Chapter 13Jenny
CHAPTER 13
JENNY
I sink into the warm, fragrant water of the sunken tub, letting it envelop me like a soothing embrace. The guest bathroom in Ivan’s penthouse is a haven of marble and chrome, a far cry from my modest apartment. I close my eyelids and breathe in the lavender-scented steam, and my mind wanders to the events of the past month.
It’s been almost four weeks since Ivan responded to Alexei’s threat. The details remain a mystery to me, but the results are clear. For now, he’s made no countermoves, at least none that Ivan has shared with me.
On my side, Stephen’s harassment has ceased, at least for the time being, though I remain wary that he’ll start again once his fear of Ivan fades. At the moment, a tentative peace has settled over me. I’ve found myself settling into a routine here in Ivan’s penthouse, a place that once felt alien but now carries a strange sense of comfort.
I trace my fingers along the surface of the water, watching the ripples spread. The thought of telling Ivan I’m ready to go home flits through my mind, but it dissipates as quickly as it forms. The truth is, I don’t want to leave. This realization startles me, and I sit up straighter in the tub, sloshing water around me.
“It’s just temporary,” I whisper to myself, the words echoing off the tiled walls. “Just until things are truly safe.” Even as I say it, I know it’s not entirely true. Part of me never wants to go home.
I trust Ivan with my safety—that much is certain. It’s my heart I’m not sure I can trust him with. The way he looks at me, the gentleness in his touch that belies his ruthless reputation—it all makes my head spin. I can’t see falling for him if I can’t trust him to respect my independence, but I worry that it’s already far too late to stop that.
I step out of the tub, wrapping myself in a plush towel. As I dry off and dress, I can’t shake the conflicting emotions swirling within me. Attraction wars with suspicion, desire with doubt.
Later, I search for my winter coat displaced by one of his staff when they moved me in, delving into one of Ivan’s many closets. I brush against something unexpected and push aside a row of impeccably tailored suits to reveal a box labeled “Christmas decorations” in neat English script but with definite Cyrillic influences
I smile when I pull out the box. The idea of Ivan, the formidable Bratva leader, owning Christmas decorations, is oddly endearing. Without really thinking about it, I carry the box to the living room. While I unpack the decorations, I impulsively decide to decorate. After all, it’s the first week of December. It’s time.
Daniil interrupts me, and I set him the task of finding a tree. He returns a while later with an artificial one, but it’s good quality, so I don’t complain or send him out for a real one, since I forgot to insist on that to start with.
I start assembling the tree, which quickly wins me over. It’s a beautiful artificial pine that looks almost real. As I put it together, piece by piece, I wonder about Ivan’s past Christmases. Did he decorate alone? Did he celebrate at all? The only one he’s really mentioned is the Christmas party that brought Vyacheslav and Lena into his life.
Next come the lights. I drape them carefully over the branches, the soft glow warming the room. Ornaments follow—delicate glass balls in deep reds and golds, intricately carved wooden figures that look handmade, and a couple of older pieces that might be sentimental. I treat those with extra care.
As I work, my mind wanders to Ivan. His motives, his past, and the secrets he still keeps from me. Will he ever fully open to me? Does he love me, or am I still just an inexplicable obsession? I’m not brave enough to ask when things are so precarious.
I hang a glittering star on a branch, remembering how intense he was when he told me I was his to protect. The possessiveness in his voice frightened me then, but remembering it now, I feel warm and…safe. It’s a crazy reaction, making me wonder if I’m as crazy as he is.
“Stop it, Jenny,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. “You’re reading too much into things.”
But am I? The way Ivan looks at me sometimes, like I’m the most precious thing in the world. It’s hard to pretend he doesn’t…care about me or contemplate just how deeply his emotions go.
I step back to admire my handiwork. The tree looks beautiful, creating a festive glow. It’s amazing how such a simple thing can transform a space.
“What are you doing?”
Ivan’s deep voice startles me, and I whirl around to find him standing in the doorway. His gaze flick from me to the decorated tree, surprise evident on his usually stoic face.
