Chapter 17

 

 

Stefani existed in a precarious place. Reality had truly collided with the fantasies she harbored about the woman now adorning her house – and, more frequently, her room. Yulia made a habit of crawling into Stefani’s bed long after the lights were out and everyone else was asleep. Sometimes, that included Stefani, who awoke with a start every time she felt that arm tighten around her midsection.

“I am big spoon,” Yulia whispered in the dark. “You are little spoon. We fit together.”

Indeed, they did.

Yulia was often still there in the morning, although she continued to go to Portland as often as she pleased. Yet Stefani couldn’t be too upset since those lips were now often on hers and their frisky fondling beneath the covers often turned into Yulia devouring every inch of Stefani’s body.

“Show me your pussy, princess.” Those were the magic words that automatically rolled Stefani over in bed and gave Yulia whatever access she pleased. Any fears that Yulia was only doing this to secure her visa were soon declared unfounded. After all, would she take such great delight in plunging her fingers into Stefani for these delightful quickies if that were the case?

Stefani lost whole minutes of her day simply staring out her window. Or at her computer screen. Perhaps she spent more empty minutes than she ever thought possible staring at her tablets, thinking about the amazing ways Yulia completely owned her when they were alone. She was good at keeping the playfulness to herself when Dante or someone else was in the room, but there was always that look in her eye. That little smirk on her lips. The way she propped her elbow against every arm rest and kicked one leg over the other whenever Stefani happened to look in her direction. God, it kills me. Stefani wondered what kind of she-beast she brought to her home. Never mind the country. Her home!

Dante, unfortunately, picked up on it.

“So, I couldn’t help but notice…” His smarmy ass slid across her office. Slid. This was why he was supposedly banned from using the wheeled chairs in the house. He was like a kid, twirling in his seat and pushing himself across the room whenever he pleased. “Yulia has moved into your bedroom.”

“What are you talking about?” Stefani kept her eyes firmly on her monitor. Behind her, workers made the rounds in the vineyards. Occasionally, a barrel was pushed below. On any other day, they would have mildly distracted the woman going over calendars and the books. Today, she was so focused that she couldn’t fool her brother any longer. “She still has the third bedroom to herself.”

“Sure, that’s where she’s putting her stuff. Yet is she actually sleeping in there? Not according to what I see popping out of your room around the same time I’m grabbing my breakfast. By the way…” Dante waggled his eyebrows. “She is smoking hot in those T-shirts she wears. Kind of a shame she’s wearing underwear, though.”

If he was trying to get a rise out of his sister, it was working. Yet Stefani maintained a sliver of composure as she pursed her lips and said, “Well, last I checked, a man did live in this apartment. It would be nice if he weren’t ogling my wife’s body.”

“Aw, you know it’s not actually like that…”

Of course it wasn’t. If it were, Stefani would have thrown him across the room already.

As happy as she was that Yulia was more than content to make herself at home in bed with her fiancée, something continued to nag at Stefani’s subconscious. While this was great news in terms of proving to immigration that their marriage wasn’t a visa-grabbing sham, what was all of that coy flirtation about when Yulia first arrived? Stefani supposed she was still unsure how serious her fiancée was about falling in love. She couldn’t shake the feeling Yulia wasn’t actually into her. Yet that went against what Stefani felt when they were in bed together. Yulia wasn’t faking it, was she?

On the Friday following Yulia’s triumphant inclusion in Stefani’s sex life, a call came through the office line, prompting Stefani to look away from the window, where she dreamed of that woman inhaling her with every pretty breath. Yulia had spent considerable time the night before personally studying the folds of Stefani’s pussy. With her tongue.

Well, she had said Stefani wasn’t her first woman in bed… still, was it weird that she was a little surprised?

“Bel Cielo Estate,” Stefani greeted. “This is Stefani Valetti speaking.”

“Stefani, hello.” It took her a moment to recognize the svelte voice on the other end of the line. “This is Margaret Sloan. Remember me? From the party last weekend.”

Stefani relaxed in her seat. “Of course I remember, Ms. Sloan. What can I do for you? I believe Dante followed up with you on Wednesday?”

“Yes, yes, of course he did. While I am calling to thank you once again for the great party, there’s something else I wanted to speak with you about, if you have time.”

Stefani sucked in her cheeks, holding in the loud sigh that was fighting for attention in the depths of her ribcage. Every time somebody said something like that, she was half-convinced that it was something personal against her. Probably her mother whispering in the back of her head. “Stefani Maria Angelina Valetti, how could you think about leaving the house dressed in that?” Judgmental didn’t begin to describe the people who raised Stefani and her brother. Every time she thought she was safe from their grasp, however, another voice appeared. It always told her to doubt the good things appearing around her.

“I have a few minutes to spare,” she finally said. “What can I do for you, Ms. Sloan?” Her stock phrases were out in full force now. Was this customer service or a personal call? Only time would tell Stefani as she sat in front of her window with a phone pressed against her ear.

“Now, I don’t mean to be presumptuous whatsoever, Ms. Valetti,” Sloan said with the lying tone of a cat on the prowl for trouble, “but this is about your fiancée, Ms. Petrova.”

Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? “What about Yulia? I hope she did not offend you, Ms. Sloan. She has a very Russian sense of humor, and while her English is…”

“No, no, nothing like that. She was an absolute doll. Very charming. If you give her free rein of your parties, she will have future customers absolutely eating out of her hands.” A whistle accompanied Sloan’s sigh. “Let’s say I have minute reason to believe she might be involved in some… questionable activities up here in Portland. Did you know about them?”

