Chapter 15
Victor
I expected way more issues with the body disposal, but Seva has it all figured out.
We folded the body into one of those big plastic storage containers and used a hand truck to move the corpse to the other side of the house.
He then moved one of the bookshelves, revealing a hatch that swallowed the man who almost took my life.
Sevastyan didn’t explain where the hidden chute leads to, and I didn’t ask, but the whole process was quick and efficient in a way I should find alarming.
Instead, I silently applauded my man’s ingenuity.
The cleanup of my room proved a much more grueling task, even with the equipment Seva stores for situations like this one.
I wanted to help, I really did, but Seva had me lie on the bed and ‘keep him company’ while he mopped up all the bodily fluids, tossed fabrics into a washing basket, and cleaned every surface with a sharp-smelling product.
He even used a UV lamp to check for any spots he might have missed, and while he claimed the room would need a second round of polishing tomorrow, to my naked eye everything looked pristine .
Almost eerily so, considering that barely an hour prior, a man lost his head and all the blood in his body in the floorspace between the door and the bed.
Once he was done, everything that had come in contact with the dead body got shipped off to a ‘decontamination space’ hidden behind a different bookshelf.
Only then did we get to enjoy a soothingly warm shower where Seva took care to brush under my nails in case I had any blood there.
A part of me feared this would be the moment he’d leave me in yet another room that locks from outside, but he glanced at me with water dripping from his pale locks onto his forehead, and asked, “Do you also need a drink?”
So here we are, on the floor between the kitchen counters.
I’m wearing Seva’s clothes, which are way too large on me, but it’s cozy.
As though he really is my boyfriend and I’m here after a sleepover that categorically did not involve disposing of a body together.
He pours us vodka from a bottle marked with Russian letters I couldn’t even dream of reading.
He’s so warm.
I know the shock of the attack might still hit me with full force, but as I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, I feel safer than I’ve ever been. What could possibly touch me under the protection of a man who cut someone’s head off with a wire to save me?
Seva puts down the bottle of vodka and places one of the glasses in my hand. “Good job.”
“I didn’t do enough, really. Maybe I can help with the second clean tomorrow.”
“You sure want to go in so deep?” he asks, pulling me closer as he takes a sip of the liquor. I follow his lead, but the alcohol hits me so hard my eyes water .
“I’d say I’m not deep enough. There are people after you, people who want to hurt you, and all this time I’ve been here, I asked you about pigments and inspiration when I should have asked about who they are, and how you got to this point.”
I meet Seva’s blue gaze, and this time I see all of him.
The painter and the killer all in one. I can’t help being attracted to this intoxicating combination of a man so smart, sensitive, proficient, and unbearably attractive.
I might need more vodka, but I’ll handle anything he throws my way to be with him. Does that make me reckless? Definitely.
Crazy?
Does it matter as long as he keeps hugging me like he does now?
Seva exhales, and his gaze drifts to the ceiling above. “It’s not something most people want to know about. I’m sorry you got hurt because of my past.”
I clink my glass to his and settle in even closer, so safe when tucked under his arm. “I want to know everything.”
His Adam’s apple twitches, blue eyes intense as he looks straight at me, as if searching for any falsehoods. But he finds none, and he never will.
“They, um...” Seva finishes his vodka and pours more into the glass even before the scowl of tasting the liquor leaves his features.
“I was scouted at a youth judo championship. My mother felt I needed to know how to defend myself, so she would send me to martial arts classes very early on. And I was good,” he tells me, a small smile dancing across his lips, “Almost as good as I was at drawing. We were also poor, which made me the perfect kid to scout into the... program.”
“Did your mom know? Did you have any siblings? What about your father?” I ask despite being worried it might feel like I’m prying .
Seva plays with my fingers, the second glass of vodka emptying with his every sip.
“My father was just some guy Mom met on a trip, so he wasn’t in the picture.
No siblings. Just me and Mom. She knew better than to protest,” he says, chuckling when he meets my gaze.
“Neither of us wanted her to have an unlucky accident.”
