Chapter 7 - Diomid
The kitchen light is glaringly bright, so I flick it off again and opt for the lighting beneath the cupboards, hanging over the countertops. It’s softer and doesn’t offend my eyes. I hardly ever like using the main lights in any room. Lighting should be a mood. Not an assault.
The shopping bags of pizza ingredients are sitting on the countertop. I reach into the brown paper bag and start unpacking it, lost in thought.
Oddly, Jaroslav had my back when Angelika called him and tried to convince him to let her come home.
It felt good. And then of course, I got handed a perfect opportunity when he put her on the spot, asking questions she couldn’t answer.
I saw the look in her face. I saw the panic and the guilt.
And I saw the relief when I stepped in to cover for her.
I’m not stupid; I get that it’s the reason she suddenly became more open and agreeable toward me. I have a secret that she needs to be protected.
Yeah, it’s not like I want her brothers to know I slept with her either, but I won’t be in the same kind of predicament that she’d be in if they found out.
Thinking about brothers, I meant to call mine.
While Angelika is upstairs, and I can still hear the shower running, I pull my phone out and call Matvei.
“Hey man, how’s it going there?” he asks as soon as he answers.
“It’s good. I wanted to find out how things were on your side. Are you still working with Jaroslav on this? Offering our help?” I lean my ass against the counter and fold one arm across my chest, holding the phone against my ear.
“Of course, we’re assisting in tracking down the Popovs, focusing our efforts on Bardil. We’re not yet sure whether the others were involved in choosing Angelika as a target or if he acted on his own in that regard. Either way, we’re after all of them.”
“That’s good. And what’s the word on the street about the auction venue being attacked?”
“Rumors about a pack of dark demons that came through there like hellfire,” Matvei laughs. “You sure it was just you?” he asks.
“I certainly didn’t bring my hell hounds along. I assume they’re embarrassed to admit that one guy did that much damage,” I smirk, proud of myself.
Sometimes my impulsive and reckless behavior is the thing that saves the day. In this case, it certainly did. Any logical person, in that same situation, would have been too smart to think they could take on an entire army of guards in a room full of highly dangerous Bratva men.
“Well, we don’t have much news at the moment, but we are still helping Jaroslav on the hunt. I’ll call you if we get anything. How is it being stuck with the sister?”
“She’s not so bad,” I answer quickly.
“Lucky. Imagine you were stuck with a brat or a snob.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. Lucky.”
“Chat soon, man. Enjoy your evening. Thanks for helping out like this. I know you’re not the biggest Shev fan.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s no problem. Bye, Mat.”
***
Standing over a blank, pre-made pizza base, I paint tomato paste onto the dough, coating it with red and sprinkling it with garlic. I have the large air fryer preheating.
Behind me, Angelika walks into the kitchen, and I glance over my shoulder at her, looking cute and comfortable in a matching sweatpants and pink crop top set.
I love the fact that the sweatpants in the safe house are all a bit too big for her.
She has to tie the drawstring extra tight, and the elastic bunches a bit around her hips.
They still hang on her, but it looks cute.
I could easily get one of the guards to grab a few pants in her size, but I haven’t offered because she looks so damn sexy in the ones she’s been wearing.
She notices my eyes exploring her outfit.
“I know, I’ve been living in sweatpants this week, but hey, it’s not like we’re going out in public or anything. The jeans in the closet don’t even come close to fitting me; they just fall right off. And it’s not like you care what I look like.”
She brushes her hands over the sweatpants and shrugs.
My thoughts tug as I watch her. A small voice in the back of my mind whispers that keeping her here has nothing to do with teaching her anything. I’m fascinated by her. Everything about her draws me in.
I shove those thoughts away, scolding myself for allowing them to surface when it can’t possibly be true that I am interested in a Shev.
“As long as you’re comfortable. Now, are you going to make yourself useful and rinse off the baby spinach leaves? Maybe slice them?” I ask, gesturing toward the packet of fresh leaves.
