Chapter 9Jenny
CHAPTER 9
JENNY
I wake to the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling eggs. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, I push myself up on my elbows, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then it all comes rushing back—Ivan, the Bratva , and Stephen’s threats. My stomach churns with anxiety and anticipation when I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I pad toward the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, struck by the sight before me. Ivan stands at the stove, his broad back to me, muscles rippling beneath his thin T-shirt as he tends to the frying pan. It’s such a domestic scene, at odds with everything I’ve learned about him in the past twenty-four hours.
“Good morning,” I say, my voice still husky from sleep.
He turns, a spatula in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other, taking in my rumpled appearance. “Sleep well?”
I nod, accepting the coffee he offers. “Better than I expected, given the circumstances.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Good. Sit. Breakfast is almost ready.”
I settle at the kitchen island, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. The aroma of coffee is comforting, like a small slice of realness in this surreal situation. Ivan plates the eggs, adding crispy bacon and perfectly golden toast.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say when he sets a plate in front of me.
“I wanted to.” His looks at me, and I glimpse something soft in those steel-gray eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced by his usual mask of cool control. “Eat. We have things to discuss.”
My appetite vanishes at his words, but I force myself to take a bite of the eggs. They’re delicious, of course. I shouldn’t be surprised that Ivan Markov is as skilled in the kitchen as he seems to be at everything else.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of cutlery against China. Finally, he pushes aside his empty plate and fixes me with an intense stare.
“There are going to be some changes, Jenny. For your protection.”
I set down my fork, my hackles rising at his tone. “What kind of changes?”
“You’ll stay with me, as you agreed.”
“For one night, last night?—”
He continues as though I didn’t protest. “We’ll go to work together and return together. Someone will be watching you at all times.”
Anger flares, hot and sudden, constricting my chest. “Excuse me? You can’t just dictate my life like that. I’m not a prisoner, Ivan.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “This isn’t up for debate. Stephen is still out there, and until I neutralize the threat?—”
“Neutralize?” I interrupt, raising my voice. “What exactly does that mean?”
His gaze bores into mine. “It means I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep you safe. By any means necessary.”
I shiver at the inferences I draw from his words and push back from the island, needing some distance. “This is insane. You can’t just lock me away and play bodyguard. I have a life. Friends, family, and responsibilities.”
“A life that’s in danger,” he says, rising to his feet. He towers over me, and his presence fills the spacious kitchen. “Do you think Stephen will simply give up? That he won’t try again?”
I wrap my arms around myself, hating the way his words make sense. The memory of Stephen’s break-in attempt is still fresh, the terror still raw. He came to my place after a year away, no doubt risking whatever deal he has with his father. He’s clearly obsessed. “I... I know he’s dangerous, but there has to be another way. We could go to the police, file a report?—”
Ivan’s laugh is sharp and humorless. “The police? They’re useless against men like Stephen. Men with money and connections.”
“So what, I’m just supposed to trust you instead?” I snap, even as a part of me acknowledges the truth in his words. “A man I barely know, who turns out to be some kind of...of crime lord?”
His eyes flash dangerously. “I’ve been protecting you for longer than you know. Whether you like it or not, you’re safer with me than anywhere else.”
I turn away, running a hand through my tangled hair. My mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, anger, and underneath it all, a traitorous spark of attraction to this dangerous man, who seems driven to keep me safe.
“I need to call the police,” I say, reaching for my phone on the counter. “At least file a report about Stephen’s harassment. Maybe they can?—”
Ivan moves faster than I thought possible. He closes his hand around my wrist, stopping me from grabbing the phone. “No police,” he says firmly. “They’ll just get in the way. I told you, I’ll handle this. Permanently.”
I stare up at him, my pulse jolting. The promise in his words is clear, and a part of me—a dark, secret part I’ve tried to ignore—thrills at the idea of being free of Stephen forever. “What are you going to do?”
Ivan traces circles on the inside of my wrist, sending shivers up my arm. “The less you know, the better. Just trust that when I’m done, Stephen will never bother you again.”
I should be horrified. I should be running for the door, screaming for help. Instead, I find myself slowly nodding. “Okay.”
Relief flashes across his face, quickly masked by his usual stoic expression. He releases my wrist, trailing his fingers along my skin as he pulls away. “Good. Now, about the other arrangements?—”
“I still don’t like the idea of being watched all the time,” I interrupt, finding my voice again. “It feels invasive.”
“That’s because it is.” He quirks his lips in a humorless smile. “Would you prefer to be unprotected? Vulnerable to whatever Stephen might try next?”
