chapter 7
Iselyn
After a bath, I head to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. I love cooking.
Neither my mom nor dad can cook, but I have a huge interest in preparing delicious food, and, of course, eating it.
My teacher is Nana Irina. She was our housekeeper, but for my mom, she’s like a mother.
She officially stopped working a long time ago, yet she still lives with us.
I start making a simple sandwich.
Thick slices of rye bread, still warm from the toaster, filling the kitchen with its nutty, earthy aroma.
I spread a generous layer of creamy butter, letting it melt slightly on the warm bread.
Then I add thin slices of smoky, pink salmon.
A few crisp cucumber rings follow, their refreshing scent mixing with the salmon.
I sprinkle finely chopped dill on top. A subtle smear of horseradish cream gives the sandwich a kick.
Finally, I top it with another slice of bread, pressing gently so all the layers fuse perfectly.
The bread crunches softly as I press it together, a satisfying sound that makes my mouth water.
Once ready, I set our plates on the table. Just then, the doorbell rings. I glance at the wall clock, it’s already 8:30. The cleaning staff must have arrived.
I remove my apron, place it on the counter, and make my way to the door. I open it and immediately feel an unpleasant presence. He stands there, holding a bouquet of blue hyacinths and wearing that infuriating, calculated smile.
“Good morning, Angel,” he says, extending the bouquet.
I don’t take it. He steps inside uninvited. I close the door behind him, following cautiously. He sets the bouquet on the table and reaches for a plate.
I sprint forward and snatch it from his hand. “It’s not for you.”
He grabs another plate. I move to intercept it, but he deftly shifts it away, blocking me with his body and the table. He picks up a sandwich and takes a big bite. I pause, watching his reaction.
Why the heck do you want to see if he likes it or not? my conscience yells at me, but I mute it and watch the slight raise of his eyebrow, the faint nod that follows. With a broad, pleased smile, he takes another big bite.
In no time, he finishes the sandwich while I keep staring at him, watching the way he enjoys it, and I hate the too-strong surge of pride and satisfaction flooding my chest. I’m only feeling this way because I like it when someone enjoys the food I cook.
There is nothing strange about it. Nothing at all.
He places the empty plate down and turns toward me. “I like it.”
“It was not for you. You ate my breakfast,” I say, glaring at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he replies, wearing an exaggeratedly serious, apologetic expression. “I’ll cook for you as compensation every day for the next three weeks.”
My face twitches at his straight-faced nonsense.
“No need,” I grit out, turning away and placing the plate in my hand on the table.
Before I can turn back to face him, he presses against my back, hugging me around the shoulders, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I usually feel dizzy after breakfast.”
I purse my lips. “Are you a teenager, Matleon?” These tactics are bad even by that standard. I push at him, but damn this man, he doesn’t move an inch.
“You can think of me as one if you want.” His arms slide lower, locking both my hands in his steel grip.
He tilts his head, bringing his face beside mine.
My breath stills as his breath brushes my ear.
“I would love to become a teenager again if that means you’d become that girl again. ” His voice drops. “Love me again.”
My head snaps toward him, meeting his dark eyes with my raging ones. “Did you not hear me when I said I never loved you?” I speak through clenched teeth.
His eyes darken, but only for a second. I doubt if it was even real; I must be starting to lose my mind because there’s no way his ominous black eyes could darken further.
He moves away, freeing me. The absence of his weight feels like I’ve lost a part of myself again. I force myself to stop the nonsensical interpretations.
“I have theoretical knowledge of not believing a woman,” he says, smirking, “especially when she is someone…” His grin widens, “…who used to love you.”
I open my mouth to curse him but decide to use his own methods against him.
“Believe it if it makes you happy,” I say, smirking the way he does.
His smirk twists into a predatory grin. “It’s not enough to make me happy. If you really want to make me happy,” he leans against the table, “kiss me.”
I purse my lips. He opens his arms wide. “Come, Angel. I’m really a very unhappy man,” he says, making a mock-sad face. “I don’t even remember the last time someone thought about my happiness.”
I grab the chair nearest me, ready to let my patience snap, but midway, Avi’s voice stops me.
“Leo.”
I put the chair down, rage simmering so violently I could kill this man, and yet he just grins, watching me.
Avi steps closer to the dining table, looking between Matleon and me. “Why are you here so early in the morning?”
He finally turns his eyes away from me and glances at Avi. “I was missing you badly.”
She rolls her eyes, then frowns. I follow her gaze to the bouquet lying on the table.
She looks at me. “Who’s asking for your forgiveness, Lyn? That too so early in the morning?”
I frown. She chuckles. “Someone gives you blue hyacinths when they’re asking for forgiveness.” She wiggles her brows. “Please tell me it’s that Australian guy who’s hot like a pizza fresh out of the oven.”
My head snaps toward Matleon. That same killing intent is back, so clearly visible in his frown, the ticking of his jaw muscles, and the dark fire in his eyes. I only manage a flying glance at him, lacking the bravery to meet the prince of hell’s gaze.
“Matleon brings them. And who told you Dex is hot?”
She watches Matleon with narrowed eyes. “I just took a flying guess. I have a stereotype image of Australian guys.”
I chuckle, trying to brush away the unease slithering through my body, unease induced by someone’s burning jealousy.
“He has a girlfriend, for whom he is totally devoted, so don’t even think about him.
” I point toward the plate. “By the way, it’s your sandwich. I’m going to get ready for university.”
I reach my room, annoyed. Why do I need to feel this much fear of this goddamn bastard? Who does he think he is? I need to do something to protect Dex from him.
I take my phone out of my shorts’ pocket and call Kaz, my cousin. I start as soon as he picks up. “I need your help.”
“For?”
“I told you about my friend Dexter. You remember?”
“Yeah.”
“His life is in danger. I want you to provide him security.”
“Okay, I’ll ask Leo to do that. But who is after him?”
I glide my hand over my face. “Your Leo. That fucking psycho is after his life.”
He laughs. What else can you expect from a man who himself isn’t far behind Matleon in having a fucked-up head?
“Sorry, Lyn. No one can save him if Leo has decided he wants him dead.”
“Why not? Aren’t we the rulers of Russia? Can’t you fight for him for me?”
“I can fight the world for you, but even if we start a war, he will still kill that friend of yours if he has made up his mind. Haven’t you heard the famous saying about him?”
I grit my teeth. I’ve heard every saying about him, and despite trying to forget them, each one is locked permanently in my memory. But the saying Kaz is talking about can’t be forgotten by anyone who knows what he has done.
He was only twenty-one when the mafia king of Germany insulted him slightly at a gathering by saying, “Boys don’t know what power is.
” Matleon just smiled and told him he would kill him in his own house, and that he could use any amount of power to stop him.
And he did. He killed him in his own house, raised a war between countries, and then ended it using his unparalleled manipulation skills within a month because he wanted peace.
Now Germany has a puppet ruler working for him.
That’s when the saying became famous. Matleon gets what he wants, whether it’s peace or war.
Kaz’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “But why does he want to kill him?”
“Because he thinks he likes me, and he thinks he should kill every man I care about.”
Kaz laughs again. “Stop laughing. It’s not funny,” I hiss under my breath.
“I’m sorry,” he says, still amused. “I was just imagining Leo burning in jealousy.”
I sigh, exhaustion settling into my bones. “If fighting him is useless, then try talking him out of this madness. At least make him understand that I don’t like him and I will never return his feelings. Matleon can’t get everything he wants.”
“Can’t guarantee the second part,” he says honestly, “but I’ll try my best to keep your friend alive.”