Captured

Chapter 22

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

VIKTOR

It’s been two days since Sokolov’s death, and the streets are buzzing. I’d kill that motherfucker again without blinking, but I don’t need to. Sergei already knows it was me. Now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time before he comes for me. Unless I find him first.

“What are you thinking?” Nikolai asks from across the desk, eyes still on his computer. We’ve been working in my office for hours.

“What my uncle’s next move will be.”

“Well, while you were busy with those shipping contracts from Colombia, I got a message from Sasha. Sergei was seen at the harbor. He was kindly told to fuck off from our territory.”

“And? Did he?”

“Da.”

I let out a humorless huff. Of course the old coward backed off. “Keep your eyes on him. Sergei doesn’t do coincidence. If he was there, he had a reason.”

Nikolai glances up, leaning back and folding his palms behind his head. “Well, we know he doesn’t want you dead. He wants you weak. What would you do in his position?”

“If I were him? I’d hit the weakest point in my circle. Someone soft. Someone new. Someone I’ve been keeping too close.”

Nikolai’s hands drop from his head, hitting the desk with a hollow thud. “Blyad’,” he whispers. The humor vanishes from his face. “You mean Jonah.”

“Yes.”

My chest tightens. I’ve spent my life eliminating variables, yet I just handed my uncle the ultimate leverage.

I brought a man into this house, dressed him in my clothes, and let the world see me touch him.

I didn't just find a match, I created a target.

If Sergei takes him, it won't just be a blow to the business. It will be the end of me. The realization hits like a physical strike to the ribs. I’ve never had a weakness before.

Now I have someone to lose, and it makes every decision dangerous.

I can feel the change in my blood—a protective instinct that's sharper than any blade I carry.

“Then what’s our move?”

“We make Jonah the safest man in this city. And we make the rest choke.” Standing, I check my watch. “Speaking of Jonah, he hasn't brought me my morning coffee yet.”

“That’s because it’s already noon, Vitya," Nikolai laughs. “Seriously, Lev is right. You’ve got to loosen the leash a bit. He is suffocating.”

“He is mine to suffocate,” I counter, grabbing my jacket. “If Jonah is not in the kitchen, I’m holding you responsible for his lack of punctuality.”

Nikolai follows me out, hands in his pockets. “Right, because I’m the one who controls his alarm clock. Maybe Jonah finally realized that being your nurse is a twenty-four-hour shift with no hazard pay.”

“He gets paid in protection,” I state, heading down the hallway.

“He gets paid in bruises and your undivided attention,” Nikolai adds with a grin. “Don't act like you're doing him a charity. Lev mentioned he was looking through the library earlier. Probably looking for a way to translate your grunts into actual human speech.”

I pause in the doorway. “Don’t tell me how to handle what’s mine, Niko. If you’re so keen on protecting a sweet boy, find your own pet.”

Nikolai whistles low. “If that’s how you talk about him in daylight, remind me never to fall in love around you.”

I don’t dignify that with an answer. Instead, I leave the office and head down the hallway. We’ve gotten into a habit of him coming to find me, and I like the quiet submission of it. He had better have a good excuse for skipping today.

Halfway there, a sound interrupts my thoughts. I stop. Is that Jonah laughing? The sound is bright, making my jaw lock because it is too unguarded for a house like this. Another voice follows. A familiar one. What the fuck is Lev doing alone in there with him?

“Take it easy, Vitya.” Nikolai passes me, flicking a glance back over his shoulder. A knowing wink follows it. I bite back a response and follow him inside.

The room is alive. Music plays while two guards linger by the back door.

Jonah stands at the island with his sleeves rolled up and messy hair falling into his eyes as he chops something.

Lev stands close, correcting Jonah’s grip on the knife with two fingers.

My vision narrows. The air in my lungs turns to ice.

The sound of Jonah's laughter earlier still rings in my ears, but seeing my brother's hands near him makes the noise die a sudden death. From across the doorway, my fingers itch with the need to wrap around the back of Jonah’s neck and yank him away from my brother.

“You want the strokes even.” Lev taps the blade lightly, adjusting Jonah’s wrist. “Otherwise it won't cook right.”

Jonah laughs again, shaking his head. “I’m trying. You’re a terrifying teacher.”

Lev snorts. “I’m a gentle one. You should have seen Viktor at your age because he nearly sliced his thumb to the bone.” He shifts closer, his chest almost brushing Jonah’s back. “Here. Let me show you.”

When he moves to step in behind Jonah, my voice cracks across the kitchen like a gunshot. “Get your hands off him.”

