Chapter 10Ivan
CHAPTER 10
IVAN
I stand near the entrance of the penthouse, watching Jenny’s face contort with annoyance as I introduce her to her new bodyguards. Bald Andre, a tall black man I met in the underground fight scene, where he won me a lot of money from my bets, is a bit of a contrast to Daniil, who is short, squat, and hairy. Both men are laden with muscle, know how to fight, and shoot like marksmen.
They also have my complete trust, which is the most important thing when they’re tasked with guarding the most important person in the world. I won’t make the same mistakes I made before with Kosov and Biril, who had always been efficient but clearly disregarded the seriousness of their assignment to watch Jenny—something they’ll have a long time to contemplate while in Russian prisons for their outstanding warrants.
“This is ridiculous, Ivan,” she says, her brown eyes flashing with defiance. “I don’t need babysitters.”
I meet her glare without blinking. “It’s not up for discussion. Your safety is my top priority.”
She opens her mouth to argue further, but I cut her off with a raised hand. “We’re going to the farmers’ market. Get ready.”
Her eyes widen in surprise, momentarily forgetting her anger. “The farmers’ market? Why?”
“Fresh air, a change of scenery, and you always go on Sunday mornings when it’s open for the season. Right now, it’s open for the holidays. Now, shall we?”
Jenny hesitates, then nods reluctantly. I watch as she disappears into her room, returning moments later with a light jacket and purse.
The ride to the market is tense, filled with her pointed silence and occasional glares. I ignore her displeasure, focusing instead on the passing scenery and potential threats.
When we arrive at the bustling market, the scent of fresh produce and baked goods fills the air. Colorful stalls line the streets, creating a vibrant display of late-season and preserved fruits, vegetables, and artisanal products. Almost every stall has something they’re selling for Christmas, and the decor reflects that. Despite the cheerful atmosphere, I remain vigilant, scanning for any signs of danger.
“Oh, look at those poinsettias,” says Jenny, her earlier irritation momentarily forgotten as she rushes toward a nearby stall.
I follow closely behind, nodding at Andre and Daniil to maintain their positions. Jenny picks up a potted one, inhaling its fresh scent. “These encapsulate Christmas.” She closes her eyelids and inhales again. “It’s one of the few flowers that doesn’t make me sneeze.”
“Then we’ll take a dozen,” I say, pulling out my wallet. “They’ll look beautiful in every room of the penthouse.
Jenny starts to protest, but I silence her with a look. As the vendor tasks her assistant with helping Daniil take them to the SUV, Jenny’s gaze moves to a nearby stall selling homemade bath and beauty products.
“See something you like?” I ask, following her line of sight.
She shakes her head, a wistful smile playing on her lips. “Just admiring the sunflower basket. That’s my mother’s favorite. I might get it for her for Christmas.”
Without hesitation, I stride over to the vendor and select one of the baskets of sunflower products. When I return and present it to Jenny, her eyes widen in surprise.
“Ivan, you didn’t have to?—”
“I wanted to, and this can be a gift from both of us for your mother.” My words carry a second meaning—I will be meeting her mother, because I’m going to be part of her life from here on out.
She doesn’t comment on that, but she doesn’t seem as resistant as I expect. “Okay.” Our fingers brush as she takes the basket, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. “It’s heavier than I expected,” she says with a smile, admiring the products. “Real glass jars, organic materials… Mom will love this.”
After I send poor Daniil, who’s just arrived from arranging the poinsettias, back to the SUV with the sunflower basket, we continue through the market while Andre trails behind. Daniil rejoins us as we’re pausing at a cheese stall.
The vendor greets us with a wide smile, gesturing to a wooden display stacked with cheeses in every size and shape. She looks intrigued when she leans forward to inspect a wedge labeled “Humboldt Fog—Goat Cheese with Edible Ash.” She wrinkles her nose, pointing to it like it’s a science experiment. “Edible ash? Who thought that was a good idea?” she asks, skepticism thick in her tone.
“You’ve never tried it?” I say, already knowing the answer.
She shakes her head, brushing her hair back behind her ear as the vendor slices off a sample. “Nope. I can’t afford fancy cheeses on my salary. I’m more of a...whatever’s on sale kind of girl.”
