italian wool.

She drew him towards her roughly, eager, impatient, her smooth stilettoed leg curving against his buttock to anchor herself. The fabric of his clothes was abrasive; it rubbed and chafed at her tender skin, as did the pearl buttons on his dress shirt, adding to her arousal, the cruder fantasy that had been lingering in her subconscious all the night.

It was not lost on him either. Pushing her backwards - with little ceremony- he leaned her body against a high-backed chair. With one smooth movement, he unzipped. The sound she had described was amplified in the silence of the night and in the feverish hunger of their need.

He parted her thighs with some force  - and buried himself deep inside. She gasped at the speed and force of his assault but he did not pull back, merely slipping his palms to cup her buttocks for support-and press her body even closer against his thrusting groin.

Right to the hilt. She moaned.  He eased back.  She rose to keep him inside. He thrust deeper still, setting up a pounding rhythm, each downward drive accompanied by his own guttural grunts. Her legs encircled him. He hoisted them up round his thighs, then his waist. She hung on, moving in time to his thrusts but beginning to lose the rhythm, sobbing as she cruised closer and closer to orgasm. "More...! More...! Fuck me...! Serge----iii.... F---u---c---k meee...! Hahhhhh....aghhhhh....aghhhh....!"

He knew she was close.  With a gargantuan effort, he set her precariously on the edge of the chair, slipping his cock out and separating her thighs wider. She languorously stretched one leg to hook over his shoulder, the other using his hip for a ledge, her fingers reaching for her own centre, teasing out her nub. "Watch me...watch me do it...!"

He watched. He always loved seeing her deep inside her own pleasure, parting her own flesh so he could see every single obscenely swollen crimson fold. Cursing foully, he gripped his own turgid cock, dipping and slicking its throbbing head in the thick moisture, pausing at her cunt lips long enough to tease her and make her cry out, then probing further down, rimming the tight little bud below.

"Look at us...Show me and I'll show you..."

He knew her predilections well. She was already ultra-sensitive, on the very edge, and the extra stimulation to the delicate anal nerves achieved his goal. She cried out and jerked, almost rolling from his grasp. He steadied her, holding her firm in his strong arms. Her arms flailed out to find the solid frame of his shoulders.

His head dropped now that they were both so close; he eased back in, more gently this time - and as her tight walls closed in on him, he shut his eyes to chased his own climax. Blood thundered in his ears. Lights flashed and dimmed. The roar of his own voice was lost in the inner crashing of the waves of pleasure that racked them both.

The image of Chiara flashed before his eyes, just at the moment of orgasm. He could see her, on a night long ago, draped over such a chair back, naked in his arms, a darker moment than this one, a night when he had indulged his penchant for more brutally dominant sexual encounter, urged on by Chiara herself. A half-memory of the past or a half-fantasy the future?

Sergei's final groan was not just one of pleasure....

 

~~~

 

"...He'll kill you if he finds out...!"

Valeri Gudovin's eyes did not leave the monitor, a dark, distant smile shadowing his lips. "...And how would he find out? Who would tell him? The only one who knows apart from me, is you...and what exactly would you tell him? That you sat with me and watched him fuck his wife? You think he would let either of us live if he knew that?" Gudovin laughed.

"You're fuckin' crazy...! What's your problem? You get enough pussy...why risk your life on that rich whore? She wouldn't look at you anyway. Why would she? She fucks Litvinov for billions of dollars...what could you offer her?" Oleg Lasky wasn't happy at this turn of events. Droplets of sweat had formed on his upper lip and brow. Gudovin scared him at the best of times. There was something unbalanced about Litvinov's cool, disdainful head of security. And Lasky did not want any part of whatever it was Gudovin was planning to do with the tapes he was making.

Valeri gave him a sideways glance. "Kicks...that's what they all want in the end. Every last horny bitch...Forbidden fruit..."

"...is forbidden for a good reason, Gudovin...You know what Litvinov's capable of. Christ, you've done enough of his dirty work before now. No woman is worth that. Jesus, whatever she looks like, turn off the lights and a cunt's just a cunt...He finds out you put a hidden camera in his own bedroom, he is going to destroy you...One of these nights you'll wake up dead in an alley with your dick stuffed down your throat...!"

Gudovin continued to stare at the monitor, unconcerned at the warnings from the older man. Lasky was one of the old guard, a career watchman, no brains, no initiative, just brawn and a limited imagination for anything else but ways to kill a man. Some men took orders; some gave them. That was what divided them.

"...What do you know about women, you fat fuck? Let me tell you...Madame Litvinova would be worth it, make no mistake about that. I'd take that risk for just one night between her thighs, the horny little bitch..." He reached out, switched briskly to another channel and restored the usual rolling split screen images of the key points in the house. With a few taps he wiped all trace of the recording he had just made from the hard drive, clearing all the hidden cache files that stored images and covering his tracks with his usual calculated efficiency. Lastly he ejected the memory stick that now held the only remaining copy of the tape.

Tossing the tiny device up in the air, he caught and pocketed it deftly, sauntering towards the door before stopping dead and turning to fix Lasky in a steely gaze. . "..."If you ever speak of this to anyone, I warn you, my friend, my revenge will be a thousand times worse than anything Litvinov would visit upon you... We cool, Oleg? Then...Spokoynaya noch', mon droog..." His sardonic wish to Oleg for 'a peaceful night, my friend, was answered by a string of foul expletives. But neither man was in any doubt of where he really stood...

 

