29. Cathy
29
CATHY
I watch the pot simmering on the stove, a mix of nervousness and anticipation fluttering in my chest. I had no idea Russian cooking would be so complicated.
After many hours with Anya and lots of reminders, I’ve managed to create something that looks halfway presentable—pelmeni, little dumplings Ivan supposedly loved once upon a time.
I set the table, arranging the plates and silverware just so, waiting for Ivan to come in. He steps into the kitchen, his gaze landing on the carefully prepared spread. His usual guarded expression softens, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“You made pelmeni?” he asks, an unusual warmth slipping into his voice.
I smile, shrugging in what I hope looks like nonchalance. “I thought it’d be nice to try something different,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Anya told me you liked these as a kid.”
He doesn’t say anything immediately but takes a seat, watching me as I bring the plate over. As he takes his first bite, I search his face for any reaction, holding my breath.
A rare, genuine smile breaks through his reserved expression, and he nods. “Not bad, Cathy,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “Anya’s been teaching you well.”
I let out a relieved laugh. “Good to know I didn’t butcher one of your favorite dishes,” I reply, taking my seat across from him. “It took a few tries to get them right. Anya was thorough.”
“She’s not one for shortcuts,” he agrees, his voice softer, as if remembering something from long ago. “My mother made these, always by hand.” He pauses, setting down his fork. “She’d say that you had to be patient and careful, or they’d fall apart. She had a way of making every small thing feel important.”
As we finish the meal, I notice Ivan clearing the plates and, before I can react, he’s pouring a fresh cup of coffee.
“Here,” he says, setting it in front of me. “Two sugars, a dash of cream—exactly how you like it.”
I stare at the cup, surprised. “How did you know that?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I pay attention,” he replies simply, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Besides, you have a habit of glancing at me like I’ve committed a warcrime when the coffee’s too bitter.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Maybe because it is a warcrime.”
A comfortable silence falls between us as I sip the coffee. It’s perfect, as if he’s memorized every detail of how I prefer it.
“What’s your favorite part about cooking?” I ask suddenly, curious to hear more of this side of him.
He thinks for a moment, then answers, “The process. It’s precise, structured yet there’s room for creativity. There’s a satisfaction in creating something from nothing.”
I nod, understanding more than he knows. “It’s kind of like life, I guess. A bit messy, with room to make mistakes,” I say softly. “But worth it if you get it right.”
He looks at me for a long moment, something thoughtful flickering in his eyes. “I suppose so.”
Nik appears in the doorway. “A word?” he asks.
Ivan gets to his feet. “Forgive me.” He heads outside. I hear the low hum of their voices drifting through the closed door. A name catches my ear—Jimmy. My heart lurches, and I instinctively move closer to the door, holding my breath as I listen.
“He was gone by the time we got through the security measures,” Ivan says, his voice cool but unmistakably frustrated. “Just like the last place.
“He’s moving too fast, probably getting tipped off. But he’s slipping, Nik. He owes way too much money, and the noose is tightening. Don Bianchi wants his money back and Jimmy’s getting desperate.”
Nik grunts in agreement. “You think he’ll come here for her? Walk into the trap?”
“He’s desperate, borrowing money from every mobster he can find,” Ivan replies. “Running out of places to go. She’s his last shot at clearing his debts. He’s got to make a move sooner or later.”
My mind races. I knew Ivan was hunting him, pressuring anyone who might know his whereabouts. But what is Jimmy doing?
Ivan’s voice softens slightly, and I hear him add, “What if he clears the debt some other way?”
“Easier to steal her inheritance if he steals her first,” Nik says, a hard edge to his tone. “If she didn’t have a claim to her dad’s money, Jimmy would have lost interest in her way before now. He can’t keep his dick out of any available pussy, that one. He’ll come for her, trust me.”
“I want revenge for what he did,” Ivan says, his voice dropping. “My patience is wearing thin.”
There’s a pause, a heaviness in the silence before Nik responds. “He needs a marriage certificate to take control of her inheritance.”
“I know that. What’s your point?”
“My points is he can’t get that while you’re married to her.”
Ivan grunts. “That’s the whole point. Make him want to kill me so he can marry her. That brings him out from whatever rock he’s hiding under. Kill me, marry her, claim the lot, kill her. Only I’ll get the cunt when he comes here to claim her.”
The floor seems to tilt beneath me as the truth sinks in. I press my back to the wall, feeling the cold seep through me.
My hands tremble, and I clasp them tightly to steady myself. Jimmy was only after my money, money I never even knew existed. And then he planned to kill me?
Nik clears his throat. “What’s the deal with her father anyway? You never told me who he is.”
“Robert Mancini.”
“Shit? The mob boss?”
“The late mob boss.”
“And she’s no idea her father was a mob boss? How is that possible?”
Ivan’s voice is unyielding. “Her mother was a cleaner for Mancini. When his wife discovered he was putting his dick in the help, she forced her out. Then he was last to die after that bomb went off. I left that file on my desk for you to read.”
Nik grunts. “You know I can’t read for shit. So when he died, the estate fell to Cathy.”
“Why else would he get engaged to her? Why do you think he keeps texting her to come back. He needs her to get the money or Bianchi will kill him for not repaying his debts. She’s the key to everything for that little prick.”
“Why not kill him when we first found him?”
Ivan pauses for a moment. “I got obsessed. More preoccupied with watching her than dealing with him. Didn’t think he’d be able to hide this well.”
“Hold on,” Nik says as a phone beeps. “Message coming through. Shit, he’s been spotted. We move, we might be able to catch him.”
“Let’s go now,” Ivan replies, their footsteps fading into the distance as I’m left alone to handle the revelations that have just hit me.
My father was a mob boss. I was going to inherit his money. Jimmy wanted that money. That’s why he was going to marry me. My money.
I know who my father is. And there’s a file on Ivan’s desk. I have to see it.
Right now.