“Sure, hand me the shrooms too. I’ll do them at the same time.”
In the small kitchen, I’m suddenly hyper-aware of how it wasn’t really built for two people to move around in.
She’s right up against me, her body brushing mine with every turn.
Countless times, in order to reach something, I have to press my body over hers, and sometimes she ducks a little so I can literally hold her in my arms to get to the drawer she’s blocking. The intimacy of it all isn’t lost on me, and certainly not on my building desire.
Her hair smells of mint, which is really pretty on her, but doesn’t seem like her style. I envision her smelling like the ocean. Or like a rain forest.
“Did you use my body wash to wash your hair?” I ask, grinning.
“Yes, sorry, it was all that was there, and I forgot to ask you to order me something else.”
“It smells different on you than it does on me,” I remark, bewitched by her.
“All perfumes and scents smell different on different people according to their skin. Acidity and stuff. Maybe you’re just too acidy.” The glint in her eyes is gorgeous. Mischief playing through them like fireworks.
“Touché,” I laugh. “I’m too acidy.”
She wiggles between me and the counter in front of me, forcing me to stop sprinkling spinach on the pizza base for a second while she grabs another bowl. Her ass brushes against my cock, and I freeze.
“Sorry,” she smiles, wiggling back to her spot.
“Not the biggest kitchen, is it?” I say, my throat a little tight because my cock is beginning to stir.
“I guess they only planned for one person to cook at a time,” she agrees. “But it’s still nice to know we’re safe anyway.”
My cock is pressing half-erect against my sweatpants, and I hurriedly turn away from her.
“Do you want some wine? I saw a bottle of white in here somewhere?” I say, crouching down to hide from the situation and busy myself.
“I’d love some wine,” she says, glancing over her shoulder.
Angelika moves toward the pizza base to add the sliced mushrooms while I take her place and pour two glasses of wine. I’m not certain that adding alcohol to the already tense situation in this kitchen is the best idea, but I need something to take the edge off.
I wonder if she can feel it too?
I can’t for the life of me figure out why I have this intense need to protect her. And this lingering possessiveness that I can’t brush off. She isn’t mine. She doesn’t belong to me. But I want to keep her. When I even think about letting her leave, I get agitated.
It doesn’t make sense.
Where is this coming from?
“Do you want almond sprinkles on your side?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes, why not. I’ve never tried it before, but I trust your judgment.”
“That’s a first,” she teases.
I pick up the wine glass and hand it to her. She smiles, her eyes bright and warm, tilting her head to the side. “Thank you, Dio,” she says, and the way she utters my name has my heart skipping a beat.
Dammit. This girl has some kind of pull over me. Why? And I still want her like crazy. For fuck sake I can’t even get my cock to behave around her, even when she’s wearing sweatpants and men’s body wash.
This is so wrong. It’s not like I can do anything about it. I already made that mistake once, but at least I can say that at the time, I didn’t know who she was. Now I do. There will be no excuses to explain that away.
“Alright, we just need to add the last layer of cheese,” she says, dusting her hands off on a cloth.
I grab the bowl of grated cheddar and move behind her, holding it in front of her so she can help me.
She grabs some and sprinkles it over, while I do the same. She doesn’t even seem bothered that I have my arms around her and her back pressed against my chest.
Why do I like this so much?
Stepping back when the cheese task is finished, I decide I urgently need to get out of this kitchen. “I’ll be in the living room,” I say, already leaving while she slides the air fryer draw closed and sets the timer.
She joins me in the living room, choosing to sit on the same stretch of sofa as me, with a seat open between us. Angelika pulls her legs up beneath her, curled and cozy as she turns her body sideways on the sofa to look at me.
“Aren’t you annoyed that you’re stuck here with me?” she asks, sipping her wine, her eyes drifting over me.
A short chuckle slips from my lips as I turn toward her, too. “You’re not so bad to hang around, Angel.”
“Oh, so I’m not a spoiled Bratva princess as you thought,” she challenges me.