~~~

 

...After the wild and brutal passion, Sergei's manner changed. Easing Zoe gently back to perch on the chair back, he hoisted her tenderly into his arms and carried her to the bed. She clung to him, nestling her face in the crook of his neck. Placing her down, he sat beside her, removing his clothes with her help. Throughout he was quiet, thinking deeply.

"We have to stop these insane extremes...we cannot swing from tearing at each other's flesh one minute to fucking like wild animals...There's been too much of that recently..." He observed as he kicked away his trousers and threw his shirt across the room in a gesture of frustration.

Zoe knelt behind him, her arms about his neck. "It's passion, Sergei! It's how we are. It's how we've always been..." she murmured, stroking his cheek. He was suddenly in no mood to be placated, removing her arms and holding her hands together to stop her from distracting him further.

"No...that's not an excuse! Passion is one thing, but this is destructive frenzy. We are arguing too much and then there is sex that is...it is...I don't know how to describe it...! We should be in a different place by now. You're my wife, Zoe! We have children. This is a home...a family...something pure and good...I want something calmer, more tender Something safe...Sometimes the way we are, it frightens me...There's not much difference between rage and lust...Maybe one day we will slip over the edge...and not be able to find our way back..."

His unexpected comment made her feel uneasy. What had made him feel this way? They had a very varied sex life, depending on their mutual moods. True enough, recently there had been tension between them - but wasn't that the result of outside pressures? And wasn't it understandable that this added stress might factor into their love life? It seemed to her to be an important mechanism to defuse tension- but was she missing something?

Zoe shifted back to slip beneath the bedclothes, opening up a flap for him to join her. Together they sank onto the pillows, wrapped up in each other's arms. "I'm not sure I understand, Sergei...We can be many things together...but you know, we've always had that fire. I think it's good for us. It's an important release valve...What do you mean 'I'm your wife?' Does that mean you have to keep a whore for the dirty sex and your wife for some other more wholesome sort?"

He tsked at her question. "I don't mean that! There's nothing wrong with a bit of dirty sex between a man and his wife, of course not...but there are times, I feel we indulge a darker side that isn't quite healthy...It's just a feeling I get when I'm deep inside the moment...like I'm dabbling in something I may not be able to control...A horse that might run away from us both if we don't learn to rein it in..." He raised his hands helplessly as if he was unable to express the sentiment any clearer.

She rolled above him, looking deep into his eyes. In the soft lamplight, they looked like glittering shards of glass - and there was something as raw and broken about them. She held his face in her hands as she answered him so that he, too, could see her eyes brimming with tears. "My feelings for you are intense...deeper, darker, more desperate than I ever let you know. I have lost too much in this life...I cannot lose you, Sergei...I could not stand the pain again...There's not enough left of me to bear another loss...I love you too much...I can't help it if sometimes I express it like this..."

His fingers brushed away the single tear that ran down each cheek. "He hurt you so badly...Even now, you suffer...will we never be free of him?"

He did not have to mention the name.  "It wasn't Nick who hurt me. He was not to blame. It was fate that caused it to happen.... And no one is ever free of fate...Not even you..."

Sergei did not answer, not entirely convinced of her argument. She had never divulged much of her brief, doomed time with Nicholas Costello but he had listened carefully to each passing reference, any mention by her family and friends - and had made full use of his contacts to learn more about this shadowy man who sometimes seemed as vital in death as most people did in life. The man's own seed made flesh was now Sergei's son, a daily reminder of this other man who had so deeply affected his wife.

What he had found out did not endear him to Costello. Zoe had been little more than a child when he had entered her life and Costello's Svengali-like influence over her struck him as somewhat sinister. He doubted whether, even now, Zoe actually understood how toxic he must have been for her. The danger that he had brought into her life alone seemed reason enough to rue the day that she had met him. He also found it hard to believe that Terry and Anna had welcomed the relationship at the time. His premature and tragic death had cloaked Costello in the haloed glow of martyrdom for those who had known him. No one now spoke of their initial perceptions when they had first learnt of the sexual relationship between a twenty-one year old girl and a dangerous killer almost twice her age. Sergei, however, had no reservations how he saw it: he regarded the affair as abusive.

And his wife was still a victim of it, all these years later, her desire tainted with darkness and fear. Oh no, he was not free of Costello by a very long way - and nor was she.

"...Don't cry, meliotschka...don't cry...I just want some peace in our lives, that's all. For so many years I have had to play the role of a man that I don't much like. Only with you and my children can I be the person I aspire to be...and he is a gentle, loving man who needs security, calm and a strong foundation in his home life...I'm a very conventional man, at heart..."

Zoe smiled at his admission. "I know that! It is the real Sergei Litvinov that I love! And I love that I am the only one who truly knows him! Whatever we do in the throes of passion, it will never stop me being the quiet heart of your world...I want to be the woman who holds you up against all the blows...I want to be your lover, too, and also your wife, your mother, your sister, your friend..."

"...You are all those things to me...and so very much more..." Sergei let out a deep sigh. "Forgive my bleak Russian soul...I am a strange bag of contrasts and moods..."

They settled down and soon he felt her loosen into sleep. But still the matter was not resolved. Something did not feel right. Something had changed. A chill wind was blowing in across the sunny valley of their lives, a dark cloud casting its shadow over the landscape. He shuddered. Had his thoughtless behaviour called up this wraith that now haunted the night? Or was Chiara Bellini every bit as dangerous to them both as Zoe's instinct had led her to believe?

 

 

To Part Two

Featured Song: Love is Hard by James Morrison from 'Songs for You, Truths for Me'

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