Chapter 24
We’re halfway through the dinner Lev picked up for us on the way back to his penthouse when his phone dances on the tabletop.
He turns it over to see who is calling before declining the call.
“You don’t need to ignore work on my account,” I say taking another bite of the most delicious roast beef I’ve ever had in my life. The man really does employ the world’s best chefs at his restaurant.
“It’s nothing that can’t wait.” He pushes his plate away from him, having finished everything except the peas.
“You don’t like peas?” I point with my fork at the pile left on his dish.
“No.”
“Then why’d you order them? You own the restaurant, I’m sure they’d make any substitution you wanted.”
A hint of a smile touches his lips. “When Nicolette was younger, the only vegetable I could get her to eat without a fight was peas. So, if we were eating out and she didn’t order a vegetable or her meal didn’t come with one, I’d make sure mine did.”
“And then you’d make her eat them?”
He laughs, a soft sound coming from an old memory. “I’d bribe her. If she ate them, she’d get dessert.”
“But then you didn’t eat a vegetable, so did you still get dessert?”
He deadpans. “Always. You don’t mess with a man’s dessert, Maxine.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. He has such a serious expression, but there’s that little pull on his mouth. It’s sweet. And hot as hell.
“So, you raised Nicolette, then?”
He shakes his head while taking a sip of his drink. “No, not really. She was thirteen when our parents died in a car accident.”
“You were bribing a teenager with ice cream to make her eat her peas?” I tilt my head. Seems a little old for such a trick.
“Nicolette had a hard time with their death. I was already grown and out of the house. It was an adjustment to have me step in. It was probably a little juvenile, and to be honest, I would have given her the dessert anyway. Just to see her happy.”
He sighs, letting the moment hang between us.
“But that was a long time ago. She’s an adult now, and I’m sure she has ice cream for dinner more nights than I would be happy about.”
I swipe the last bite of my mashed potatoes and take my time eating them, getting the feeling he could use a moment to let the memories pass. It’s hard looking back sometimes. Losing his parents and then taking on a teenager couldn’t have been easy.
I wonder how deep in the Bratva he was when all of that happened. How hard did he have to work to keep her sheltered from his work while trying to help her navigate the enormous grief of losing her parents?
“You look less moody than normal. Did you get to break more thumbs today than usual?”
I’m teasing. Actually teasing this mobster sitting across from me in his kitchen, as though our days are filled with normal activities, and we’re like any other couple. We’re not. I’m not even sure if we’re a couple. That sounds weird.
I’m only here because of my brothers. And once they show up again and everything can be cleared up, this will end.
Lev presses his forearms against the edge of the table as he leans toward me.
“Are you trying to ask me about my day?” He lifts a brow.
“I guess I am.” I take a sip of my wine, a sweet white wine that I’m sure isn’t intended to go with this meal, but Lev knows I like my wine closer to juice than alcohol.
He leans back, folding his arms over his chest, studying me. “It was a productive day.”
“I’m not sure what that means in your world, but I’m guessing you’ve managed to get done what you needed to get done?”
He smiles. It’s casual, easy. This whole evening has been that way.
“I did.” He glances at my plate. “Did you like the roast beef?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. My plate is clean. I’ve used the dinner rolls to mop up all the creamy, delicious gravy that spilled off the mashed potatoes. Which I’ve also devoured.
“I must have been hungry,” I say laying my fork down across the dish.
He reaches across the table, grabbing my hand and squeezing. “It’s dinner. It’s meant to be eaten.”
I slide my hand from beneath his and push up to my feet.
“It was delicious.”
Picking up my plate, I grab his, as well, and take both to the sink.
“Leave those,” he says from the table.
“It’s okay, it’s only a few plates.” I rinse them both and get them loaded into the dishwasher.
When I clean up the containers, Lev’s heated stare stills me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He turns in his seat, leaning one arm on the table and the other over the back of his chair. “I have staff that does this. You don’t need to clean, do dishes, or do your own laundry.”
“I like doing those things, though.” I finish packing up the empty containers into a garbage bag and tie it off.
“No. You think you need to do those things.” He takes the garbage bag from me, cupping my chin with his free hand and tilting my head back. For a long moment, his eyes bore into me.
This must be what it feels like to stand naked in front of a stadium of strangers.