“I didn’t say that,” I sigh defensively.
“It’s not like you’ve said nice things about me either.”
“It goes both ways, princess,” I grin.
She shakes her head, smiling. “Fair enough. Besides, it’s not you I’m feeling smothered by. It’s the whole idea of being locked up—again,” she sighs.
“Again?” My brows furrow in confusion.
“Oh, I mean my brothers. They treat me like I’m a thin piece of glass, so breakable and fragile. They have no regard for my freedom. My life. My right to choose where I go and what I do with that life.”
Cocking my head to the side, I watch her frustration.
“They love you, Angelika. That’s why they do what they do,” I tell her.
“I know they love me. But they’ve literally taken my freedom from me on more than one occasion. They don’t treat each other like that. Just because I’m a girl, I don’t get to make my own choices. None of my brothers has ever been stopped from going somewhere or doing something,” she huffs, annoyed.
I laugh, “Don’t be so sure. Brothers can be just as harsh toward each other as they are to their sisters. Remember, I have both. Brothers just communicate with each other differently, so you might not recognize it as the same thing you see them doing to you.”
“How so?” she asks, her brows knotted.
“Well, I’m constantly being reprimanded about my choices.
They lecture me, make me feel guilty for being who I am.
I also want freedom. I don’t want to live under their rules.
But I kind of have to. We’re a family. And regarding how they treat you—I have sisters, Angel.
I know exactly how they feel. This world is a dangerous place.
It’s ugly. We see it all the time, and all we’re trying to do is keep you from suffering what we know is out there. ”
She pulls her mouth to the side and presses her lips together. She doesn’t agree with me; I can see it on her face.
“How can I learn from my mistakes if I never have a chance to make any?” she asks.
“What would you have learned from your recent mistake if I hadn’t come to save you?” I challenge her.
She sits up a little straighter. “That’s not fair. This was an extreme example.”
“Every example in the Bratva world is going to be an extreme example. That’s the point I’m trying to make. Your brothers are protecting you from life-or-death situations.”
She sighs loudly and flops back on the sofa, frustrated and not hiding it. It makes me laugh.
“But… I do understand you, Angel. The desire to live your own life. The desire to chase adventure and experience things without someone making you feel guilty for it. I want the same thing, and more than often, I can’t have it because my brothers don’t agree with me.
I’m the reckless one. I’m the selfish one because I don’t put the family first. I do, though. I love them.”
She bites at her lower lip, her eyes studying me. “I love my family too. It’s frustrating, isn’t it? Being trapped in a life where we love the people we have, but we can’t be the people we want to be.”
***
We spend the night eating pizza and bonding over our shared desire for freedom.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find out how similar she is to me.
Her lust for adventure and the unknown. Her yearning for spontaneous things instead of the constant drone of monotony and security.
On the thud glass of wine, with empty pizza plates on the coffee table next to us, I suddenly realize I’m about to kiss her.
I’ve been staring at her lips for far too long. I’ve been tense and humming with desire since we worked in the kitchen together—no, since way before that.
Dammit.
Just go to bed, Diomid.
“Thanks for a nice dinner,” I say, standing up a little too hurriedly.
“You going to bed?” she asks, confused by my suddenness. Or disappointed that I’m leaving?
“Yes, I’m tired. The food was great. The wine was great.
The conversation was great. But I think I should call it a night.
” I glance at her, the beautiful glimmer in her eyes.
The flush of wine on her cheeks. Fuck me, I could just lean over and kiss her right now.
I could carry her up to the bedroom and…
“Sleep well then,” she smiles. “I think I’ll go to bed too.
Thanks for dinner.” She giggles softly, standing up, bumping me, and forcing me to step back.
When she looks at me, I swear I see the same yearning in her eyes.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to look away.
Nothing good will come of whatever is going on here.
I help Angelika carry the plates to the kitchen, being careful to avoid her in the small space, then I hurry up to my private room, away from her and her temptations.