Chapter 6
EVA
It’s the first time I’ve been outside since I arrived at Evgeny’s estate.
My gaze goes to the far-off horizon, where sea and sky blur into one.
I cross the lawn and, when no one stops me, keep going to the edge of the grass.
All that stands between the cliff’s edge and me is a path of crushed stone and a low hedge.
And then nothing but open air and the thin, rocky beach below.
The air smells like sun-warmed grass, bougainvillea, and sea salt.
From where I’m standing, I can see the coastline unfurling, the hills dotted with homes, the beaches serene from this distance.
A lone sailboat tacks against the breeze, its white sails full, the crests of the waves glittering in the sunlight.
“Nice view, isn’t it?”
I jump at the accented voice and look back to find a stranger. The man could be a model. He’s tall and lanky, with piercing blue eyes set in an angular face topped by an unruly mop of dark hair. A twinkle brightens those eyes under dark, heavy brows and tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
With the chuckle in his voice and the look on his face, I’m pretty sure he isn’t all that sorry.
He has no gun, unlike the armed guards in and around the house.
He’s also wearing a faded blue T-shirt and relaxed jeans.
Between the messy hair falling over his forehead, the hole in the knee of his jeans, and his round-shouldered posture with hands stuffed into his pockets, I can’t tell how old he is.
Is he somehow related to Evgeny?
He watches me, and all I see is curiosity. His gaze is uncomfortably piercing, but he makes no move toward me.
“Do you need something?” I finally ask, annoyed that we’re both just standing here, staring at each other.
“No.” He shrugs. “Just curious about Ev’s new pet hacker. Word’s already going around about you.”
“I’m flattered.” I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold with the knowledge that I’m known to more of the Bratva than just those in the house. Talk about escape being impossible.
He shrugs again, shoulders rising and falling. “You should be. I’m shocked he let you live at all. He must really need your help.”
“Are you his kid?” I ask.
The guy chokes like something went down the wrong way. For a second, I get concerned as he gasps for breath. Then I realize he’s laughing, and my concern flips back to annoyance.
“His kid?” The guy wipes the tears from his eyes. “Ev can be a dog, but he wasn’t getting women pregnant at six.” More chuckles shake his shoulders.
“Six?” I know I sound shocked, but there’s no way this guy is only six years younger than Evgeny.
“I have a baby face, right?” He winks, then pulls a hand from his pocket to hold it out to me. “I’m Vasya.”
I don’t take his hand, but watch it cautiously. What if he pulls me in and dumps me over the hedge and down the cliff, all his friendliness a cover so I let down my defenses?
Then again, the guy towers over me. He might be slight, but I can see the strength of his arms even beneath the intricate tattoos decorating his skin, and it wouldn’t take much for him to grab me, handshake or not.
“Eva.”
We shake and let go. In the silence, my stomach growls. Another upturned smirk flickers across Vasya’s lips, his eyes dropping to my stomach before returning to my face.
“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” I admit, cheeks heating. “It’s the first time I’ve been allowed outside since I was brought here. I wanted some fresh air.”
Vasya shoves his hand back into his pocket and jerks his head toward the building. “I’ll take you to Alona’s realm.”
“Alona.” I repeat the name as I hurry to match Vasya’s long stride. “Dmitri mentioned her, but I have no idea who she is.”
“She’s the head of the household and runs everything with an iron fist. Sometimes she’s scarier than Ev.”
That answer doesn’t help me much.
“So, she’s—” I start, hoping Vasya will fill in the blanks.
“The housekeeper. The cook. The chatelaine, if you want to go the medieval route. What she says in the house goes, even Ev listens to her. So don’t get on her bad side.”
If even hardened Russian criminals are afraid of the woman, what chance in hell do I have to survive her?
Vasya winks. “You’ll be fine. Just compliment her cooking and she’ll warm up to you. That’s what I’ve always done.”
“Good to know.”
“So, are you settling in?” Vasya asks.
It’s an odd question, given I’m not here by choice.
“I guess so?”
Vasya chuckles again. “You’re right. Dumb question. Bet you never thought you’d be so uncomfortable staying in a place like this, right?”
I laugh because what else is there to do? “Yeah, you’re right. I guess it’s nice to see the ocean every day. I’m an Angelino, born and raised. I’ve seen the ocean maybe ten times in my entire life.”
Everyone outside L.A. seems to think people who live here are always at the beach, but that’s not true. The beach is for the rich and the surfer bums. Going often is too complicated and expensive for the rest of us.
