Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
SOFIYA
The next morning, I step into the kitchen to find Yelena alone, her hands dusted with flour as she works a lump of dough on a big wooden cutting board.
She smiles when she sees me. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”
“Not bad,” I lie. The truth is, I spent the night tossing and turning, my body aching with need. I refused to touch myself, determined not to give in to thoughts of my captor, but by the early hours of the morning, I broke. My fingers slid between my thighs, and I came harder than I ever have, Nikolai’s name silently on my lips.
She moves to get me a cup of coffee, but I wave her away. “I can get my own,” I assure her. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve settled into a routine, and that, too, is dangerous.
As soon as I sit down with a steaming cup of coffee, she pulls out a platter of food meant for a small army. There are baked goods, fruit, a selection of cheeses and jams, hard-boiled eggs, and yogurt.
“Yelena, you fuss too much over me. I am happy with fruit and yogurt most mornings.”
“Please.” She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “I haven’t had anyone to spoil for so long. And you’re Nikolai’s wife. You need to eat a good meal to start your day, especially when you get pregnant.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Pregnant? No. I’m not getting pregnant.”
Yelena gives me a patient smile. “Of course, you will have a baby. When the time is right.”
My misguided Cupid hasn’t given up yet. If she only knew. “Do you see this?” I point to the stupid tattoo on my finger. “This is my so-called wedding ring. Do you think I want to have anything to do with the man who forced this on me?” Forced is relative, but I’d like to scrub my brain of the pact I made with him. “And this.” I point to the gold cuff around my angle. “That is actually a tracking device, so he knows where I am at all times.”
“He is… unconventional,” she concedes, unbothered.
I can see I’m not getting through to her, so I smile and pop a grape into my mouth. “Let’s agree to disagree on this one.”
Yelena hums to herself, content as she kneads the dough, her movements practiced. I sip my coffee, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She seems harmless, though a little too eager to see me settled into Nikolai’s life, but she might also be a good source of information.
I decide to test the waters. “Do you live here, too?” I ask, keeping my tone casual as I pick at a piece of toast.
She nods with pride. “Oh, yes. I have my own cottage in the back that Nikolai had renovated for me when he bought the estate. I even have my own little garden. They say Catherine the Great’s niece used to tend to the roses there.”
I blink, taken aback. “Catherine the Great? As in the former empress?”
Yelena waves a flour-dusted hand through the air. “Yes. It’s said the empress gifted her niece this estate. A piece of history, yes?” She looks around the kitchen with a small smile. “Nikolai has done a fine job modernizing it while keeping its original charm.”
I nod as if this is nothing more than an interesting tidbit, but inside, I’m filing away every word. Knowing its history might help me figure out where this estate is located.
I take another sip of coffee. “That’s… impressive. I wouldn’t have guessed.”
Yelena gives me a pointed look. “This house is too big to leave empty, don’t you think? Did I mention there’s a nursery on the third floor?”
“No chance in hell of me getting pregnant,” I reiterate.
“Pregnant? Who’s pregnant?” Eva walks through the entrance and settles beside me.
“No one,” I’m quick to say. This is how rumors get started.
Her eyes drop to my stomach, and she gives a little wink. “If you say so.”
Eva is once again chugging one of her gross green smoothies, dressed in workout gear: tight black leggings, a cropped tank top that shows off her abs, and an unzipped jacket hanging loosely from her shoulders. She looks like she just stepped off the cover of a magazine.
Considering how early it was, she probably spent the night with Nikolai. Something sour curdles in my stomach, realizing he spent the night with Eva—the woman he actually wants. She might not be his girlfriend, or at least that’s what Nikolai claimed, but imagining them together still bugs me. Not that it should. I have bigger issues than worrying about whom Nikolai is sleeping with.
And in truth, I kind of like her.
Eva grins, making a show of inspecting my dress—or rather, her dress. “Oh, look at you. Showing less boob today. I had to dig to the back of my closet to find that dress.”