“I... I found your Christmas decorations,” I stammer, suddenly feeling foolish. “I thought it might be nice to make things a bit more festive.”
He steps into the room, sweeping his gaze over the twinkling lights and ornaments. For a moment, I fear I’ve overstepped, but then something softens in his expression.
“It’s beautiful,” he says quietly, looking at me. “I haven’t bothered for the past few years, but I’m glad you did this. Thank you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off-guard. I’ve never seen Ivan look so...vulnerable. It makes my heart ache in a way for which I’m not prepared. “You’re welcome. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty...”
He shakes his head and smiles. “Not at all. It’s been a long time since this place was so jolly… like a real home.”
His words linger between us, heavy with implication. I want to ask him about his past Christmases, about the stories behind each ornament, but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I move closer to him, drawn by some invisible force. His eyes darken as I approach, and he transmits desire. “Jenny,” he says in a husky voice.
I stop, just inches away from him. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, to smell the subtle scent of his cologne, but not close enough to give in to the impulse to fall into his arms. I have plans this afternoon, so there’s no time for that. Yet.
“Why did you really bring me here, Ivan?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel as I’m seized by a compulsion I can’t fight or explain. “Is it just about keeping me safe?”
For a long moment, he’s silent, and I fear I’ve pushed too far, but then he reaches out, cupping my cheek with a gentleness that makes my breath catch. “You know it’s more than that,” he says softly. “You’re just not ready to face it yet.”
My heart races as I lean into his touch, torn between the desire to close the distance between us and the nagging voice of caution in the back of my mind. “I don’t know if I can trust this.” I hate how vulnerable I sound. “Trust you.”
“I will assure you. Day by day, if that’s what it takes.”
I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. All I see is sincerity, and something else—a longing that mirrors my own. “Okay,” I whisper, nodding slightly.
His shoulders relax slightly. He doesn’t move to kiss me and doesn’t try to push for more. Instead, he simply pulls me into a gentle embrace, wrapping his arms around me like a protective shield.
As I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, I realize that maybe I’m ready to let my walls down. To give this—whatever it is between us—a real chance.
A few hours later, dressed nicely and with my wool winter coat unearthed in a different guest room closet, I stand in the living room, fidgeting with the strap of my purse while I watch Ivan move about the space. His presence fills the room, commanding and intense as always.
Straightening my shoulders, I prepare for battle. When I speak, I tell him what I’m doing, not ask for permission. No weakness. “I’m heading out to visit my parents,” I say firmly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”
Ivan turns to face me, studying me intently. “Of course,” he says after a hesitation. “Family is important.”
I nod, surprised by his easy acquiescence. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He crosses the room in long strides, closing the distance between us. I expect him to be trying to confine me, so I stiffen and take a step back. He arches a brow but ignores that. From a pocket inside his tailored jacket, he produces a small, ornate box. “Before you go, I have something for you.”
My eyebrows raise in surprise as he opens the box, revealing an antique locket nestled on velvet. The gold gleams in the afternoon light, intricate filigree work adorning its surface. “It’s beautiful,” I say, reaching out to touch it. I don’t think it’s particularly expensive, but it looks old and well-cared-for, and I suspect there’s something special about it. “Was it Lena’s?”
He shakes his head as he lifts the locket from its resting place, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he fastens it around my neck. “It contains a hidden tracking device,” he says matter-of-factly. “For your safety.”
I freeze, still resting my fingers on the cool metal at my throat. It suddenly feels heavier, more significant, and with more strings. “A tracking device?”
He nods, his expression unreadable. “I need to know you’re safe. At all times. Andre and Daniil would die to protect you, but I must have a way to find you if the worst happens.”
I scowl. “I’m not a pet to be tagged.”
Ivan’s eyes narrow. “If you don’t want to wear the locket, injecting you with a chip is an option.” He sounds annoyed, but underneath it, he also sounds…hurt. Have I offended him by objecting to the gift?
Myriad emotions swirls within me—gratitude for his concern, unease at the implications, and a touch of warmth at his protectiveness. “Thank you,” I say softly, unsure how else to respond. “The locket is lovely. It’s the tracking device that concerns me.”