“That’s the spirit.” He shoots a disarming grin at me over his shoulder, a flash of white teeth and a sparkle in his eye. “Looking on the bright side.”
“I’m not so sure you can call it a bright side,” I say.
“Ah, well, at least you don’t have to cook for yourself.”
Vasya ushers me into the kitchen to find a plump woman in brown polyester pants and a large-print floral shirt at the enormous island.
Her graying blond hair is wrapped around her head in a thick braided roll, and the cold, unfriendly look in her eyes when she glances at me makes me want to shrink back.
“Alona?” I ask Vasya in a whisper.
“Alona, kak dela?” Vasya asks the woman how she’s doing, an indirect answer to my question.
Her glare slides from me to Vasya. She grunts in reply and looks back down at the dough she’s been kneading without pause, her big hands steady and sure, her thick forearms corded with a surprising amount of muscle.
Vasya indicates one of the stools pulled up to the island before sliding into one himself. “Sit.”
I’m about to ask how we get breakfast when Alona turns from her bread dough to the enormous chef’s fridge.
She pulls out several plastic-wrap-covered plates and a carton of eggs.
Her movements are quick and efficient, and before I know it, sitting in front of me are eggs, coffee, toasted rye bread, and sirniki, a delicious type of cheese pancakes, with sour cream and black currant jam to top them off.
I can barely stop myself from inhaling it. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was, especially after barely eating anything for days, or how much I missed the taste of a traditional Russian breakfast.
“Amazing, right?” Vasya asks with a grin before stuffing half a sirnik into his mouth.
“Incredible,” I agree. “I haven’t had these for years.”
“You’ve had them before? These aren’t exactly on every diner or brunch menu.”
It’s my turn to grin at Vasya’s puzzlement. “First of all, I’m not a brunch person. Second of all, my dad is Russian. He used to make these for us on Sunday mornings.”
“Used to?” Vasya catches the operative word, his eyebrows arching into a question.
“He stopped after—” I pause, taking a deep breath, “—after my mom died. He stopped doing much of anything, really.”
Our conversation pauses as Vasya chews and considers my admission, his gaze lifting to the ceiling. He drops his eyes to mine. “And he didn’t teach you how to make them?”
The question catches me off guard. I thought I’d be fending off pity or apologies or more questions about her death.
“No,” I say, swallowing my current bite.
“And your mom didn’t teach you?”
Alona has cooked the eggs perfectly, their golden-orange centers oozing out, and the black currant jam on the sirniki tastes homemade. I dip my rye bread into the soft yolk and tear off the piece before I answer.
“Mom was second-generation Spanish-American, so she didn’t know anything about Russian cooking.”
“That makes sense.” Vasya nods to himself as he takes a sip of black coffee, as though he’s agreeing with an unvoiced thought.
“What does?”
“Your dark hair. Dark eyes. The olive skin tone. That sexy, exotic thing you have going on. Makes sense now that I know you’re half Spanish.”
I stare at Vasya, fork halfway to my mouth before my cheeks start burning. I look away, trading the fork for a coffee cup to hide my embarrassment.
He only chuckles, but he doesn’t press any further.
I still have no idea what his relation to Evgeny is, but Vasya is a world away from the dark, brooding, scarred beast keeping me captive in his home. He’s charming and funny in an entirely appealing way.
Maybe that’s why I’m telling Vasya all of this.
I don’t know him, and even if he isn’t part of the Kucherov Bratva, he’s clearly part of the inner circle to call the boss by a nickname.
I should be quiet and keep information about my family to myself.
But his is the first friendly face I’ve seen in nearly a week.
Besides, Evgeny already showed me that he knew everything about my family.
Vasya takes a big bite of dark bread slathered with creamy yellow butter. “So, you’re a hacker?”
I nod. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t try to take Ev on.” It’s the first indication that Vasya knows more than he’s letting on, but it doesn’t bother me for some reason. “Unless you’re some big-time hacker who can get through any system.”
“I’m very good at what I do.” I defend my skills with my butter knife. Vasya leans back, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But I never did anything illegal, just small jobs for small businesses. I never wanted to get into the illegal stuff.”
“Yet you tried to break into the Kucherov system?”
I can hear the sardonic doubt in Vasya’s tone, and heat pricks at the edges of my temper, a flare I can’t hide.