The vendor offers her the slice, but I step in and take it first, handing it to her myself. Our fingers brush, and I catch the faint hitch in her breath before she glances up at me. “Try it,” I say, my voice dropping just slightly. “You might like it.”
She hesitates, then pops the wedge into her mouth. I watch as her expression shifts—caution, then surprise, and finally delight. “Okay, wow,” she says, her voice rising. “That’s...creamy, tangy, and kind of citrusy. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“It’s the goat’s milk.” I step closer. “Humboldt Fog is layered, complex...like you.”
Her eyes narrow, though a faint flush creeps up her neck. “Did you just compare me to cheese?”
“Only the best cheese,” I say, smirking.
She rolls her eyes but can’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.
The vendor interrupts, handing me another slice. “This one’s Barely Buzzed—cheddar rubbed with coffee and lavender. It’s our best seller.”
I hand it to Jenny again, this time letting my fingers linger just a fraction longer. “This one is perfect for you.”
She hesitates but then takes the slice and tries it. Her reaction is immediate—her eyes widen, and she lets out a low, appreciative sound that makes my cock hard as I imagine her making that same sound in bed. “Oh… Coffee and cheese shouldn’t work, but somehow, it’s amazing.”
“Like certain combinations,” I say, my gaze holding hers. “They surprise you.”
She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”
“Perhaps, but I do have excellent taste.” I can’t seem to look away from Jenny as she reaches for her bag.
“I’ll buy this one,” she says.
Before her hand touches her wallet, I place mine over it. “No,” I tell her, firmly but quietly. “I’m buying it.” I turn to the vendor. “We’ll have a selection of all please.” I look at her. “Does your father like cheese, since we’ve gotten your mother a gift?” At her hesitant nod, I pick out one of the already arranged baskets. “This too.”
Once I’ve paid, and Daniil takes the packages when Andre grunts and gives the younger man a look, I turn to Jenny, taking her hand. “You’ll eat these without worrying about how much it costs. That’s an order.”
Her glare is sharp enough to cut glass, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fine, but only because it’s too good to pass up.”
As we walk away, I catch her muttering something under her breath. “What was that?” I ask, leaning closer.
“I said, you’re bossy and impossible,” she says, shooting me a look.
“And you’re unforgettable,” I say, letting the words linger in the space between us. She doesn’t respond, but the faint curve of her lips tells me she heard me and likes what I said.
We walk on, browsing a few more stalls and buying more random purchases. She stops to linger at a display of handmade jewelry, slanting me a glance. She looks cautious when she says, “Ivan, about that picture I found in the guest room...the one of you as a child. You looked so...different.”
I stiffen, memories of my past flooding back. For a moment, I consider deflecting her question, but something in her eyes makes me reconsider.
“That picture was taken at ‘St. Sergius’s Orphanage,’” I say quietly. “It was...a difficult time.”
Jenny’s expression softens. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’d like to know more about you if I’m going to stay with you for a bit.”
“Forever,” I say softly, daring her to refute that. She’s wise enough to keep her mouth closed, which leads to me rewarding her with some information. I know so much about her that I suppose it’s only fair if she knows some of my history.
“Was it awful?” she asks gently.
I shake my head. “Not always, but sometimes. The orphanages were cold, both literally and figuratively. We fought for everything—food, clothes, and even a moment of kindness. There were good things too. A couple of close friends, the holidays when rich oligarchs remembered to shower the less fortunate…” I trail off, recalling when Vyacheslav Oglsev was dragged to one such event when I was twelve.
As we move to a quieter corner of the market, I say, “I was thirteen when the Bratva claimed me. I first came to the attention of Vyacheslav, the pakhan at the time, when I was twelve. He befriended me and saw potential in my survival skills, my ruthlessness, and also in the way I took care of the younger boys at the orphanage.”
Jenny listens intently. “That must have been terrifying for a child.”
I shake my head. “ Nyet . It was a relief. For the first time, I belonged somewhere. Had a purpose.”
A moment of silence passes between us. Jenny’s hand reaches out, hesitating before gently touching my arm. The warmth of her touch sends a shiver through me.