I squeeze his hand, absorbing all of this like a sponge. What was just a vague idea is now becoming flesh and blood in my mind. I can see the teen he was, his dilemma, his mother’s worries, all of it. “I’m so sorry. How did you handle that?”
The glass is empty again, and Seva’s lips twist as he swallows the vodka.
“Mom and I were moved to a nice apartment. We could afford all the meat we wanted, and all I had to do was get better at things I already enjoyed. My first kill... I wasn’t even scared,” he says softly.
“It was messy, but the guy kept shouting at me, sputtering. I think he was just some disposable goon, but for all I know he could have also been the boss of the Bratva. I didn’t want to hesitate, but there’s this instinct that keeps most people from hurting others, and I had to overcome it on that day.
I bet he was glad when I finally succeeded. ”
After what I witnessed him do tonight, I have a visceral picture of him killing in my mind. “And then? Did you do that… job for a long time?”
Seva glances at me, his face brightening.
“Is that your question? You are the most precious boy in the world, Victor,” he tells me, gently taking hold of my chin.
“Yes, I did that for years. I was effective. Prolific. One of the best in the business. I killed cheating husbands, relatives standing in someone’s way to inheriting a fortune, and even one wannabe-dictator.
I got to develop as an artist too. In ways I couldn’t have if life forced me to go into the workforce straight out of school. I was lucky. ”
Such a strange thing to say about a life of bloodshed, but I’m learning that Seva is an unusual person in ways I couldn’t have imagined when I plotted my revenge against him. It should probably scare me, but here I am, under his arm, drinking his vodka and only wanting to know more.
“And when—” My stomach rumbles so loudly I’m mortified.
But Seva just laughs and strokes my hand. “You can’t be drinking so much on an empty stomach. Come, let’s have something.” When he pulls me up, I realize I’m more than a little tipsy, but he holds me steady so I don’t stumble.
“Teach me how to make pelmeni?” I blurt out.
Fuck he’s so tall, so strong as he cages me against the counter. The world around us might be swaying, but Sevastyan wouldn’t let me fall. Am I too trusting? Maybe, but he’s the only person to ever protect me with his life, and I choose to have faith in him.
“Another day, pet. It would take way too long.” My face must have expressed my disappointment, because he nudges up my chin and presses a peck to my lips. “How about my mother’s recipe? Lazy dumplings. She’d always make this when I needed to have something warm fast.”
I follow his mouth for another kiss. “Oh? What is it? Yes, please.”
He chuckles, and then lifts me all the way to the counter.
“Just watch,” he tells me before rushing around the kitchen.
Soon enough, a pot of water is heating on the stove, and he is pouring flour into a bowl of fresh white cheese.
“It’s so easy I would often do this after coming back from a job, sometimes even before I put away my rifle. ”
“But I want to help.” I’m embarrassed to be slurring a little, but it makes Seva laugh .
“Okay, crack three eggs in here,” he passes me a bowl, and I get unreasonably excited. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or the vodka, but I lean over for another kiss just because I can. If this is my life now, maybe I can handle living under the threat of assassins?
“I wanted to ask how you ended up here after being so good at your job.”
He sighs and starts combining all the ingredients in the bowl.
“Maybe I made it sound more exciting than it was? I’m not.
.. passionate about killing. What I always wanted was to paint, so when I started becoming ever more successful as this elusive artist whose face no one ever got to see, I started withdrawing.
The plan was to eventually stop altogether, and retire to this house I was already building by then.
But that wasn’t to be. My mentor, the closest person I ever had to a father figure betrayed me to the son of that dictator-wannabe I mentioned, and running was the only option.
I picked up Mom, and two hours later, there was an explosion in our apartment. We’ve been hiding ever since.”
I focus on Seva’s thick forearms. He portions the dough, then uses his hands to form each chunk into elongated ropes no thicker than a flute, then cuts them into inch-long dumplings I can’t wait to taste.
My mind might be fogged by vodka, but dots still connect in my head.
I slide down to the floor and hug him from the side.
Even though it makes his work harder, he doesn’t push me away.