I glance down at the simple navy dress Eva left for me. It’s actually a bit loose around the chest. “Gee, thanks. This high collar should meet Nikolai’s approval.”
“Don’t mention it. I figure it’s better to keep the peace around here. You wearing one of my usual dresses would probably make him combust—and not in a fun way.”
Despite myself, I chuckle. “Good workout?” I ask between bites of Yelena’s delicious cheese pastry.
When Eva reaches to take one, Yelena slides the tray out of her reach. “One does not sip that disgusting green slime while enjoying my fine vatrushka.”
Eva’s face falls. “But I need something delicious after all this green slime.”
Yelena sniffs at her before turning back to whatever delicacy she’s in the middle of making. I can’t help but laugh—these two have a funny dynamic. Eva frowns and takes another sip of the concoction.
“It was a good workout,” she admits. “Lucky for me, Niko was distracted this morning, so I got in a few more hits than usual.”
Something about her words gives me pause. “Hits?”
“Oh, we spar all the time. You should join us. It’s always smart to know how to fight. And I bet you wouldn’t mind getting a few hits in on your husband.”
I raise an eyebrow. They spar? Either they’re the least romantic couple imaginable, or sparring serves as their version of foreplay. Whatever the case, I’m not about to think about it.
“I’ll pass. I have no desire to spend any more time with Nikolai than necessary.”
“My ears are burning.”
I turn to see Nikolai stride into the kitchen, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants. Dammit. My mouth goes dry, and I quickly spin back around, afraid my reaction will give away what I’m thinking—which is that he looks mind-meltingly hot. Again. You’d think seeing him naked last night would’ve been more than enough, but somehow, I’m still mesmerized by Nikolai without a shirt. Judging by his lack of effort to cover up, he seems to feel the same way.
“Good morning, Sofiya,” he says, coming up to my side. I quickly brush the pastry crumbs from my mouth. His eyes sweep over me, and my skin tingles under his stare. “What a beautiful and demure dress you’re wearing.”
I roll my eyes.
Eva leans forward with a little smile. “You can thank me for that.”
“Why, thank you, Eva,” he drawls sarcastically, then turns back to me.
“I want to introduce you to someone,” he says. I finally take off the blinders I wear when Nikolai is around and realize someone else is in the room. A man with dark curly hair and deep, soulful eyes steps up to me and holds out his hand in greeting. He also looks like he’s been working out with Eva and Nikolai.
“I’m Vadim,” he says. “I work for this guy here.” He points toward Nikolai with his thumb.
I return his warm smile when I shake his hand. “How unfortunate for you.”
He huffs a laugh. “I like her,” he tells Nikolai. And then, to me, he says, “He does have his moments. Even if he can be a cranky son of a bi?—”
“Yeah, thanks for the ringing endorsement.” He runs a hand through his hair. I can’t help but notice that Vadim seems at ease around his pakhan, which is a good sign. It reminds me of Roman and his partner, Pavel. Their men were relaxed around them but also knew when it was time to be serious. They ruled by respect, not fear, which is powerful.
Not that I want to give Nikolai too much credit. He certainly doesn’t deserve a medal or anything like that.
“I’m going to go shower,” Nikolai tells Vadim. “I’ll be ready to go in ten.”
As soon as Nikolai disappears upstairs, Vadim grabs a box from the counter, shakes it, and sits down across from me with a bowl. I glance at the colorful rings tumbling out. “Are those... Froot Loops?”
Eva stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “You’re eating that after our workout? Seriously?”
Vadim shrugs, spoon halfway to his mouth. “What? It’s delicious.”
Eva leans on the counter, her expression mock-stern. “We did two hours of cardio and strength training, and now you’re going to undo it all with sugar-coated cardboard?”
Yelena chimes in from the stove, barely glancing back. “Let the man eat. He works hard. Besides, it’s better than that green sludge you call a drink.”
“Thank you, Yelena,” Vadim says, pointing his spoon at Eva. “At least someone gets me.”