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Ivan,” she says softly.
Our gazes lock, and the bustling market fades away. I lean in, drawn by an irresistible force. Her breath hitches as her lips part slightly.
Just as I’m about to close the distance between us, she suddenly turns away, her cheeks flushed. “Oh, look at those dried peach slices,” she says, her voice slightly higher than normal. “They look delicious.”
She hurries toward the fruit stall, her movements slightly flustered. Disappointment and amusement fill me. It seems Jenny isn’t quite ready to confront the growing tension between us, but she’s definitely not immune to it.
As I follow her to the stall, I smile. She’s resisting now, but I’m a patient man, and I always get what I want.
I stand in the penthouse kitchen, the aroma of sautéing onions and garlic filling the air. The familiar scent transports me back to my teen years, to Lena’s warm kitchen, where I first learned to cook. Jenny moves around me, uncorking a bottle of wine and setting the table. Her presence both soothes and ignites me.
“What are you making?” she asks, leaning against the counter to watch me while I add diced potatoes to the pan.
“Beef Stroganoff.” I stir the ingredients. “It was one of the first dishes Lena taught me.”
Jenny’s eyebrows raise. “Lena?”
I pause, memories flooding back. “Vyacheslav’s wife. She was kind to me.”
Her expression softens. She steps closer, her hand hovering near mine before she pulls back. “Tell me about her?”
I focus on the sizzling pan, gathering my thoughts. “Lena was warmth personified. She took in all the young bratva members without families and taught us more than just how to survive. She taught us how to live. How to mend our clothes, cook, and do basic adult tasks many of us had never learned, since a lot were orphans.”
As I speak, I add beef to the pan, and the meat sears with a satisfying hiss. “This recipe was her favorite. She’d make it every Sunday, insisting everyone in the bratva was welcome to come for dinner.”
She nods. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She was,” I say, voice breaking when I add, “Until she wasn’t.”
She frowns. “What happened?”
I stir the pan with more force than necessary. “She died when I was nineteen. Shot by someone aiming for Vyacheslav.”
Silence falls between us, heavy with unspoken words. Jenny moves closer, brushing her arm against mine as she reaches for the wine glasses. The brief contact sends electricity through my body.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “That must have been devastating.”
I nod, unable to speak for a moment. When I find my voice again, I say, “It was, but her lessons stayed with me. This recipe included.”
She smiles, a gentle curve of her lips that makes my heart race. “I’m honored you’re sharing it with me.”
We stare at each other as the world narrows to just us. The simmering pan, the ticking clock, and the city beyond our windows all fade away. I sway closer, drawn by an irresistible force. She parts her lips slightly as her chest rises and falls rapidly.
Just as our lips are about to touch, she jerks back. Her eyes are wide, with desire and confusion swirling in their depths. “I... I should finish setting the table,” she says, her voice breathy.
She hurries away, busying herself with napkins and silverware. I turn back to the stove, smiling. Her reaction pleases me. She’s affected by my presence, even if she’s not ready to admit it.
I finish cooking, plating the Stroganoff with a flourish. Jenny sits at the table, her posture tense. As I set the plate before her, our fingers brush. She pulls away as if burned, her cheeks flushing.
“Enjoy,” I say, taking my seat across from her.
She nods, avoiding my gaze as she takes a bite, her eyes widening in surprise. “This is delicious,” she says, finally looking at me.
“I’m glad you like it.” I watch her intently, analyzing her every reaction.
We eat in silence, and the tension between us is thicker than the rich sauce on our plates. She keeps her attention on her food, eating quickly. I savor each bite, both the flavors and the company.
As soon as she finishes, she stands. “Thank you for dinner,” she says, her words rushed. “I’m... I’m going to bed now.”
Before I can respond, or point out it’s barely seven, she’s gone, retreating to her room. The sound of her door closing reverberates through the penthouse.
I settle back in my chair with a chuckle. Jenny might be running now, but her reaction tells me everything I need to know. She’s not unaffected by me. The attraction between us is undeniable.
I’ll give her space tonight, but soon—very soon—she won’t be able to resist anymore. When that happens, I’ll be ready.