Chapter 37 #2
His eyes hold mine a beat too long, but he only nods, and that's enough.
Within minutes, Boris, Kieran, and a third man named Alan are flanking me as we move down the hall towards the elevator.
Kieran calls it, and the doors open. We all step inside, and I tap my keycard against the panel—not because I need to, but because I want to remind them that I have it.
When the doors open again, I step onto the ground floor for the first time.
The lobby is grand and beautiful, bigger than I imagined, full of people moving in every direction. Marble floors gleam under the flood of sunlight pouring through the large windows, and crystal chandeliers sparkle high above.
I pause briefly, taking it all in.
I’ve been stuck upstairs for weeks. Now there are voices everywhere—laughter, footsteps, quiet conversations that blend into a lively hum. It feels strange being surrounded by so many people again. Strange… and a little thrilling.
A few looks drift my way, but I realize quickly it’s not me they’re looking at.
It’s the three suited men surrounding me, all of them carrying the unmistakable posture of people who are paid to be dangerous.
I've grown so used to them over the past few weeks that I've stopped seeing them as intimidating. But down here, in this warm, civilian light, they stand out like a warning sign. I don’t care, though. I finally have a piece of freedom, even if it’s only breakfast downstairs, and I'm going to enjoy every second of it.
Boris leads us to the restaurant—Tavaria, according to the brushed gold lettering above the entrance—and the interior is exactly what the name promises. Warm polished wood, soft lighting, and elegant paintings. The kind of place you don’t walk into without a reservation.
Before we’re fully through the door, a tall man wearing a chef’s cap hurries towards us. His face is flushed from the heat of the kitchen, but when his eyes land on me, they brighten with a recognition that surprises me. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him before.
He stops in front of me and extends both hands. “I’m Denis, the head chef here at Tavaria. I’ve been sending your meals up to you for the past few weeks.”
Ah.
Boris must have texted the restaurant to let them know we were coming. Now I’m curious what he told them about me to earn this kind of welcome.
I take his hands and shake them. “Nice to meet you, Denis. Your meals are the best I’ve ever had, but please don’t tell my mom I said that.” I give him a wink, and he chuckles, shaking his head.
“Come, come. I have the best seat in the house just for you.”
He leads us deeper into the restaurant, past several tables where people are quietly enjoying their meals.
When we stop, my breath catches a little.
An entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass stretches in front of us, and beyond it is the city.
It isn’t some postcard view—yellow cabs streaming through traffic, steam curling up from the street vents, people rushing along the sidewalks.
But it’s New York. Real, unfiltered New York.
And I didn’t realize how much I had missed it until now. Trees line the street, their branches framing the neat roofs of brownstones, and far beyond them, a thin strip of the Hudson River glitters in the sunlight. The city feels alive, right there in front of me, and I can’t stop staring.
I take the seat Denis gestures to, while my guards settle at a table just behind me, their presence heavy, but not enough to ruin the moment.
I turn to face the city and breathe in, slow, steady.
This isn’t freedom. I know what it is. But it’s the closest I’ve had in weeks, and I’m choosing to be grateful for it.
Denis personally delivers my breakfast and waits with barely concealed anticipation while I take the first bite. It’s delicious, as always, and I tell him so.
He lights up like I’ve made his entire day. "You’re welcome to come down here whenever you like,” he says eagerly. “Send me requests, special orders, anything at all. It would be my absolute pleasure to serve you."
I smile politely, but my attention has already started drifting.
The food is amazing—my senses are practically singing with every bite—but I haven’t forgotten the real reason I came down here this morning.
So while I eat, my eyes wander around the restaurant, taking in the layout.
Placement of doors. Hallways leading to restrooms. Corners someone might slip through unnoticed.
Anything that could become an escape route this weekend.
After eating, I excuse myself to use the restroom, and Boris rises from his table.
“I’ll just be a moment,” I say pleasantly.
He comes anyway and stations himself outside the door as I go inside to wash my hands.
I glance up at the window above the sink out of instinct, but it’s too tiny.
No chance I could squeeze through that. Great…
How the hell am I supposed to sneak out of this place if a bodyguard follows me even to the restroom?
A low murmur of voices drifts in from the hallway. I quickly dry my hands and step out. A woman is standing there, flushed and sharp-eyed, squaring off with Boris, who is doing his best impression of an immovable object.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, voice carrying a note of arrogant authority. Damn, Vanya is rubbing off on me.
She scowls at me. “This man here was blocking the entrance to the restroom. The female restroom. And he refused to budge. I was just about to call management.”
I toss a glance at Boris, who stands with his jaw clenched tight and says nothing—which, honestly, is the most Boris response imaginable.
“Sorry about that,” I tell the woman, stepping aside and opening the door for her. She huffs, lifts her chin, and sweeps inside. Once she’s gone, I turn to Boris. “Next time you don’t have to come with me to the restroom.”
Hesitation flashes through his eyes, but he nods in agreement. “That might be best.”
My lips twitch. No, I can’t smile yet. But shit, I’m so happy that opportunity just fell into my lap.
As we make our way back into the restaurant, I spot an emergency exit door at the end of the hallway and casually commit it to memory. Escape route secured. I’m playing the long game, not the short one.
When we reach my table, the other men are already on their feet. Apparently, breakfast is officially over, and it’s time to leave. I drag my feet as we head towards the lobby, reluctant to return to my gilded cage just yet.
“What else does this building even house?” I ask. “It can’t just be hotel rooms and a restaurant.”
Kieran lights up. “Oh, not even close. Korona has a lot to—” He catches Boris’s sideways look and stops. I frown at him, and he glances away, clearing his throat.
“Go on.” I fix Kieran with my most encouraging smile, and he crumbles.
“There’s a retail store on the ground floor—clothes, bags, shoes.
A souvenir shop, too. The second floor has a ballroom and banquet halls, and then a whole conference level.
Above that is a lounge with a pool, spa, gym, and café.
The higher floors are the hotel rooms, suites, and a small club lounge. "
I blink. “And Vanya owns the whole building?” He must be rich, rich.