Eva rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “You do realize this is why you’ll never have abs like me, right?”
Vadim snorts. “I don’t need abs like you. I have a personality. Besides, you’re only jealous of my beautiful face.”
I laugh at their ridiculous bickering.
“As if,” Eva shoots back before glancing at her watch. “Anyhow, I have a meeting with the Orlovs to get to.” She claps me on the back. “See you later, Sofiya. I’ll remind Niko to take you shopping.”
“Yeah, I’d really like my own underwear, too,” I admit.
Vadim’s brows rise in surprise, but he hides his grin by focusing intently on his cereal.
“I’m sure you would,” Eva calls over her shoulder before disappearing through the doorway.
Her comment about meeting with the committee surprised me. I didn’t expect Eva to have a job. Most women tied to men like Nikolai don’t, though my sister is an exception. Then again, her relationship with Roman isn’t exactly traditional.
I sigh, guilt bubbling up. Every time I’m not utterly miserable here, I feel like I’m betraying Liza, Roman, the Syndicate, my friends, and everyone who’s affected by this. I know it’s ridiculous because me feeling like crap won’t fix a thing.
“Whoa, what’s with that frown?” Vadim asks, grabbing the cereal box and giving it a shake. “You know what could turn that upside down?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, I can’t imagine you working for Nikolai Zhukov. You’re way too?—”
“Fun? I get that a lot. But we’re like yin and yang. We balance each other out.”
I grab a handful of cereal and toss it into my mouth because why not? I swear Yelena shoots me a dirty look from across the kitchen where she’s kneading dough. “And how did you two meet?” I ask.
“In prison.”
I nearly choke. “I didn’t expect that… not sure why.”
“Yeah, most people don’t, especially because of my military background.” He shrugs. “But life has a way of throwing curveballs.”
I lean my head into my hands. “Tell me about it.”
Vadim’s eyes soften as he rests his elbows on the table. “You’re tougher than you look, you know,” he says, his tone unexpectedly sincere.
I huff out a laugh. “I don’t feel tough.”
“Trust me. Most people wouldn’t have lasted this long. And they wouldn’t be laughing while eating cereal with me.”
Before I can respond, Nikolai strides into the room, his presence commanding as always. His dress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a hint of inked skin. His suit jacket hangs loosely over his arm, and the faint shadow of stubble adds to his rugged edge.
Vadim grins, gesturing toward me with his spoon. “Your wife has a pressing request. She’d like her own underwear.”
My eyes widen, and heat rushes to my cheeks. “Vadim!” I hiss, mortified.
Nikolai’s brow arches slightly, but his expression remains composed. “Noted,” he says, his gaze sweeping over me briefly before shifting back to Vadim. “You ready?”
“Born ready,” Vadim replies, rising with a grin. As they head for the door, he calls back, “I’ll make sure he gets you the good stuff, Sofiya.”
I drop my head into my hands, groaning.
Yelena chuckles from across the kitchen. “Don’t let them get to you.” She pauses, wiping her hands on her apron. “But if you want to take your mind off things, I could teach you how to make cabbage rolls. Every good Russian wife should know how.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Maybe. Although not because I want to be a good Russian wife, but because I might as well learn how to cook while I’m here.”
I sit cross-legged on the bed, staring at the pile of DVDs like they’re alien artifacts. The huge TV in the corner of the room has a built-in player, and while I figured out how to turn it on, getting it to actually play anything is a whole other challenge.
I guess streaming services are not allowed, so I’m stuck with this relic. But I’m so damn bored, I’ll take anything as a distraction.
The remote is bulky and old, its buttons faded and hard to read. I press one, and the screen flickers to the DVD menu. Success? Maybe. I hit “play,” but the screen goes black.
“Seriously?” I mutter, flopping back onto the bed.
After a day spent wandering the house, playing a little piano, reading in the library, and trying to shake off the nagging feeling of being out of place, all I want is to watch a movie—just one normal thing to make me feel like myself again.