Lev swirls around with a big smile already in place. “Ah, there he is. Come and take a look, Vitya. I’m teaching Jonah how to make pelmeni.”

“I don't care what you’re doing. You’re too close to him.” Ignoring Nikolai’s chuckle and Lev’s surprised look, I focus only on Jonah. My chest is tight. My hands fist at my sides. I want to ask him if this is the reason he forgot to bring me breakfast. Fucking Lev.

“He was just helping,” Jonah offers, though he doesn't step away from the island. He looks at Lev, then back to me, trying to gauge the temperature of the room.

“Lev helps by staying out of the way,” I state, walking toward them. “Not by putting his hands on you.”

“I’m sharing the Morozov legacy, Vitya,” Lev jokes, though he finally puts some distance between them. “A man who can't fold a dumpling isn't fit for this house. Isn't that what Father used to say?”

“Father said a man who touches what doesn't belong to him loses the hand,” I remind him.

Nikolai snorts from the doorway, grabbing an apple from the bowl. “And people wonder why you don't get invited to many dinner parties.”

Jonah lifts a dumpling between his fingers. Flour dusts his wrist and the tip of his nose. “Look. I made this one. Well, sort of. Your brother fixed the ugly ones.”

“My brother, huh?” I circle the island slowly, my instincts cataloging the space. I see how close Lev stands. I see where Jonah’s body angles and how easily his smile comes for someone who isn't me.

Jonah holds the dumpling out again, hopeful. “You want to taste one? They’re not cooked yet but Lev said the fold is the important part.”

Leaning in, I take it from his fingers with my mouth, not breaking eye contact. I don't care about the fucking dumpling. I care that Jonah wanted to make my favorite dish with someone else’s hands guiding him. Lev straightens subtly, finally reading the room.

A small, dry laugh slips out. “It’s fine. We’re just cooking.”

No. They’re not just cooking. They’re cooking my dish. In my kitchen. With my brother’s hands on Jonah’s wrist. Jonah doesn't see the problem. Lev definitely does.

“Go on then.” Jonah tips his head, watching me closely. “Tell me if I got the fold right.”

I take a slow bite. It’s awful. It’s perfect. Jonah’s whole face brightens. “You like it?”

“I like that you made it,” I say. Lev looks down at the cutting board like he’s praying to the onions. I don't give him a second look. “Show me how you make them.”

Taking Lev’s position behind Jonah, I leave no distance this time.

I press my chest against his back and lean my chin on his shoulder to watch.

Jonah shudders. “Well. Lev said the fold is what makes it a real pelmeni.” He picks up another round of dough and sets it on the board, his hands trembling just a little.

Flour dusts his knuckles. “So you take this,” he says, placing a small spoonful of filling in the center. “Then you fold it like this.”

He lifts the edge and presses it over, sealing the dumpling into a half-moon. His thumbs work the rim carefully, pinching it shut. “You have to make sure it’s tight or it bursts in the water.”

I rumble, my hands roaming over his tee down to the waistband of his sweats.

I untie the string with a single pull. Jonah swallows hard.

He brings the two ends of the crescent toward each other.

“And then, this part.” He joins the tips with a soft press of his fingers. “Lev said this makes the shape right.”

I murmur against his neck. “Khorosho. Do it again.” My hand dips into his pants and finds his cock. It grows in my palm, hot and smooth, slick at the tip. Jonah flushes all the way to his ears. “It’s just a dumpling.”

“No. It’s you in my kitchen. Cooking my dish. With your hands instead of someone else’s.”

Lev clears his throat like he wants to be anywhere but in this room. Jonah picks up another round of dough, his hands steadier now, and repeats the process. Fold. Pinch. Join the ends. His breath hitches every time my chest pushes into his back, every time I stroke his cock from base to tip.

“You watching?”

“I’m watching everything.”

Jonah’s fingers tremble over the next piece of dough, the circle warping in his hands. He tries to focus on the fold. He can’t, not when my fist tightens around his cock and pulls another hot drop to the tip. “Viktor…” he whispers.

“Keep going. Don't stop.”

He forces another spoonful of filling into the center. His breath shakes when I stroke him again, the dough nearly slipping from his flour-dusted fingers.

“Fold it,” I say against his ear. He folds it badly, the edge failing to line up.

“Pinch,” I say. My thumb rubs under the head of his cock, spreading slick.

His hips jerk. He pinches, but it isn't enough.

The seam loosens. Jonah whimpers, embarrassed at the mistake, grinding back into me even as he tries to hide it.

“Try again. Focus.”

“I’m trying,” he breathes.

