Chapter 5
TATI
So, I guess Papa’s not all that angry anymore. Or at least he’s decided to be more humane.
I’m still locked up in my room, but over the last few days, he’s had sheets and a comforter brought in for my bed.
He also left a box of clothing and toiletries for me to use.
Every so often, one of his people leaves a plate of food for me (three squares with no snacks in between) and a stack of boring fashion magazines for me to thumb through.
I usually leave the magazines. I haven’t bothered to look through a fashion mag since I was fifteen.
All in all, I’ve survived the weekend like this.
Now, I want out.
I got to thinking about it when I woke up this morning.
My father has taken a pretty immature approach to handling my trashy ways.
Instead of opening the door and having an adult conversation with me, he’s decided just to keep me locked up here like I’m some kind of Medieval princess.
Pretty sure he has no intention of letting me out of this room anytime soon.
So, I get up, tame my curly hair back into a ponytail, and pull off one of the thinner cardboard flaps from the box that has all the clothes in it. I’m breaking out of here and getting some actual food.
I’m only wearing a nightshirt. Like only a nightshirt.
Whoever picked out these clothes was too skittish to pack me underwear or bras, so I’m just rocking it with my pussy out, I guess.
Well, not exactly out. The nightshirt goes all the way down to my knees, so unless I bend way over, there’s little chance I’ll be flashing anybody accidentally.
And besides, I’ve got no intention of running into anybody, anyway. I’m only going to raid the fridge. This time, anyway. A bigger escape is going to take more planning. But before I get to that, I’ve got to see if I can pull this off first.
I kneel down at the doorknob and carefully slide the cardboard where the lock connects to the wall.
It’s not easy. The cardboard bends against the pressure at first, and I need to be careful I don’t push too hard, too fast. If it tears or bends too permanently, I’ll have to find a new piece of cardboard.
Wish I had my credit cards, or my purse, or my clothes in my apartment in Amsterdam… anything I got with my own money. I feel like I’ve been put in jail for daring to be free.
I had to take my nose ring out last night because it started itching and I’ve got nothing to clean it with outside of water.
I suppose that’s just as well. If the hole closes, I’ll have to get it re-pierced.
Maybe my first big escape will be to get out and get some cleaning stuff for my ring…
and maybe get something else pierced. Like my nipples or my clit.
Mmm, nipples is better. Since I have no underwear, it would probably break my father’s brain if he saw me in a T-shirt with nipple rings pressing through the fabric. That’d show him to neglect me.
The cardboard is more than halfway in… Click. I feel the vibration through the cardboard as the lock disengages. “Yes,” I say aloud.
I turn the knob, the door opens, and I’m free. Just like that. I step out into the hallway, listening at first.
I’ve been gone from this house for six years.
I don’t know what my father’s routine is anymore, so I don’t even know if he’s awake yet.
Six years ago, he’d already be up with his coffee and smoking one of those nasty-smelling cigarettes.
Now, I’m not so sure. I don’t smell either right now, and I certainly don’t hear anyone upstairs.
I’d better move fast. If he catches me out here, he’s liable to stuff me in a trunk somewhere in the basement and leave me there.
I make my way to the staircase, walking as lightly as my bare feet will let me on the steps. I’m keeping one ear out, listening for any signs that he’s nearby. I don’t hear anything as of yet.
I make my way down the hall, padding carefully across the cool marble floors.
I’ve got to creep past about three rooms to get to the kitchen.
Every closed door I pass, I listen to see if I hear him.
I don’t. But then again, it’s nearly impossible to hear much through these oak doors unless your face is pressed to them.
I’m gonna just hope he’s out for some reason.
I get across the kitchen threshold and a wave of accomplishment rushes through me. The first leg of this journey is complete. Now. Food.
I go to the fridge first. Not much has changed in the way my father likes to eat.
There’s a Tupperware container of pierogi that he likes to get from Olga at the deli around the corner.