“I did it because I had to. My dad might lose his bookstore, and it will kill him. He already lost his family in Russia, lost my mother, and the only thing that’s kept him going is the bookstore. And I know Evgeny owns the building.”
“Not his kids?”
I frown. “Well, that, too. But he isn’t the most dad-like dad out there.
He’s eccentric,” I admit. “I mostly raised my siblings. Dad was a professor when he lived in Russia, but they wouldn’t let him teach here, so he opened the bookstore.
But he fell apart when Mom died. My brothers and sister were all young, so someone had to keep them fed and get them ready for school in the morning.
Honestly? I was just trying to save the bookstore and keep my family housed and fed. I thought if I could—”
I stop, realizing that revealing the extent of my plan isn’t the smartest thing to do.
“You thought you could…” Vasya gestures for me to finish.
“Bribe the head of the Kucherov Bratva into forgiving my father’s late rent,” I admit in a rush. My voice starts out with conviction, but by the end, my statement is more of a question.
An odd sound escapes Vasya’s throat, though I can’t tell quite what it is. A cough? He isn’t actually choking this time, is he? His eyes dance, the blue sparkling, and the cough becomes a wheeze, becomes a chuckle, becomes a full laugh, his head thrown back.
“You thought you could bribe Ev?”
I glare at him, but he continues laughing.
“You call the boss by a nickname. Does that mean you’re related?” I ask, annoyed and trying to find another subject.
“No, just someone who’s been in this life a long time. Sometimes I feel like Evgeny’s trained monkey instead of a vor.”
“A vor?” I repeat the Russian word. “You’re a thief?”
Vasya flashes me a humorless smile. “Vory v zakone.”
I chew over the words and their meanings. Thief in law? A legalized thief? A thief who is in the law? I’m not sure I understand, but then again, I don’t know anything about Bratva culture save for the fact that my father warned me to stay far, far away from them.
I’m wishing I had.
I’m mopping up the remains of my breakfast with the last of my bread when Alona comes to clear the plates wordlessly. She’s finished kneading her dough, which rests in a basket covered by a clean dish towel.
“Spasibo,” I thank her in Russian.
The word catches the woman off guard, and her eyes flick to me for a moment.
She’s surprised I speak Russian. She looks even more surprised when I compliment her food in Russian and tell her it’s even better than what my father used to make.
Though the older woman only grunts a reply, I swear I see a flicker of satisfaction in her expression.
Got her, I think to myself, self-satisfied.
The feeling vanishes the next instant when a dark, dangerous shadow in the form of Evgeny Kucherov steps into the kitchen.
I squeak and jump off the stool. My heart gives an enormous thump, then starts racing, a sign of fear I hate myself for. Is he here to tell me to get back to my rooms? Tell me he never authorized my freedom, and I’m going to be locked away until he’s done with me?
“Coffee?”
Vasya is behind me, holding out a small espresso cup to Evgeny. I wonder where he got it from.
Evgeny glares at me for another few heartbeats before finally breaking his gaze and reaching for the small cup. It looks minuscule in his hand, and he downs the contents in one sip.
Evgeny is shadows and darkness compared to Vasya’s lightheartedness. But in the bright light of the kitchen, when he isn’t yelling at me or threatening me, I can at least see the gorgeous man I met at the club, even if I’m sure he was a figment of my imagination.
I take pains not to look at the scars on one side of his face, which don’t look quite as monstrous when he’s not being a monster himself. He seems to get angry when I look at them, which I guess I can understand. People must stare at them all the time, probably not in a kind way, either.
“Don’t you have work to do?” Evgeny’s question is less a question and more a warning growl that startles me. I realize I’ve been staring at him.
“I needed breakfast.” I manage to sound less squeaky. “If my blood sugar drops, I can’t work well.”
Vasya steps up next to me. “Give her a break. You’re keeping her here. Let her eat when she wants.”
Evgeny’s glare glides to Vasya, the corners of his mouth turning down. Vasya stuffs his hands into his pockets again, shoulders hunching.
“I’m done. I’m full. I’ll go,” I say quickly, knowing I’m walking a very fine line. I don’t want to lose the small bit of freedom my captor has granted me. I flash Vasya a quick smile. “Thanks for showing me around and making sure I eat. I appreciate it.”
He nods, but he doesn’t say anything more.
The last thing I see as I hurry from the kitchen is the two men standing there watching me, Evgeny with a scowl and Vasya looking bemused.