Taisiya
The knife hits the wood with a steady rhythm. I focus on the task. My eyes sting, but I won’t cry. I’ve done enough of that today. I scrape the vegetables into the hot pan. The sizzle fills the space between us.
“You’re fast,” Baron says.
“I’m busy,” I reply. I don’t look at him. I don’t look at Vadim. I reach for the beef and break it apart over the vegetables. I grab the wine bottle. It isn’t for drinking. I pour a splash into the pan.
“Good,” Baron says. He drinks more vodka. “Most people forget the wine.”
“Most people don’t have an audience of killers watching their every move,” I mutter.
“Correct.”
I stir the meat. The heat from the stove hits my face.
Luckily, I took my coat off before I put the apron on, but the jumper is still making me sweat.
I want every layer of protection I can get.
Vadim stays on his stool. He doesn’t move.
I feel his eyes on me. He told his uncle, the Voronov pakhan, that he was going to marry me. Who does that?
I reach for the tomatoes. I have to make this perfect. My life depends on a sauce.
Vadim hasn’t looked away. His stare stays on my back, but I can’t look at him yet. I’ll cook this meal, then I’ll find a way to breathe.
“Vadim says you killed Gregor Melnikov,” Baron says suddenly.
My hands freeze for a moment before I carry on. “I did. Are you going to turn me in?”
“To whom?”
“The rest of the Melnikovs? This Tarasov guy? The one giving Tarasov orders?”
My heart beats fast, but my hand stays steady. I have to stay steady. I won’t let them see me shake.
Baron looks at me, then at Vadim. The room goes quiet again, the only sound is the soft hiss of the beef browning in the pan. I keep stirring, my knuckles white as I grip the wooden spoon.
“High-ranking Bratva who would call you by your first name,” Vadim adds. “It makes sense. This is all part of some bigger play.”
“How so?” Baron asks.
Vadim shrugs when I look at him briefly. “Someone is using Taisiya’s debt as leverage to manoeuvre either Tarasov into the Bratva or someone else into taking over the Melnikovs as part of an expansion project.”
I move around the kitchen, staying with the work even as I hang on every word. The idea that I’m leverage makes my stomach ache. I worked in a bar two days ago. Now, I’m the reason for a power struggle between men I don’t know.
Baron taps his fingers on the marble. “You think Tarasov is being used.”
“He’s a businessman,” Vadim says. “He doesn’t take risks like rolling up to my gates unless he’s promised a position.”
“And Taisiya is the excuse,” Baron adds.
Vadim stands up. He walks to the counter. He doesn’t touch me, but he stays close. “That smells delicious,” he says.
“Of course it does,” I reply with a sharp smile, only because I’m nervous. This wasn’t how I planned for my day to go. Or my week if we’re getting to the heart of it.
“You have nothing else to say?” Baron asks as I focus on the sauce.
“Like what? Up until yesterday I wasn’t part of any Bratva dealings. I owed a debt, I paid it and got shafted. I ended up having to deal with it on my own in my own stupid way. Now I’m here, making lasagne for a Russian crime boss in his fancy mansion with the view of Buckingham Palace.”
“I don’t have a view of the Palace.”
“Unless you stand on the roof,” Vadim adds helpfully.
“Look, that wasn’t the point. The point is I’m just a woman who got in over her head, and now here I am surrounded by Bratva men who talk about me like I’m either an asset or a liability, and I’m not sure what to think or say, so I’ll just make this lasagne, and you two can talk over me.”
“How come you aren’t arguing him to death?” Vadim asks, slightly put out.
“He doesn’t irritate me as much as you do.”
“You’re only saying that because he’s a pakhan,” he counters.
“Maybe, but you’ll never know.” I move to the oven and flick it on to preheat.
“I irritate you because I tell you the truth,” Vadim says. He stands close enough that I feel the heat from his body.
“You irritate me because you’ve decided my life belongs to you without asking.”
“You accepted the terms.”
“Because I have to.”
“Rude,” he mutters as Baron stares at us.
“What has this got to do with anything?” he states. “Back to Tarasov. Find out who he is working for or with.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Vadim growls. “And then I’m going to rip their fucking balls off.”
“Must we have violence in the kitchen before the sun is up?” a female voice that sounds like a lullaby says.
I turn to see it belongs to a very aristocratic-looking Russian woman, around Baron’s age, wearing a pink dressing gown with feathers around the edge and those high-heeled satin slippers that I never understood.
Slippers are meant to be comfortable. She moves in next to Baron, and he gazes at her the way every woman wants a man to look at her and kisses her lightly.
“Taisiya is marrying Vadim. She told me my lasagne was crap and is showing me how to make it.”
My face heats up furiously as the woman, clearly Baron’s wife Vadim’s aunt, looks at me with her perfect eyebrow raised. “U tebya yest’ yaytsa.”
I blink once and then smile at the compliment.
