Chapter Sixteen
Elena
I glance at the digital clock on the console across from me. It’s forty minutes past six in the evening.
It’s been an entire day since Leonid and I had sex, and despite my heavy workload for the day, it’s been incredibly hard to keep the memories of last night from invading my thoughts from time to time.
A hot blush caresses my cheeks as I think back to the way Leonid thrust inside me while his hands explored my body, and how he whispered sweet, possessive nothings into my ear the entire time.
Just thinking of it sends a tingling sensation to my core and makes my pulse skyrocket. I can’t wait for him to get home so we can have a redo.
He left the house after we had breakfast and told me he won’t be home until midnight, so I’ll have to wait to start my new job with him.
I smile slowly at the mischief taking over my mind. I plan to soak in a warm bath right after work, spray myself with some really seductive perfume, and then slip into a revealing nightgown and pretend to be asleep when he gets back.
With luck on my side, I doubt he’ll be able to resist the temptation of fucking me again tonight.
My teeth sink into my lower lip. I can’t believe how unbelievably good I am at being a temptress.
I still have about two hours of work left, so I have plenty of time to set my plan in motion.
My stomach rumbles, subtly signaling that I haven’t had anything to eat other than the apple and handful of raspberries I had for lunch about four hours ago.
Whether it’s the distraction from the hunger or the excitement to make love to Leonid again tonight, I hibernate the computer in Leonid’s home office and go downstairs for dinner.
Leonid actually gave me permission to use his computer for work while he’s away, which means he no longer sees me as the enemy or a suspect, but as his wife.
He’s starting to trust me, and I’m not sure what exactly to do with that realization.
Right now, it’s not just sexual attraction I feel toward him. I feel something more, something intense and beautifully devastating. But I can’t forget how all of this began and who he is. I can’t forget that he threatened to hurt my family to get back at me.
I don’t know if I can trust him. I’m not sure how much of our relationship is real at this point.
The smell of fried chicken welcomes me into the kitchen long before I cross the threshold.
My stomach growls.
Mr. Petrov stands behind one of the large marble islands, stirring colorful vegetables in a skillet while a tray of golden-brown chicken cools on the counter beside him. Steam rises from a pot simmering quietly on the stove, filling the room with the scent of garlic, butter, and herbs.
“Hmm,” I mutter, edging toward the island. “That smells amazing.”
The old chef glances over his shoulder and smiles at me. “Good evening, Mrs. Nazarov.”
Mrs. Nazarov.
It’s interesting how much I’ve gotten used to that name over the last couple of weeks. I no longer get goosebumps or a sinking feeling in my stomach when someone calls me that. The name now feels like it belongs to no one else but me.
I lean over the counter, staring at the colorful veggies. “What are you making?”
His smile widens. “Fried chicken, roasted potatoes, garlic vegetables, and mushroom sauce.”
I stare at him. That seems like a lot of food for just two people, unless we’re having guests that I’m unaware of. Usually, the other staff get a share of the food he makes, but most of them are off work today.
“And…how many people exactly are you planning to feed tonight?”
Mr. Petrov chuckles. “Three.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Are we having a guest?”
Tatiana didn’t tell me she’d be visiting, and so far none of Leonid’s cousins have joined us for a meal. I plan to change that as soon as I get accustomed to being a member of their family.
“Your husband eats enough food for two men.”
“Oh.” I laugh, a pang of relief hitting me instantly. “Well, he’s a rather huge man. It’s not a surprise he eats a lot.”
I plan on making a meal for him someday, but I don’t know how to make much other than pasta and chicken wings with fries, which are my favorite. My mom did most of the cooking while I was growing up, and even while I lived alone, I rarely had the energy to make a meal for myself.
It catches me off guard that I’m even considering doing that for Leonid.
I glance at the tray of chicken again.
Then at the pan hissing as Petrov stirs bell peppers, onions, and green beans together. Everything glistens beneath a coating of butter and herbs.
My stomach growls again, and it’s louder this time.
The chef laughs. “Dinner will be ready in a couple of minutes, Mrs. Nazarov. Do you want me to get you something while you wait?”
“No, it’s fine.” I walk to the fridge and grab a pot of sweetened strawberry yogurt. “Oh, and it’s fine to call me Elena. The whole Mrs. Nazarov thing sounds a little…too formal.”