“I understand, but your safety is paramount.” He must decide that’s the end of it—and I decide it is too, at least for now—because he kisses my forehead before stepping back slightly. His hand lingers on my shoulder, and his touch is both comforting and possessive. “Enjoy your visit,” he says. “Andre and Daniil will be nearby if you need anything, but I assume you’ll not want your parents to see them?”
I nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing. “That could be awkward.” They know about Stephen’s attack last year, but I haven’t told them he’d continued to harass me via text messages and distorted images for the past several months, at least until Ivan stepped in. “Thanks.” Impulsively, I kiss his cheek before starting to turn away.
He stops me by taking my wrist. “Wait. You’re too vulnerable on public transportation, and I doubt you’ll want to take my Aston Martin and open yourself to more questions, so take the housekeeper’s car. The key chain is labeled in the kitchen, and the car is in Space P-4 of the parking garage. It’s the red Volvo.”
“I…okay.” When he doesn’t say anything else, I hurry to the elevator, still half-afraid he’ll change his mind and try to stop me from going. I have an insane urge to invite him to come along, but I have no idea how I’d explain that to my parents without some preparation, so I bite it back.
It’s easy enough to find the red Volvo beside two SUVs—one which already has Andre and Daniil waiting for me—and the Aston Martin. The bodyguards nod to me, and I take the lead.
The drive to my parents’ house is familiar, yet surreal. The Volvo drives like a dream, much better than the old Honda I used to have before selling it when I moved into my current apartment building. I’m hyper-aware of the SUV following at a discreet distance—Ivan’s men, always watching. The locket rests against my skin, a constant reminder of Ivan’s presence in my life, and how he can find me anywhere. I shudder, not sure if I’m glad or scared about that. Maybe both.
My mother, Mabel, greets me at the door with a warm hug and the scent of cinnamon and apples. “Jenny, sweetheart, come in. Your father’s just setting the table.” She looks over my shoulder. “Nice car. You must have gotten it with your promotion.”
“Test drive,” I blurt out before clearing my throat. “I mean, I’m borrowing…renting…borrowing it for a bit to see if I want to buy one.”
She flashes me a look of concern at my word salad but just nods. “Come on in, honey.”
I follow her into the house, the familiar sights and smells washing over me. For a moment, I can almost pretend everything is normal—that I’m just a daughter visiting her parents, not a woman caught in a web of secrets and danger, who is living with my stalker/protector, and sleeping with him.
Dinner is a comforting affair—my father’s famous pot roast followed by my mother’s apple pie for dessert. We chat about mundane things—Dad’s latest history lecture, and Mom’s adventures with a young pediatrician new to the hospital, who is driving her crazy by not trusting her with the simplest tasks despite Mom’s forty-plus years as an R.N. It’s only when we move to the living room that the conversation turns more serious.
“How are things with your new job, honey?” she asks, settling into her favorite armchair. “You’ve been so busy lately, we’ve hardly heard from you.”
I take a sip of tea, buying myself a moment. “It’s...draining,” I say finally. “Ivan—Mr. Markov—he’s a demanding boss, but I’m learning a lot.”
Dad leans forward, frowning. “You’re being careful, right? I don’t want you overworking yourself for a bunch of assh...”
“I’m fine, Dad,” I cut in, forcing a smile. “Ivan takes good care of his employees, and he’s giving me a lot more responsibility since he fired all the a-holes.” I wink at him, which makes my father grin.
Mom’s gaze is sharp, seeing more than I’d like. “And how is Ivan? You’ve mentioned him quite a bit over dinner.”
Heat rise to my cheeks. “He’s...complicated. Brilliant, driven. Kind sometimes, but there’s a lot I don’t know about him.”
She nods thoughtfully. “Men like that often have their reasons for being the way they are. Have you learned anything about his background?”
I hesitate, then decide to share a bit of what I know. “He grew up in orphanages,” I say softly. “Bounced around a lot as a kid.”