“She does have balls,” Vadim says. “Irina. This is Taisiya.”
“Nice to meet you,” Irina says. “This smells delicious, but it’s too early for this nonsense. Coffee.” She snaps her fingers, and Gregor jumps to attention.
Irina sits at the kitchen island, her feathers fluttering, and watches me with a sharp, curious expression. I turn back to cooking and ignore the way Vadim stands too close. I need space to move, but he doesn’t give it.
“I’m sorry for the commotion, Irina,” I say. “Your husband challenged me.”
“He does that when he’s bored,” she replies. She takes a cup of coffee from Gregor. “Vadim, move. You’re in her way.”
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” Vadim says. His hand brushes my lower back.
I move away from his touch to grab a whisk.
I melt butter. I add flour. I whisk until it’s a smooth paste.
No lumps. I won’t give Baron any reason to think I’m failing.
These people are insane. Every single one of them.
I pour the milk in and whisk. I have to stay focused.
If I stop, I’ll realise what I’m actually doing. My life is a fucking disaster.
The sauce thickens. I add a handful of grated cheese, watching the white curls disappear into the heat. I feel Baron’s stare, like he’s waiting for me to fail.
“You’re stubborn,” Baron remarks. He taps his glass on the marble.
“Not as stubborn as Vadim. He’s the most difficult man I’ve ever met.”
Irina laughs. The sound is light, but it carries a sharp edge. “He’s a Voronov. They don’t come with instruction manuals.”
“I noticed.” I set the whisk down and reach for the meat sauce. The steam rises in a cloud. I start the first layer, spreading the rich red mixture over the pasta with a spoon. I keep my movements precise. If I mess up a single layer, Baron will use it as proof that I’m not enough.
Vadim’s hand settles on the back of my neck. He doesn’t hold me tight, but the weight of his palm is a reminder. He claimed me. He told the man who runs this city that I belong to him.
“She’s perfect,” Vadim says. His voice is a low rumble.
I don’t look at any of them. I just keep building the lasagne like it’s a wall between me and the rest of the world.
The minutes tick by, and when I pick it up to place the dish in the oven, Baron holds it open for me. I slide it in, and he closes it with a flourish.
“Did I pass?” I ask.
“I haven’t tried it yet.”
“You passed,” Vadim says.
“You definitely passed,” Irina says. “Right, Baron?”
All eyes swivel to the pakhan. He observes the attention but doesn’t remark, his gaze on me for longer than I feel comfortable with. “Fine, you pass. But if it tastes worse than mine, you will never be allowed back in my kitchen.”
“I can live with that,” I mutter, letting myself sag against Vadim in relief that this is over.
Vadim’s arm slides around my waist, his thumb hooking into the belt loop of my jeans. I don’t pull away. My legs feel heavy, and the heat from the oven radiates against my back. Baron watches us, his glass empty now.
“Thirty minutes for the cheese to brown,” I say, trying to steady my breath.
Irina sips her coffee, her eyes darting between Vadim and me as she calculates our worth. “I approve,” she says eventually, rising and swishing out with her coffee cup.
I feel that statement is loaded. If she had announced she hated me or didn’t trust me, Baron would probably take me out back and make me dig my own grave.
I sag further into Vadim in relief.
“You passed,” Baron states with a slow smile. “Irina doesn’t like anyone.”
“Not true,” she calls back. “I like some people.”
“Not many,” he says. “One, maybe, two people.”
“I will take that as a compliment then.”
“Do,” Vadim whispers in my ear. “You have done well, but it’s time to rest now, dorogaya.”
Sweetheart. It’s better than bunny.
“Go,” Baron says to me. “I will call you after I have tasted your offerings. Vad. Find that name.”
“I will,” he says and helps me off with my apron.
Vadim guides me toward the door, his hand a heavy, possessive anchor on my hip. I feel like a prized horse that just finished its first race, sweaty and scrutinised.
“You did good, Tai,” he murmurs as we hit the hallway.
“I made dinner at dawn for a man who could have me erased with a phone call,” I reply. “I didn’t do ‘good.’ I survived.”
“Same thing in this house.”
We reach the front door, where the world is grey with the first hint of a London dawn. Bogdan opens the back door of the SUV, and I slide in, leaning my head back against the leather. The adrenaline is draining out of me, leaving behind a hollow ache in my head.
Vadim climbs in next to me and pulls my head onto his shoulder. I close my eyes and forget that people are dying on the streets because of a debt I can’t pay.
“Is it always like this?” I ask. “The constant testing?”
“It’s not testing once you’re family,” he says, his voice vibrating through my skull. “Then it’s just life.”
“A short one, probably.”
“I told you. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
He sounds so certain. I wish I could steal some of that arrogance for myself.
The car moves off, and I let the hum of the engine drown out the sound of my own heartbeat.
Today has barely started, and I wish it were over.
But for now, the only thing that matters is the heat of Vadim’s body against mine.