“The boss won’t like that,” he counters.
“I’m the mistress of this household, remember?” I don’t like to pull rank, but if it means I get to defy my darling husband, then I can’t resist. It’s fun, actually. “How long have you been working here?”
“Over three decades,” the old man answers, barely glancing over his shoulder.
My throat clenches and I almost choke on my yogurt. My eyes blur. “Over three decades?”
That’s way before I was born.
Concern flickers across his face as he finally turns to look at me, and after confirming I’m okay, he returns to the veggies in the pan. “The Nazarovs have always been particular about who makes their food.”
“Why? Do they have a secret recipe they can’t expose to the rest of the world?”
“Far from it.” He adds more herbs to the mix. “The underworld is nothing like what you’re used to. The bratva have too many enemies. Every day a new threat emerges, and even the slightest lowering of one’s guard can cost them their life.”
My chest tightens and a shiver runs down my spine. “That sounds terrifying.”
“It is, much more than you think.” He turns off the stove and gives me his full attention. “It’s why trust and loyalty matters in the bratva. One wrong move can be the difference between life and death. Know who to trust and who not to. It’s the only way to survive in this world.”
I’m not sure if that’s advice or a warning, because it makes my stomach churn. Regardless, I force a smile. “I’ll make sure to remember that.”
He smiles back. “Dinner’s ready.”
***
Dinner without Leonid doesn’t feel anything like I imagined.
The meal tastes like something straight out of a five-star restaurant. The vegetables are perfectly crisp, the chicken is seasoned to perfection, and every bite somehow manages to be better than the last.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be too busy stuffing my face to think about anything else, but tonight I keep finding myself glancing at the empty chair at the other end of the table where he usually sits.
Which is ridiculous because a week ago, I would’ve celebrated the opportunity to eat an entire meal without being subjected to Leonid’s infuriating comments and smug smiles.
Instead, the dining room feels strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
I spear a piece of chicken with my fork and scowl at myself.
I don’t miss him. Loving sex with him and being attracted to him aren’t the same as wanting him around me. I just miss having someone to argue with, that’s all.
The distinction feels important.
Unfortunately, even I don’t believe it.
My gaze drifts back to the empty chair, and the will to keep up with the denial leaves me completely.
Damn it, I actually do miss Leonid.
As annoying as he is, he’s somehow become a constant presence in my life. The mansion feels larger and colder without him in it, and the realization leaves a strange ache in my chest.
I bury the feeling beneath another bite of chicken and pretend it doesn’t exist.
By the time I’m done with dinner, Mr. Petrov has a cup of coffee ready for me, which I thank him for before I carry it with me to the home office upstairs.
It’s already fifteen minutes past eight by the time I settle back into Leonid’s chair and prepare to resume work.
The office is eerily quiet without him.
No impossible man standing behind me pretending he isn’t watching everything I do. Just me, a mountain of paperwork, and a cup of coffee that’s probably strong enough to wake the dead.
I spend the next hour sorting through shipping manifests and organizing invoices at the speed of light, making sure I don’t miss anything important.
Somewhere around nine o’clock, a burst of static crackles from one of the secondary monitors, and my attention shifts immediately.
The screen displays one of the mansion’s security feeds.
I frown.
I don’t remember turning that on, but curiosity gets the better of me. Setting my coffee aside, I lean closer and navigate the cursor to display the entire feed.
Several camera feeds occupy the screen at once—the front gate, the east wing corridor, the garage entrance, the grounds surrounding the property.
There’s nothing unusual at first, but then I notice movement on one of the right feeds.
Two guards are speaking near the south entrance. One of them says something into his radio and the other laughs.
A second later, the footage flickers and the guards disappear. Then they reappear on the same feed. In the exact same positions. Repeating the exact same conversation.
My stomach tightens and a bead of sweat forms on my forehead as I stare at the screen more intently. I watch it happen again to make sure I’m not imagining things, but the image on the screen confirms I’m not.
It’s the same laugh. The same head movement. The same gesture. The footage is looping.
“What the hell is happening?” I lean forward, drawing in a breath as a cold feeling creeps up my spine.
Quickly, I begin checking the other camera feeds.
Most of it seems normal, until I reach the western grounds. That section should have two guards stationed near the perimeter fence, but the post is empty.