I sigh, rubbing my temples. “No, of course not.” I meet his gaze, struck by the intensity I see there. Despite everything, despite the danger and the uncertainty, I feel...safe. Protected. It’s a heady feeling I’m not entirely sure I can trust him. “Fine. I agree…for now.”
He gives me a satisfied smile but at least doesn’t gloat.
Later that day, I stand in the guest room, surrounded by boxes and bags filled with my belongings. Ivan’s men have been thorough. They’ve brought almost everything from my apartment, leaving behind only the furniture and kitchen items. It’s as if they’ve moved me in without my consent.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, sorting through a pile of clothes. “They might as well have packed up my entire life.”
As I organize my things, trying to make sense of this new reality, I catch my elbow on the edge of a box perched precariously on the side table. It tumbles to the floor, spilling its contents across the hardwood. “Dammit.” I drop to my knees to gather the scattered items.
I freeze when I pick up a weathered photograph. It’s grainy and faded, but the image is clear enough—a group of young boys standing in front of a snow-covered building. I notice one face in particular, a boy with familiar gray eyes and a guarded expression.
Ivan.
He looks so young, and so vulnerable. It’s a marked difference to the imposing man I know. I trace my finger over his face, wondering about the life he lived before becoming the powerful Bratva leader.
“What are you doing?” Ivan’s voice, sharp and cold, startles me. I look up to see him standing in the doorway, gaze fixed on the photo in my hands.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, scrambling to my feet. “The box fell, and I was just picking up things?—”
He crosses the room in three long strides, snatching the photo from my grasp. His jaw is tight as the muscles work beneath the skin. “This is private,” he says, his voice cold but controlled. “You shouldn’t be going through my things.”
“I wasn’t,” I protest. “It was an accident. I?—”
He cuts me off, shoving the photo back into the box. “The past is irrelevant. It doesn’t matter.”
I see the tension in his shoulders, and the way his hands linger on the box for a moment too long. It does matter, whether he admits it or not.
“Was that an orphanage?” I ask softly.
His head snaps up as he looks at me. For a moment, I see a flicker of something—pain, maybe, or vulnerability—before it’s replaced by his usual mask of indifference. “Yes,” he says shortly. “I spent some time there as a child.”
I take a tentative step closer. “How long?”
He scowls. “Eleven years. From age two to thirteen.”
Wincing, I try to imagine it—a young Ivan, alone in the world, growing up in a place like that. It explains so much about the man he’s become.
“What happened to your parents?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
“My mother died from cancer,” he says, his voice clipped. “I don’t remember her.” What he doesn’t say about his father is just as telling as what he reveals about his mother.
I reach out, my hand hovering over his arm. “Ivan, I’m so sorry. That must have been?—”
“It was a long time ago,” he interrupts, stepping back. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Despite his words, his gaze flicks to the box, and there’s a slight tremor in his hands. It does matter. It’s shaped everything about him.
“Is that why you joined the Bratva ?” I press, desperate to understand. “Because of the orphanage?”
His eyes harden. “You’re asking a lot of questions, Jenny.”
“I’m trying to understand you,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. “You’ve turned my life upside down. Don’t I deserve to know something about the man who’s controlling my every move?”
He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Without warning, he turns and walks to the closet. “Get dressed,” he says over his shoulder. “We’re going out.”
I blink, thrown by the sudden change of subject. “What? Where?”
“Dinner,” he says, and I notice for the first time he’s carrying a garment bag. “Wear this.”
He hands me the bag, and I unzip it to reveal a stunning green dress. It’s beautiful, but the gesture only confuses me more. “Ivan,” I start, “I don’t understand?—”
“Get ready.” With that, he turns and stalks out.
After a shower, I slip into the green dress, the silky fabric caressing my skin as it falls into place. The fit is perfect, hugging my curves in all the right places. I wonder how Ivan knew my size so precisely. It’s a thought that both impresses and unnerves me as I recall the times I’ve found things out of place in my apartment in the past few months. He admitted to one visit, but there must have been others.
With a final glance in the mirror, I smooth down the dress and apply some lipstick. My reflection stares back at me, both elegant and uncertain. I shake my head, dispelling the doubts. This is just dinner, I remind myself. Nothing more.
I step out of the guest room and make my way to the living room. Ivan is there, his back to me as he gazes out the massive windows. The city sprawls before him.
“I’m ready,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
He turns, and desire fills is eyes. “You look beautiful,” he says, his accent suddenly more pronounced, and his tone is smoky.
I fight the urge to fidget. “Thank you. The dress is lovely.”
He nods, then gestures toward the elevator. “Shall we?”
I expect us to head down, but instead, he presses the button for the roof. My curiosity piques, but I remain silent as we ascend.