I’m glaring at the remote, debating my next move, when a knock at the door cuts through the quiet.
“Come in,” I call, too frustrated to care who it is.
The door creaks open, and Nikolai leans against the frame, one brow raised. “What the hell are you doing?”
I gesture at the TV. “Trying to watch a movie. Do you know how to use this thing? It’s ancient.”
He crosses his arms, the sides of his mouth twitching. “You don’t know how to work a DVD player?”
“No! I’ve never had to use one. Because I grew up in the modern era, where we have something called streaming.”
“Jesus. You’re making me feel old.”
I grin. “Well, you are.”
“Move over. Let me show you how it’s done before you break it.”
I shift to the side, handing him the remote. He takes it, his fingers brushing mine briefly, and crouches by the TV, muttering something under his breath about “kids these days.”
“How old are you, anyway?” I ask, leaning back against the headboard. I’m aware that I’m dressed in an old pair of Eva’s sweats, but if he finds it weird, he doesn’t mention it.
“Thirty-four,” he says without looking up.
I whistle, long and exaggerated.
He glances over his shoulder, one brow raised. “At least I’m old enough to know how to work this thing.”
I laugh, watching as he expertly navigates the buttons. The TV flickers, and the menu appears on-screen. He hands the remote back to me. “There. That’s play. That’s pause. That’s stop. Think you can manage, or should I write it down for you?”
“Very funny.” I roll my eyes. “So, what brings you to my door this evening?”
He leans casually against the dresser. “I thought you might be interested in going shopping tomorrow. Seeing as you’re not too fond of borrowing underwear.”
My cheeks warm, but a smile spreads across my face. “That actually sounds like a good idea.”
I notice he’s not in one of his signature suits. Instead, he’s wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt that stretches perfectly across his chest and shoulders. It’s such a stark contrast, seeing him like this—casual, almost approachable—but it doesn’t make him any less intimidating. If anything, it’s worse. He’s stupidly sexy even when he’s dressed down.
“What are you watching, anyway?” he asks, nodding toward the screen.
I glance at the DVD case on the bed and hold it up. “ Scream . Classic ‘90s horror. It’s the golden age, you know.”
“Never seen it. You complain about ‘90s tech, but you’re all in for ‘90s movies?”
I shrug, grinning. “Different rules. Movies are timeless. Tech… not so much.”
“Fair enough.” He folds his arms, watching me with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
“Wait—you’ve never seen Scream ?” I ask, sitting up straighter.
“Never.”
My jaw drops. “What the hell? You’re missing out. It’s iconic!”
He chuckles. “Maybe I’m not much of a horror guy.”
“It’s a parody of the horror genre, actually. It’s kind of funny.” I bite my lip. “You can’t live like this. You can watch it with me.” I feel awkward as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I invited Nikolai fucking Zhukov to Netflix and chill with me. Then again, I really think he’s missing out if he doesn’t see it.
He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. “You want me to watch it with you?”
“Yeah.” I nod, trying to seem casual. “It’s a classic. A cultural touchstone. You should at least see it once.”
He tilts his head, considering. “I’ve got work to?—”
“Of course,” I’m quick to jump in, feeling silly for even offering.
His eyes flick to me, catching the faint disappointment I didn’t mean to reveal.
“Fuck it. Yeah, let’s watch the damn movie.”
“Really?” I can’t hide the excitement that creeps into my voice.
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. Popcorn. Coke. The full ‘90s cinema experience.”
I grin, the tension in my chest easing. “Popcorn and Coke? You’re a man of taste, Zhukov.”
“You have no idea.” He glances toward the door. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
Not long after, we're sitting side by side on the small couch in my room, the lights low, popcorn in a bowl between us, and two cans of Coke on the table. On the screen, Drew Barrymore’s Casey Becker character answers the phone while making popcorn, her blond bob adorable as she flirts on the phone with the mysterious caller.
I glance sideways at Nikolai. His posture is casual—leaning back, one arm draped along the back of the couch—but his eyes are locked on the screen, his jaw tight. He has no idea what’s about to happen.