“You don’t need to earn your keep here, Max,” he says softly, then brushes his lips across mine. “You don’t have to make yourself useful to be here.”
My mouth dries. Something inside me shifts. The heaviness in my chest lightens.
“Yeah.” I try to laugh his comment off, like he’s way off base. “I know.”
“Do you?” He puts the bag of trash down, and grabs my hands, holding them between us.
“Since you’ve been here, you’ve cleaned, cooked, worked beside my housekeeper whenever she would allow it.
And even when she wouldn’t, you’d find some way to make yourself useful to her.
Yesterday, you made the men I left behind a batch of brownies. ”
“Everyone likes brownies. They liked them.” I defend myself. “There’s nothing wrong with showing some appreciation. You might want to try it sometime.”
“You made them because you think you have to work to be allowed space here.” He brushes his fingertips across my jaw. “You don’t. You just need to be you.”
I pull away. Discomfort replaces the lightness, and I take a step back.
“I’m not doing that. It’s just…well, it’s better to be helpful than a burden.”
He folds his arms over his chest and cocks his head. “And who told you that?”
I stammer a moment; sure he’s going to take things the wrong way. “My foster mother.”
“The same foster mother who raised the twins all those years? She did a bang-up job.”
“She tried with them, Lev. She did, but they were always going to do whatever they wanted. I was different. I was stronger, more focused.”
“Ah, so that made you the more responsible one? The one who was in charge of keeping them in line? Keeping them out of trouble? And while you’re doing that, also make yourself useful so that woman wouldn’t want to get rid of you?”
My throat constricts.
“I told you, there’s very little I can’t get information on. You went through several foster homes before landing at the last one.”
“Some foster parents want short term placements. That’s all. It wasn’t anything I did.” How many times did the social workers lay out that carpet of crap?
“And since they thought your mother was going to regain custody at some point, they agreed to take you on, but then—”
“Then she’d disappear again. I know my history, Lev. I don’t need you to tell me.” He shouldn’t know these things about me. About how easy it was to turn me away, to give me up, over and over again.
“After my mom died, a permanent placement was requested. That’s when I was placed with Mrs. Ingles. She knew it wasn’t temporary. She kept me.”
“Because you did everything you could to make sure you were useful. Someone she could depend on. Not someone she needed to take care of. Someone who would stay out of her way.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. She wasn’t perfect, but she gave us a home. She never hurt us, never did anything…” I stop talking, unsure of what to say next to make him understand.
Why can’t he understand?
Because he’s always had a family surrounding him. He’s had Nicolette his whole life and his men and his friends.
He can’t possibly understand what it’s like not having anyone in your corner.
Waking up and being told there’s no more room at the house, and you’re going to be moved to a new place.
Having your things packed up while you’re at school and coming home to find yet another social worker sitting waiting for you to take you to a new home. A new family.
But never your family.
“Max.” He grabs my chin again, squeezing it tightly to get my attention.
His eyes are hard.
“You don’t have to earn your place here. This is your place. With me. Here,” he says.
“Right,” I say. “I know.”
He shakes his head. “No. You don’t. This is your home.”
“Yeah. For now. I understand that. There’s nothing wrong with being a helpful guest.”
“Is that what you think you are? A guest?”
“Aren’t I? I mean, once the boys come home and we get everything figured out, I’ll go back to my place, and you’ll go back to breaking thumbs and burying bodies.” I try to smile to soften the mood.
It’s getting too heavy in here.
He steps toward me, pushing me back against the counter. Caging me in, he presses his hands into the counter’s edge on either side of me.
A shiver crawls down my spine when I bring my gaze back in line with his intense stare. His lips are thinned with frustration.
“You’re not a visitor here, Max,” he says with a growl in his tone. He leans in. “You’re mine.”
My brain short circuits.
“Say it.”
“Say what?” I lick my lips. Did someone turn the heat up too high today? I’m going to start sweating soon.
“Say you’re not a guest. Say you’re mine. I need to hear you say it.”
“But—”
“If you say anything else, I’ll punish you.”
He means it. Everything in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and his shoulders screams that he’s not playing around.
And I think he needs it. He needs to hear me say the words.
Someone throw me a lifeline here, because I want to give them to him.
“I belong here.” The words fall from my lips, carelessly. Easily.