Also, several wrapped up stacks of lunchmeat that he likes—pastrami, salami (Evreyskaya and American), some strips of sausage…
I take out the lunchmeat and some stacks of cheese and put them on the counter next to the bread box. Then I search the cupboards for mustard…
It only takes me a minute to make myself two sandwiches—one for now and one for later.
I wish my father believed in junk food. I already know without looking that there won’t be any potato chips or anything like that around here.
He barely kept it in the house when Nikita and I were kids. I know there’s nothing here now.
I wrap up one sandwich in a paper towel and put everything else back in its place, then start eating the other sandwich. I actually kind of miss Evreyskaya…
The butter knife I used to spread the mustard is still sitting on the counter. I pick it up to wash it… Then I realize how much easier it is to pick a lock with it than with cardboard. This is going back upstairs with me.
I turn to the sink to wash it off. Maybe I should give the cupboards another look for junk.
The skin on the back of my neck crawls. Someone’s just walked into the kitchen.
I look over my shoulder. Viktor stands in the doorway, his head cocked as he watches me.
“Good morning, Tanechka,” he says in that sultry voice.
“Morning.” Shit. This probably looks strange, me standing in the kitchen in nothing but a nightshirt and eating a sandwich. I clear my throat. Act natural. “What are you doing here?”
“I was summoned,” he says simply. His dark eyes dart down, to my nightshirt, then back up to my face. “Didn’t your father ever teach you to wear a robe when he has company? You’re barely dressed.”
I stiffen my stance a little. “Didn’t know you were here,” I say. “Or else, maybe I might’ve.”
He nods and steps all the way into the kitchen, his hands in his pockets as he continues to look me over. I’d like to think he can’t tell whether I’m wearing panties or not, but it feels like he can see right through this fabric. “A sandwich? Early lunch?”
“Something like that,” I say with a shrug. He gets closer, nearly looming over me. He smells really fucking good. Like sweet spice with a hint of sex mixed in. I smirk up at him and offer him the sandwich in my hand. “Want a bite?”
He chuckles and looks away. “I’ll pass, thank you.”
I just smile up at him. He’s being reserved… but judging by the way he’s trying not to look at my bare thighs, I’ve gotten his attention. What a trip.
“So, Europe,” he says. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. “How was it out there? Did you at least get a proper education?”
I nod. “I learned quite a bit while I was out there. Math, history, chemistry…” I let my free hand touch my nightshirt, just above my thigh, and lift a little. “Biology.”
His eyes drop to my thighs… and his face darkens. He looks at me and arches an eyebrow. “Biology, you say?”
I nod. “You’d be surprised how much a girl can learn there. They’re so much freer with their bodies than we are, so they’re not so uptight…” I lift my nightshirt a little more so he gets a glimpse of my hip and part of the crease right above my thigh. He smiles gently.
“What are you playing at, little girl?”
I shrug coyly. “Just making conversation. That’s all.”
He snickers. “You’re flirting. With danger, I might add. It’s not wise to play with me.”
My heart flutters. “Who’s playing around?”
“I’m old enough to be your father.”
I snicker. “Maybe that’s what I’m looking for. I’ve been told that all a girl like me needs is the right father figure to set me straight.”
Both of his brows rise at that. I can’t help but look down at his muscular arms, nearly bulging through his dress shirt, and his rough hands. All he’d need to do was flip this night shirt up and bend me over the counter…
“You are, and you have always been, trouble.” His voice is like a low rumble hitting me in the chest and vibrating all the way down between my legs.
“I thought you Bratva men liked trouble.”
“Your father would skin me alive.”
“Only if he found out.”
He starts to answer, but we both hear a door open down the hallway. Shit.
I grab the other sandwich and the butter knife and for a split second, I realize I’m trapped. The sliding door leading to the patio lines up with the doorway, and I hear footsteps coming toward the kitchen. If I try to go outside, he’ll see me.