I watch him rather than the screen when Casey is forced into a terrifying game of horror movie trivia with her boyfriend Steve's life on the line. When she answers wrong and hears Steve's agonized screams, Nikolai's hand twitches against his leg. I bite back a smile, waiting for what's coming next.
Then it happens—Ghostface appears outside the glass doors, and Casey's piercing scream fills the air. Nikolai flinches. Just barely, but enough to tell me he's freaked out.
"Are you scared?" I whisper, smirking as I take a sip of Coke.
He cuts me a glance. “Hardly.”
“You look a little tense.”
He narrows his eyes. “I don’t get scared. I get… alert. And I don’t like horror movies.”
I laugh, the sound muffled by the next dramatic high-pitch wail from the TV. “So what do you like?”
“Heat. Die Hard. The Godfather.”
“Don’t you get enough adrenaline in your day job?”
He leans back, a piece of popcorn halfway to his mouth. “Movies don’t come with consequences. I can enjoy the chaos without worrying about cleanup.”
I sneak glances at him, my eyes drawn to the flicker of emotions playing across his face. His jaw tightens, and his brows knit together as poor Casey gets killed off.
He takes a sip of his drink. “So many stupid choices. Who would flirt with a creepy stranger on the phone like that?”
“It’s a horror movie. People do stupid things. That’s the point.”
The harsh angles of his face seem softer in the glow of the TV. I let my gaze linger for a moment too long, and suddenly, his head turns, his deep, blue eyes meeting mine.
“You’re staring,” he says.
I flush and look back at the screen. “You’re very into this movie for someone who called it stupid five minutes ago. You’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe.” He settles back into the couch. “So are you.”
“Maybe,” I parrot him.
If I'm honest, I am enjoying this—sitting here with him, not just the movie—more than I expected. Watching his reactions is more fun than the film. And being in someone else’s company, even if he is my captor, helps with the loneliness.
His hand shifts and comes to rest lightly on my leg, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my sweatpants. It catches me off guard, and for a second, I freeze.
I glance at him, unsure what to say.
“What?” he asks, his attention still fixed on the TV. “It’s a scary movie. I’m scared.”
“Right.” I let out a quiet snort, shaking my head. “Whatever makes you feel better.”
He keeps his hand where it is, and to my surprise, it feels... comforting. Maybe, just for tonight, I can wave the white flag between us.
Movement stirs me from sleep. I feel warmth around me—strong, steady warmth—and blink slowly, realizing the movie is over and I’m now in his arms.
“Seriously?” I murmur, my eyes still half-closed. “What is it with you and carrying me around like a sack of potatoes? Is this some weird fetish—like your love of stripping?”
He makes an amused noise. “Less scary than waking you up.”
“Are you scared of me?”
“Terrified,” he says dryly as he crosses the short distance to the bed.
I let my head loll against his shoulder, too comfortable to protest. “You should be. I’m a force to be reckoned with.
“I have no doubt,” he mutters, lowering me onto the bed with surprising care. He pulls the blanket over me. This moment should feel weird, but it doesn’t. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to hating him.
“Did you like the movie?” I don’t know why I care, but I do. Probably because I feel like he sacrificed his night to spend it with me.
“Other than the idiotic choices every character made and the absurd amount of screaming, I found it… acceptable. Maybe even better than acceptable.”
I prop myself up on one elbow, giving him a look. “Better than acceptable? High praise coming from you.”
He shrugs, his expression as serious as if we were discussing an international arms deal. “It had its moments. The commentary on horror clichés was clever. And the killer’s reveal? Predictable, but it worked.”
“You’re seriously analyzing Scream ?” I huff. “You know it’s only a slasher movie, right?” When he lifts a shoulder, I say, “Next time, we’ll do a deep dive into Clueless and its commentary on society.”
“Clue-what? No idea what you’re talking about.”
“God, you’re impossible.” I flop back onto the pillow, but I’m smiling.