Mom’s expression softens. “Oh, that poor man. No wonder he’s so...complex.”
I nod, surprised by the sudden lump in my throat. “Yeah. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”
We lapse into silence for a moment, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner suddenly loud. Then Mom stands. “Let’s look through some of our old albums. It’ll do you good to remember where you came from.”
I don’t bother protesting. Mom loves to view the shelves of albums she’s acquired, telling stories about the people she knew as a little girl and reminding me about past family memories. I can count on this happening at least a few times per year.
We settle on the couch with a heavy leather-bound album open between us. Page after page of memories—my first steps, family vacations, school plays, Mom’s parents, Dad’s father with a medal from the Korean War, and a few aunts and cousins, some of whom I’ve never met. Each photo is a reminder of the love and stability I’ve always known.
“You know,” she says softly, “Sometimes people who’ve never had this,” She gestures to the photos, and I understand she means the memories more than the photos, “Build walls around themselves. They’re cold because they need warmth, but they don’t know how to ask for it.”
I stare at a photo of myself as a toddler, beaming at the camera in my father’s arms. “I never thought about it like that.”
She squeezes my hand. “Maybe what Ivan needs is someone to show him what family really means. To give him some of the warmth he’s been missing.”
Her words strike a chord deep within me. I think of Ivan, alone in that massive penthouse, surrounded by wealth but lacking the simple joys captured in these photos. As I flip through more pages, a plan begins to form in my mind. Ivan doesn’t have a family history to look back on, but I resolve to do something meaningful for him—to find out more about his past, yes, but also to help him build a future filled with the kind of warmth these photos represent.
When I finally say goodbye to my parents, the locket around my neck feels different. It’s still a reminder of the complex world I’ve entered, but now, it also feels like a challenge to bring some light into Ivan’s darkness.
My idea is proving hard to make happen. A couple of days later, I pace in the penthouse’s living room while Ivan is out. I’ve searched everywhere I could easily access to find memories, but the only thing I’ve found is that box. It meant enough to him to bring it down to the twentieth-floor apartment when he was watching me, and he now keeps it in his closet in his room. I assume if he had any other mementos, they’d be in that box, so I’m coming up empty.
The locket Ivan gave me rests against my skin, a constant reminder of his watchful presence. I trace the intricate filigree work while I contemplate my next move.
The idea of digging into Ivan’s past both thrills and terrifies me. On one hand, I long to understand the man who has become such a dominant force in my life. On the other, I’m acutely aware of the dangers that come with prying into the affairs of a Bratva leader.
I’ve spent the past two days waging an internal debate but finally make a decision. I’ll need help, and there’s only one person I trust enough to approach. I find Marcus in Ivan’s study, checking to make sure Ivan isn’t there when I peek in.
“He had a meeting,” he tells me without looking up. He’s clearly engrossed in something on his tablet, his broad shoulders hunched over it.
“Good. I want to talk to you, not him.”
Marcus looks up at that, his dark eyes assessing me with the sharpness of a trained operative. There’s blatant suspicion there, like he thinks I’m here to seduce him, or perhaps ask him to help me escape Ivan.
I swallow hard, bracing myself for what I’m about to do and not quell under his fierce glare. I sound more composed than I feel. “I need your help with something.”
He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “What kind of help? If this is to convince me to let you escape, you’re safer with Ivan.”
“I know.” I resist the urge to stick out my tongue in a childish fashion at his shock when I acknowledge that. “I want to look into Ivan’s past. Specifically, his time in the orphanages. I know it’s not easy information to get, but I thought maybe you might have some contacts...” I trail off, watching his face for any reaction. For a long moment, he’s silent, his gaze boring into me. I resist the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
Finally, he speaks. “Why?”
It’s a simple but loaded question. I choose my words carefully. “Because I care about him, and I think understanding where he came from might help me understand who he is now.”
He narrows his eyes. “This isn’t just curiosity, is it? You’re looking for something specific.”