I dart over to the pantry and jump inside, closing the door behind me. It’s not until I’m standing in the darkness with dozens of canned foods and other dry goods that I realize how odd that had to look to Viktor.
Oh, fuck. He’s going to mention it to my father. Shit, shit, shit…
“Good, you’re here,” I hear my father say in Russian as soon as he walks into the kitchen. I hear him walk past the pantry and I hold my breath. “It’s been a long weekend, Viktor. I hope you are not too hungover. I heard you spent a little time with the Red Devils Saturday night.”
“I did,” Viktor returns in kind. “They wanted to have a little party to remember Nikita.”
My father doesn’t say anything at first, then I hear him utter a soft, “Yes. Nikita. Time does fly, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
I hear the moving of dishes. “Those bikers made for strange friends… but they were loyal to him. I can do nothing but have respect for them.”
Viktor says nothing to that. After a few seconds, my father asks him, “Coffee?”
“No, thank you. I’m trying to cut back.”
My father laughs. “I should follow your lead. We’re getting too old to drink coffee strong enough to put hair on your chest.”
The sound of the espresso machine hissing fills the room and the hearty smell of coffee seeps in under the pantry door.
“I’m not going to take up too much of your time,” he says. “I just need you to do something for me. I have a niece who is getting married in a couple of weeks.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. She’s asked that I attend, and well, I have always found it hard to say no to her.”
He’s not wrong. My cousin Lilliana, he’s always treated like she hung the moon, while I got ignored and knocked around like the redheaded stepchild of the family. Since the two of us are so close in age, I used to think that maybe we were switched at birth and she’s his real daughter.
“With everything happening with the Chuvash,” my father continues, “I had been planning on skipping making appearances at big, public events, as you know. This I cannot skip, however. That said, I need you to be there. Keep an eye on things.”
I get a little flutter in my heart. I’m supposed to be there as well. Don’t know what I’ll be wearing, but I really hope it’s at least not a potato sack.
“Of course. Would you mind if I invited a few soldiers as well? The more eyes, the better security.”
“That’s fine. Remind them that they are there to work, however. I don’t want my niece to be bothered by their presence.”
“We will be like ghosts,” Viktor responds.
“Good. Good.” There’s a long pause, then I hear my father tsk. “I should have hired a Russian housekeeper. Look at this. Crumbs on the counter. This is what I get for choosing expense over quality.”
I bite my lip hard. I can almost hear Viktor telling him that the crumbs were left by me. “Don’t blame the help. Your daughter was just down here.” Just like that, I’m about to spend the rest of my time here in a trunk in the basement.
“I’m sure it was just an oversight,” Viktor says. “It happens with the best of housekeepers.”
“Does it? Hmm. Well, if I see it again, I will have to have a talk with her.” I hear his footsteps pass the pantry. “We will speak again soon about the Chuvash and all that. For right now, just stay available. I may call on you again before the wedding.”
“Of course, sir.”
Footsteps leave the room. I’m stunned for a second and still half expecting Viktor to call after my father and tell him that I’m hiding in the pantry. But he doesn’t. I can’t believe he didn’t tell on me.
The door opens suddenly, and I gasp. Viktor stands over me, blocking the light and almost the entire pantry door. His sweet, sexy smell sweeps in on the breeze created by the door and circles my head.
“I don’t know why you hid from Nikolai,” he says to me, “but I know better than to get between a father and his daughter.”
I just stare at him, chewing my bottom lip and holding my sandwiches. “He’s gone?”
“He’s gone.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I melt just a little being this close to him, and I tilt my mouth up to his. “I’m going to have to find a way to thank you properly.”
He doesn’t say anything. He lets the words hang between our breaths for a few seconds before stepping to one side. “Stay out of trouble, Tanechka.”
I skirt past him and walk out of the kitchen, hoping that he’s watching me walk away.