Stefani lurched forward against her desk. “Excuse me?” she whispered.

“I suppose I should back up. You see, I may be a more recent transplant to this city, but I always make a point to have eyes and ears everywhere. You never know when a business rival or a shady ex-husband might make your life a living hell. You want to cut off the dead heads before they suck up all the energy from the roots, you know.”

Stefani may or may not have known a thing or two about gardening. “Go on.”

“Please note that I haven’t seen your fiancée directly involved in nefarious activity, but one of my ears… well, he tells me that your sister is working with a particular family known for some of its more illicit activities. I guess what I’m trying to ask is… Ms. Valetti, we have already established who your distant relations are. I’m sure you know what kind of trouble mobsters get up to when they want to enjoy their ill-gotten gains. Well, up here in Portland, there are two Russian families in particular that maintain a truce as long as one does not tread upon the other’s areas of business. For example, your fiancee’s brother… Ivan Petrov, is it?... he works as a bouncer in one of these family’s gambling parlors. My informant tells me he found out because he likes to bet on poker.”

Stefani snorted. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Normally I would keep my nose out of such smells, of course, but I like you and your fiancée. I sense a certain camaraderie within you that I would very much like to cultivate, and not only because we share an important mutual friend. Guess you could say I don’t want to see your lovely fiancée get caught up in activities that may get her deported. Or worse.”

Stefani was silent for a second. Then, “What do you propose I do? Confront her?”

“No, unless you think it’s a good idea. Actually, and this is very egregious of me, I would like to refer you to one of the best private investigators in Portland. Perhaps one of the best I’ve ever worked with, and I worked with quite a few in Chicago. If you tell her I referred you, she will give you a generous discount.”

“I don’t… why…”

“I’ll cut right down to it, Ms. Valetti.” In other circumstances, Stefani would have been turned on by Sloan’s snap as she cut through the crap and got to the cause of the matter. Stefani didn’t only appreciate such attitudes. They outright aroused her. Damn me for liking tough women who like to dish it out more than they take it. No wonder she was enamored with Yulia from the beginning. She saw that countenance and wanted it in her bedroom. “Women like us have to look out for one another. Pardon me for me saying this, but for a mobster’s relation you’re quite naïve about what goes on in that world. I’m trying to do you a favor, because it’s the right thing to do. I think you should investigate your fiancée’s actions and her true intentions for marrying you before you drown in some very hot water. Trust me, Stefani.” Even the way she said Stefani’s name was like a clap to the ass. “You don’t want to get mixed up even with the small time operations up here in Portland. If your fiancée is already in deep, do whatever it takes to get her out of it, or cut her loose. You’ll be happy that you did.”

Sloan hung up soon after. While Stefani stared at the phone echoing a dial tone beneath plastic and metal wiring, one of the house staff knocked on the office door and announced a piece of registered mail had arrived for Stefani. Within it was a letter printed on Margaret Sloan’s stationery, complete with her referral to a private investigator in Portland.

Stefani dumped it in her bottom drawer, which she locked with little remorse. Whatever was in there didn’t need to come out. Not as long as she was sure that she had done the right thing by getting involved with Yulia Petrova.

Sloan is so out of line. She thought that, yet she couldn’t deny that the doubts grew every time she thought of Yulia. What was she doing in Portland? Was it true about her brother? What was she involved with, anyway?

Stefani swallowed her pride and returned to her emails, pretending that Margaret Sloan had never contacted her.

 

***

 

Yulia was gone by the time Stefani woke up Saturday morning. Certainly not out of the ordinary when they had no plans. I was going to suggest we go look at wedding stuff, but… guess not. Dante was gone, too, having announced his plans to visit a friend up in Portland. For a moment, Stefani wondered if the two were related, but shook it off as she sat down to her breakfast and emails.

She was alone for most of the day. A text from Yulia said she was having dinner with her brother’s family that night and would be home late. Stefani had half a mind to say something, but refrained in the end.

Briefly, Stefani thought about the referral to the private investigator. She continued to push it out of the way, however. Such an idea was preposterous. A complete breach of trust. Would she want to know that Yulia was investigating her? No! Would she want Dante knowing about it? Fuck, no. Hiring a PI was straight out of her parents’ playbook. Her mother had remained paranoid for most of her marriage, convinced that her husband’s extended family would be the end of them. Whispers after the accident insinuated that the Chicago Valettis might have been responsible, but no proof nor any motive were ever discovered. Stefani had brushed it off as silly family gossip. Now…

She really detested the talk of mobsters and mafia. Italian, Russian, or otherwise.

Perhaps there was a good reason for it being on her mind, however. For as afternoon turned into evening, she acquired a new sinking suspicion that something was wrong.

As soon as she dabbed her dinner napkin against her mouth for the final time that evening, her phone rang. It was Dante, and Stefani sensed the urgency from the first tone breaking the silence in her dining room.

“Sis! Hey… uh, hi!” Dante’s canned laughter scared her more than anything he had to say. Because whatever he did say? Veiled in idle threats and coded words. “How are you? Have you had dinner yet?”

“What is it?” Stefani asked, back rigid and voice raspy. “Don’t bullshit me, either.”

“Uh, well…” Dante’s voice likewise pitched as if he were experiencing puberty all over again. “I need you to kinda, uh… do me a huge favor. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back.”

Stefani stared at her empty dinner plate, hand covering her face and elbow slipping off the table. Where had she put her thick coat, again?