I nod, deciding honesty is the best approach. “Ivan mentioned he doesn’t have any family photos or albums. Just one photo of him with another boy at an orphanage?—”
“Alexei,” says Marcus to my shock. “They were both at ‘St. Sergius’s Orphanage’ for a while and became friends. Ivan convinced Vyacheslav to let Alexei work for him too.”
“He keeps the picture because Alexei was important to him then?”
“Maybe, but mostly, I think it’s a reminder that trusting anyone leaves you weak.” Marcus seems unconcerned about that lesson, though it hurts my heart to imagine Ivan so jaded.
“I see.” I hadn’t expected that and will have to remember not to include that picture in my project—if I can find any pertinent photos for Ivan to make the photo album. “Okay, so I’d like to put together some of his past for him. I thought maybe I could find some photos, but I don’t know how to begin.”
Something shifts in his expression—a softening around the eyes, and a slight relaxation of his jaw. “It won’t be easy,” he says gruffly. “Russian orphanage records aren’t exactly public, and Ivan’s past isn’t simple.”
“I know, but it’s important. To me, and I think to him, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.”
He studies me for another long moment before nodding. “I can help. I’ve got some contacts who might be able to dig up information, but,” He leans forward, his voice serious, “You need to understand what you’re getting into. Ivan’s past is dark. There are things he might not want you to know.”
I shudder but push through the fear. “I understand, and I’m prepared for that.”
He nods again, seemingly satisfied with my response. “All right. I’ll reach out to my contacts to see what I can find, but this stays between us, understood? Ivan can’t know about this. Not yet.”
“Of course. I want it to be a surprise too. Thank you, Marcus. Really.”
Back in my room, I sink onto the plush bed. What will Marcus find? What secrets lurk in Ivan’s past? Will that knowledge change things between us?
I close my eyes, picturing Ivan as a child—alone, scared, and bouncing from one orphanage to another. My heart aches for that little boy, and for the man he’s become. Whatever Marcus uncovers, I vow to myself that I’ll use it to help Ivan, not hurt him.
A couple of days later, I stare at my phone, my stomach churning with nausea. The image on the screen is so graphic, so violent, that for a moment I can’t process what I’m seeing. Stephen’s face, contorted with rage and lust, looms over a figure that’s unmistakably me. The knife in his hand glints wickedly as it plunges into my chest while he’s forcefully entering me from behind. I want to look away, to delete it and pretend I never saw it, but I force myself to keep looking.
My finger hovers over the delete button. It would be so easy to erase this, to push it from my mind and pretend it never happened, but I can’t. This isn’t just a threat—it’s evidence that Stephen is dangerous, unhinged, and fixated on me.
I sink onto the couch, my legs suddenly too weak to support me. The penthouse feels cavernous and empty, even though I know Andre and Daniil are just outside the door. I long for Ivan’s presence, for the safety I feel when he’s near, but he’s in a meeting, unreachable for at least another hour.
My hands shake as I set down the phone on the coffee table. I need to tell Ivan about this. He needs to know Stephen is escalating, that even Ivan’s protection isn’t enough to break his obsession.
The thought of showing Ivan this image makes me quiver. When Ivan sees this... I shudder. He won’t just be angry. He’ll be murderous, and as much as I want Stephen to pay for what he’s done, and for the fear he’s caused, I can’t bear the thought of Ivan risking everything—his freedom, his empire, and our future—because of my psychotic ex.
I pace the living room. How do I tell Ivan about this without pushing him over the edge? How do I protect myself without putting him in danger? Lost in my thoughts, I plow into an end table and knock off a cement bust, crying out when pain flares in my knee. Thankfully, the statue fares better than my leg.
A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts. “Miss Graham?” Andre’s deep voice calls out. “Is everything okay in there?”
I inhale and exhale before speaking, trying to steady my voice. “Yes, everything’s fine. Just...just dropped something.”
There’s a pause, and I can almost feel Andre’s skepticism through the door. “All right. Let us know if you need anything.”
I wait until I hear his footsteps retreating before I collapse back onto the couch. My gaze falls on my phone again, the screen now dark but the image still burned into my mind. I need to tell Ivan, but I have to figure out how to break it to him first.