The elevator doors open to reveal a sight that takes my breath away. The rooftop has been transformed into a private oasis. Twinkling lights are strung overhead, casting a soft glow over an intimate table set for two. A gentle breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers from strategically placed planters, but not so close as to stimulate my allergies, and discreet outdoor heaters counter the chill in the air.
“This is incredible,” I say, taking in the scene.
He smiles. “I thought you might appreciate a change of scenery.”
We approach the table, and he pulls out my chair. As I sit, I notice a man in chef’s whites standing discreetly to the side. A private chef. Of course.
Ivan takes his seat across from me, never looking away. “I hope you’re hungry.”
I nod as the chef approaches, presenting us with the first course—a delicate seafood appetizer. While we begin to eat, he says, “Tell me, Jenny, did you enjoy your work at ‘Silver Fox’ before?”
I hesitate, remembering the office politics and frustrations. “I liked my job well enough. It was my coworkers who made it unpleasant.”
He nods. “I’m aware—which is why you, the night guards, and the janitorial staff are the only ones I kept. Your talents were wasted before, but I have plans for you at ‘Markov Entertainment.’”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth, and I’m stunned to learn he fired everyone because of how they treated me, but also because... “Plans?”
He smiles. “We’ll discuss the details later. For now, let’s enjoy our meal.”
The conversation flows more easily as we make our way through the exquisite courses. Ivan asks about my family, my hobbies, and my dreams for the future. It’s surreal, sitting here on this rooftop, having what feels like a normal dinner date with a man who is anything but normal.
As the chef clears away our dessert plates, he settles back in his chair, swirling the last of his wine in his glass. “I’ve made a decision,” he says, his tone casual but with an underlying firmness that makes me tense. “We’ll be moving into the penthouse permanently.”
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“It makes sense,” he continues, as if we’re discussing something as mundane as the weather. “I no longer need to keep an eye on you from the twentieth floor. This way, I can ensure your safety more efficiently.”
My heart races. “Ivan, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I can’t just...move in with you.”
“You agreed to stay with me for the time being. I’m simply upgrading our accommodations,” he says with a lift of his lips before his voice hardens. “It’s not up for discussion. This is for your protection.”
I frown. “For now,” I say, my voice firm. “Until you deal with Stephen. Then I’m going home.”
He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either. His silence speaks volumes.
“There’s something else,” he says after a moment. “My men should have delivered your things to a room in the penthouse, not the guest room in the twentieth-floor apartment. I’m glad you didn’t waste time unpacking. My staff will have moved you to your room by now.”
I stare at him, anger and disbelief washing over me. “You had them move my things without even asking me?” I’d asked him to arrange for a few of my things—not everything I owned like they’d brought—from my place, but this is overstepping. He just assumes I’ll happily move ten floors higher into the penthouse.
I frown, not sure why I’m objecting, other than pure instinct. I sense I have to remain firm with Ivan, or he’ll run roughshod over me.
He meets my gaze unflinchingly. “It was necessary.”
I open my mouth to argue further, but the arrival of the chef with coffee interrupts us. The moment passes, but tension simmers beneath the surface while we sip our drinks in silence.
As the evening draws to a close, Ivan stands, offering me his hand. “Let me show you to your room.”
We descend in the elevator, the air thick with unspoken words when he presses “P” on the panel. When the doors open, I step out into a space that takes my breath away. The penthouse is even more impressive than his other apartment with its warmth and luxurious finishes. I refuse to compliment it though, not wanting to yield an inch in this petty war.
He leads me down a hallway, stopping before an ornate door. “This is your room,” he says, pushing it open.
I step inside, my eyes widening at the lavish space before me. It’s more like a suite than a bedroom, with a sitting area, a massive bed, and a bathroom I can glimpse through another doorway. There’s a huge sunken tub in there that’s already beckoning me.
My belongings have been neatly arranged, as if I’ve always lived here. “It’s beautiful,” I say softly, unable to deny the truth of it. Dammit. There goes my plan to ignore how lovely it is and pretend staying here temporarily will be a hardship.
Ivan nods, then gestures to another door on the far side of the room. “That connects to my room,” he says matter-of-factly. “There’s a lock on your side as well as mine.”
I turn to look at him, a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue. His expression is unreadable, giving nothing away.
“Good night, Jenny,” he says softly. “Sleep well.”
Before I can respond, he’s gone, leaving me alone in this opulent cage. I sink onto the edge of the bed, my mind whirling with everything that’s happened. Staring at the door connecting our rooms, I can’t pretend part of me isn’t tempted to cross to it and leave it unlocked. Fortunately, I stifle the impulse and distract myself by exploring the bathroom and soon sinking into the sunken tub that’s big enough for six.