“But you’re… not in hiding. You showed yourself to the world.
Why do that? You had a successful career painting yourself without revealing your face. ”
His muscles relax at my touch, so I kiss his shoulder blade while he finishes cutting up the dough.
“My mother and I hid here for almost a year. No one in the art world knew my face. There were no photographs, so I even allowed myself a rare outing to the nearby town. But after she died... hiding like this seemed pointless. I sat at her grave one evening, and it occurred to me that nothing would ever change. I would always need to have eyes at the back of my head after my mentor revealed my identity. I figured it would be easier to deal with all the enemies I made if I showed them where they can find me. When they come here—I’m prepared to welcome them on my own turf. ”
He turns and hands me a plate, instructing me that I can now throw them into the boiling water.
I snort when it hits me. “Like Home Alone but deadly.”
Seva laughs. “Yes. Exactly like that. With my face uncovered, they started coming, and at this point they’re just a minor disturbance to my life,” Seva tells me and tosses a whole stick of butter onto a pan as I slide the raw dumplings into the pot next to it.
“Like a well-oiled machine,” I say, absentmindedly watching our food. “And you installed all those traps yourself? You must be great at DIY.”
Seva kisses my temple and stirs the melting butter. “No one is allowed in here, so I don’t really have a choice. Nobody should be trusted. If my mentor betrayed me, what would stop a builder from selling my secrets?”
I’m about to ask a question, but Seva points out that one of the dumplings has risen to the surface, and he passes me a metal strainer with instructions to fish out those after a few more seconds.
I take my job so seriously I can’t focus on anything else, but I still notice him pouring lots of breadcrumbs into the butter.
I never cooked with anyone like this, and it makes me all cozy inside.
Seva hisses when I accidentally splash a few droplets of boiling water on his arm. As soon as I apologize, he gives me a kiss and tells me it’s fine.
This could be my life. My home .
Painting. Cooking. Fucking. Occasional body disposal.
Soon enough, we have two steaming plates of dumplings over which Seva pours the buttery breadcrumbs and finishes it all off with sugar and cinnamon. The smell makes my mouth water.
We face each other in the kitchen, forks in hand, and I keep nudging his foot with my toes, because I need his warmth to prove this isn’t a dream.
“These are so goood!” I say with my mouth full.
It’s an unfamiliar flavor with the tartness of cheese in the dough, but something about it is comforting, almost tender.
Each bite reminds me of an imaginary home I never had, and suddenly I’m fighting tears, because this is exactly what I’ve always wanted.
To belong, To create. To have someone who cares about me the way I care about him.
“Next time I’ll be watching, and you will make them,” Seva tells me and playfully steps on my toes.
I have to wipe away tears. “I’m sorry I’m such a cry-baby.
I just never had anything like this in any foster home.
These taste of love.” I stuff my face with more before I embarrass myself further.
I’m drunk. And he’s all quiet, because of course I said too much, and now he’s awkwardly wondering how to get rid of me!
I twitch at his touch.
“I’ve missed this too. Since Mom died, I’ve been so alone. Sending my paintings out into the world was what made me feel like I existed. But now you’re here, and I no longer feel like a ghost.”
My fingers tremble, so I set my plate aside, then I take the one step separating me from him and hug him tightly. I know how that feels. To exist but be invisible to the world. “You’re not. You’re the most real thing in my life.”
His rigid form relaxes, and as firm arms tighten around me, smelling of sugar and cinnamon, I realize this is what happiness should feel like. So what that I’ve found it in the arms of a killer when so many people spend their whole lives looking for it in vain?
Seva kisses the top of my head, my forehead, then follows the curve of my cheek, all the way to my waiting mouth.
It’s the sweetest kiss he’s given me, and not just because of the sugar on his tongue. “Would you like to... spend the night with me?”
“Yes. Please. I don’t want to be alone,” I whisper, staring into his perfect eyes. If I could melt into him like the cheese did into dough, I would.
I hear Seva swallow, and he rubs my back, pulling me closer.
“Neither do I.”