Chapter 18 Kazimir #2
I set the bags down on her nightstand. She looks at me suspiciously and opens them, pulling out one item after another. She examines the strawberries, then looks at me, clearly unable to hide her shock.
“Where did you find all this?”
I shrug. “I had to go to a specialty store. I have to say, breaking into grocery stores was a first for me. I’ll make sure to add it to my résumé if I’m ever in need of new employment.” I gesture at the berries. “Those were the best I could find.”
She opens the container, selects a strawberry, and bites into it. I watch her face as she chews, trying to read her reaction.
"Well?" I ask when she doesn't say anything.
"They're good." She takes another bite, and her expression softens as she looks up at me. "Really good."
"And the chocolate?"
She examines the bars I brought, reading the labels. When she opens one and breaks off a piece, I find myself holding my breath.
"Perfect," she says quietly.
The way she says it, her voice slightly husky, sends a shiver of heat down my spine. My cock twitches as I watch her wrap her lips around another strawberry, and I can’t help but imagine her saying that about something else. About my cock as she purses her lips around it, running her tongue down—
I swallow hard. "Good." My voice comes out rougher than I intended. "If you need anything else—"
"I know." She meets my eyes. "Anything."
We stay like that for a moment, looking at each other across the room while she eats strawberries and chocolate at midnight. While I try not to think about what it means, making her happy feels better than anything I've done in years.
"Thank you," she says finally.
It’s two very simple words, but they feel like a victory.
The next morning, she emerges from her room as I’m getting ready to leave to meet Ilya at the office. I glance at her as she goes to the fridge, putting berries on a plate. “Artem is outside,” I tell her. “Doing a round. He’ll come in after a bit, and if you need anything, he’ll contact me.”
“Anything?” Her voice sounds slightly more unsure than before, almost a little vulnerable, instead of the challenge it was last night. I nod.
"Svetlana, I meant what I said. Anything you need, anything you want—it's yours."
She stares at me for a moment. "You can't just claim people, you know."
My gaze flicks down to her still-flat stomach, then back up to her face. “I already have.” I reach for my jacket. "I have to go. Artem will be here in ten minutes. Please don't make this difficult."
Her eyes narrow, a bit of that rebellion returning. "Or what?"
"Or I'll worry about you all day and be completely useless at my job, which will make Ilya suspicious, which will put us both in danger." I soften my voice. "Please."
She purses her lips. "Fine."
"Thank you." I make it to the door before she speaks again.
"Kazimir?"
I turn back immediately. "Yeah?"
"Next time..." She pauses, and when I look back, she's smiling. Just a little. "I want fresh pasta. The kind that’s handmade. And those little pastries from the Italian place in the North End."
“Cannoli?” I frown.
"No, not that. I don't know what they're called. The ones that are crispy and have the ricotta inside."
I nod, fighting back a smile of my own. “I’ll find them.”
She looks at me suspiciously. "Tonight?"
"Tonight," I confirm.
Her smile widens a fraction. "Then I guess I'll see you tonight."
Once I’ve made it to the office, Ilya has busy work for me to go over, double-checking shipment manifests and inventory lists to make sure that we’re not being double-crossed in any way.
I lose myself in it for a little while, doing my best not to worry about Svetlana, until mid-afternoon, my phone rings.
It’s Artem. “What’s wrong?” I hiss as I answer, stepping into an adjacent room to keep Ilya from hearing the call.
“Nothing. Not with Svetlana, anyway. But I have to go.” He pauses. “Family emergency. My brother is in the hospital. Something to do with his heart—”
“Go.” I glance at my watch. “I’m leaving now.”
I hang up and grab my coat, already moving for the door. Ilya looks up from his desk.
"Problem?"
"Personal matter. I'll be back later."
Ilya has known me and trusts me for long enough that he doesn’t ask questions.
A burn of guilt settles under my ribs at the thought, realizing that I’m testing that trust. That if Ilya discovers what I’ve done, I’ll never have that with him again.
I’ve worked for him so long that he’s more like a brother than a boss, and I know I’m risking something valuable for…
For something just as precious.
The drive back to my apartment takes twenty minutes in traffic that makes me want to put my fist through the windshield. Every red light feels like an eternity. By the time I pull into my spot and kill the engine, my hands are shaking.
She's fine. Artem wouldn't have left if there was immediate danger. She's fine. But the panic doesn't ease as I take the stairs two at a time, then unlock the door and push inside.
The living room is empty… but I immediately see that the window leading out to the fire escape, the one that I keep locked with the keys on me, is open. All the way open, and the wood around it is gouged and cracked. I see the flutter of a cardigan, and I bolt for the window.
“Svetlana!” I reach out and grab her sweater, and she lets out a cry, stabbing at my hand with—and now I know how she got the window open—a screwdriver. I hiss through my teeth as it gouges my skin, but I’ve had much worse.
I squeeze through the window, grabbing her arm as she reaches the next level of stairs. “Don’t you dare,” I growl, and she freezes.
"Svetlana." I reach out and grab her arm, reaching for the screwdriver with my other hand. She resists for a moment, then the fire escape wobbles, and she goes very still. From the look on her face, she knows she’s caught.
"Were you trying to leave?" It’s a pointless question, but a part of me wants her to admit it.
"Does it matter?" She lifts her chin.
I glare at her as I tug her up the stairs toward me, back toward the window. She comes without struggling, clearly accepting her fate… this time, anyway. "Where were you going to go?"
Her eyes narrow. "Anywhere. Nowhere. What difference does it make? I was running from you." She spits the words. "From this apartment, this situation, this—" She gestures at the space between us. "Whatever the fuck this is."
My jaw tightens. “I thought we were making progress.”
She laughs. “Why? Because you brought me strawberries?” She steps closer to me and jabs one finger into my chest, her eyes flashing up at me as she glares into mine with unadulterated hatred. “There is nothing, Kazimir, that you can ever do that can make up for what you’ve done. Nothing.”