“I know.” I kiss the side of his throat. “But you’re shaking too much. Let me help.” My hand covers his wrist, guiding the fold with him, pressing the rim shut with his own thumbs while his cock throbs in my fist. He gasps so quietly only I hear it. “Good,” I say. “Now finish.”

He reaches to bring the two ends together. His fingers slip. The dough nearly tears under the pressure. He makes a shattered sound. I squeeze him once, hard enough to make his knees buckle. Jonah bites back a cry.

From the side of the island, Lev mutters under his breath. “I didn't sign up for this shift.”

Nikolai doesn't look up from his phone. “You’re the one who told him to loosen the leash.”

Lev whispers, “I didn't mean like this.”

Nikolai shrugs. “Then stop teaching his boyfriend how to fold dumplings.”

“I was trying to be a good brother,” Lev grumbles. “Now I feel like I need a priest and a shower.”

“You need a job,” Nikolai retorts. “The shipment from the docks isn't going to count itself. Go on, before Vitya decides to use that knife on you instead of the dough.”

Lev glances at me, sees the way I’m holding Jonah, and finally takes the hint. “Right. Docks. Work. Anything that isn't here.”

Lev glares at Nikolai, then leaves. Jonah gasps as my hand tightens.

“Again,” I tell him. “Make another.”

He fumbles for a fresh circle, flour-dusted hands shaking out of his control. “Viktor,” he whispers. “I can’t… I’m… I can’t think.”

I smile against his throat. “You don't need to think. Just listen. Just do what I tell you.” I pump him slowly.

He trembles against me, trying to fold the dough, trying to impress me, trying not to fall apart in front of my brother and my right hand.

He gets halfway through the fold. His breath catches.

His thighs press together. “Open your legs.”

He obeys. The dough slips again. He curses under his breath. Lev shifts, uncomfortable, but he doesn't move.

“Viktor… Please—I can’t make them right like this,” Jonah whispers.

Tilting his chin, I kiss the spot under his ear. “That’s fine. I’m not looking at the dumplings. I’m looking at you. At the way you shake for me. At the way your hands try so hard to please me. At the way you belong in my kitchen when you’re falling apart because of my touch.”

He drops the dumpling, the dough hitting the board with a thud. Jonah’s breath stutters. “Fuck…I’m close.”

“Good. Let them hear you.”

Lev’s grip tightens on the edge of the counter. Nikolai murmurs a warning in his tone I choose to ignore. Jonah bites his lip, but his body gives him away. His hips move with each stroke. His head tips back to my shoulder. “That’s it, krasavchik,” I murmur. “Let me feel you.”

He shudders. The dough under his hands smears into a sticky mess. Flour streaks his forearms. His cock pulses in my grip.

“Come.”

His moan breaks open, soft but desperate.

His cum streaks over my hand, the counter, the flour-dusted board.

His breath trembles. His knees nearly give.

Jonah grabs for the island, his fingers slipping and smearing flour across the dark wood.

I catch him with one arm around his waist and press one last kiss to his shoulder.

I can feel the heat radiating off him, a fever of my own making.

“Good. Now wash your hands. You’re finishing the rest.”

He turns his head slightly. His lips are parted, his eyes blown wide with heat and humiliation and want. “You’re insane,” he whispers.

“Da. And you’re still mine.” I lift my gaze to Lev. He straightens, trying to pretend his expression hasn't gone rigid. “Set the table. Jonah made my favorite dish. We’re eating it tonight.”

Lev nods too fast. “Of course.”

“And Lev?” He pauses. “Thank you. For teaching him.”

His shoulders drop a fraction. “Anytime.”

I let a small smile cut across my mouth, though it doesn't reach my eyes. “Next time, though, keep your hands where I can see them.”

Jonah elbows me weakly. “Viktor.”

“What?” I murmur, leaning down to kiss the curve of his jaw. “A man should be grateful when his brother teaches his boy something useful.”

He blushes again. Lev looks like he wants to climb into the oven.

Taking Jonah’s wrist, I guide his flour-smudged hand to my mouth and lick a stripe clean, marking him in front of my kin with the same casual cruelty I’d use on an enemy.

He belongs in my kitchen and under my shadow, and whether he’s folding dough or bleeding for me, he is the only piece of this world I am never letting go of.

“Besides,” I add softly, for him alone. “I like watching you make things for me. With those hands.”

His breath stutters. Lev clears his throat so loudly it echoes. “Table,” I remind him, still staring at Jonah. “Now.”

He moves fast. Turning Jonah toward the sink, I kiss the back of his neck. I let my hand rest heavy on his hip. “We’ll finish cooking. And then you’re sitting beside me the whole damn night.”

Jonah swallows, feeling warm against me. “Okay.”

Good.