Chapter Thirteen Alina’s POV #2
The manor has its rhythm, one I was beginning to fall into without intention.
Breakfast was always early, lunch was mostly arbitrary, and dinner was whenever the ‘boss’ arrived.
Although Greta said Konstantin gave her orders to make whatever I want whenever I want it, I never made any request. It was still not my house, and this life wasn’t one I would ever get used to.
It seemed winter took a short break this morning. The weather explained my wearing a lighter cardigan over my white tee and joggers. I heard Konstantin bark orders at someone a few minutes ago, so I knew he had left the house. I ventured downstairs, despite the two men who practically shadowed me.
Standing on the half-landing, I looked over the large living room.
Truth be told, it was a beautiful space, just like every part of the house that I'd seen.
The rectangular dining room was to the right of the entrance double doors, and looking to the right, there was the large sitting room.
The couches wrapped freely around the glass center table, and the large television hung on the wall facing the table.
To the far left of the television were two doors, while another door was along the wall facing the television.
I could always ask Hans or any other person around what was behind the doors, but I had no reason to.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Greta enthused, stepping out of the kitchen and into the dining room. “I was about to send your breakfast up. I thought you might want to have it in your room.”
“Oh, no. I just wanted to take my time a bit this morning.”
“Okay, ma'am. I’ll serve your food now,” she said as I walked towards the dining table.
A young, pale-skinned lady came out of the kitchen just as Greta turned around.
“Ah,” Greta mentioned, turning around to face me again. “Ma’am. This is Anna. She’s my main assistant in the kitchen.”
“Good morning, ma’am,” Anna greeted, stepping forward with a shy smile.
“Good morning, Anna.”
She was about two feet taller than Greta, but her petite frame contrasted with the older woman’s plump figure. She had a blonde ponytail on her head, and her dark brown eyes were calm.
With her hands at her back, she said, “It's nice to finally meet you, ma’am. Most of us are absent on Sundays, and I had to handle something yesterday, so I just resumed for the week today.”
She might be shy, but I had a feeling she talked a lot.
“Greta said so. It’s nice to meet you, too, Anna.”
“Alright. I’ll serve now,” Greta pointed out as Anna went back into the kitchen.
So I ate, chatted with them about things I wasn’t interested in for a bit, and went back upstairs. Later that afternoon, Greta came knocking on my door.
“I brought your lunch,” she said with a kind smile as she stepped into my room.
“Oh, I would have come down for it. Thank you,” I replied as she placed the tray on a stool. “I just didn’t feel like taking anything yet.”
I moved away from the head of the bed to the edge, bringing my feet to the floor.
“I can’t say I understand, but it’ll get better,” she said.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as she moved the stool closer to me, and I opened the dish, filling my nose with a delicious and spicy scent. She sat on the couch, and it suddenly felt like she had come visiting and not just to bring my food.
“This looks…Italian,” I commented.
“Ah, yes,” she confirmed. “Boss likes my Italian dishes, too. So, sometimes, aside from Russian or regular American dishes, we do Italian.”
“Wow,” I commented after a forkful of the delicious pasta and sauce. “Did you ever live in Italy?”
“No. But my father is Italian, so he taught me. My mother is the American one. But she had her childhood in Russia because her father came from there. She knew how to make countless Russian meals, and because we lived in New Jersey, we often ate American food. So, we were always mixing and matching in our kitchen.”
“Oh, wow. So many places to call home.”
“Hmm, no,” she negated, her voice soft. “Home is wherever the heart is.”
“Oh, well,” I stated, sighing. “Clearly, not everyone is destined to have that.”
“Everyone is. The only hurdle is finding it.”
“It’s harder than that. Much harder than that. When you’re suddenly uprooted from place to place by reasons that are bigger than you, finding your home becomes an unachievable dream. Totally unattainable. Take it from me, Greta.”
She shook her head, insisting. “It might be harder for some who keep running away from home because they think they’re not qualified enough to be there. But even then, it finds them. It’s not unattainable.”
I kept eating as she went on.
“Adjusting to your life away from Russia can’t be easy, only a dullard will argue that. But it won’t always be like this.”
I sighed, dropping the fork.
“I just miss working. I miss doing my work. I don’t even know who I am without it. I don’t know how to be anything else. This is not my life, and I’m stuck in it.”
“What type of work did you do in Russia?”
“I’m a nurse. I worked at a small clinic in St. Petersburg,” I explained, adding with a sad chuckle, “That feels like a lifetime ago, anyway.”
“You certainly look it,” she replied, making me raise a brow. “If it really was your life’s purpose, you’ll find a way to still do it, one way or the other. And if it’s not, you’ll surely find your real purpose. Unexpected doesn’t always mean bad.”
“I’ve worked as a nurse under the Bratva before, at Konstantin’s brother’s house.
I used to care for his wife. Even before then, I worked for powerful men.
Dangerous men. So I’m not new to this world, and I’m not sad about my skills not having a place here.
The problem is that my current situation is different. I wasn’t married to a mafia boss then.”
She nodded slowly before talking again. “That can feel very complicated.”
“It is. Being held in suspicion and watched day and night because of some history with a betrayer, it’s more than complicated. Because now marriage is in the mix.”
“It might all end better than you expect, you know. I’ve seen you and the boss communicate, and I see the fire between you both. And something else that I’d rather not mention because you’ll surely deny,” she said, her smile becoming teasing.
I was suddenly curious about the ‘something else’ she wouldn’t mention.
“Fire couldn’t be more apt,” I told her. “Because I doubt if anything will be able to erase the burns his hold on my life will give me.”
“Things will sort themselves out, don’t worry.”
Later that night, I was eating another plate of the carrots Liza brought me when Konstantin arrived.
Greta and I had been talking in the sitting room while watching an old rom-com, but she excused herself to go check something in the kitchen.
And that was when he came in, with the bald man following after him, per usual.
I considered ignoring him, but since the couch I occupied was facing the entrance door, doing that would mean his arrival affected me. And I’d rather carry a backpack of rocks than admit.
I won’t greet first, though.
If he deems it fit not to, I won’t either.
With my eyes fixed on the television and my upper body relaxed into the leather couch, I didn’t turn my head towards him
“Alina,” he called, making me turn to the side in time to see the bald man nod at him and walk towards the stairs. He looked weary but handsome in his dark jeans and black leather jacket, which was unzipped, revealing the white shirt beneath. “You’re still up.”
“I am,” I replied in a flat tone.
“You should go to bed. It’s very late.”
“I’m a nurse who works night shifts. Or was,” I answered, looking pointedly at him. “What is it to you if I don’t sleep at all, anyway?”
“You—” he started before I cut in.
“I won’t drop dead from exhaustion, so your great investigation can go on. Happy now?”
I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but his displeasure was clear.
As if I care.
“Alina,” he uttered, his voice cooler than I’d expected.
“Stop calling my name!”
He opened his mouth but closed it again. His eyes darted from me to the stairwell and back to me. Then he left the sitting room and went up the stairs, the only sound coming from the somewhat violent breaking of carrots into my mouth.
A few minutes later, when Greta received Hans’ message about the boss being ready for his dinner, I went up to my room. Needing to calm myself down, I took my time showering, brushing my hair, and changing into a pair of pajamas.
From where I sat at the foot of the bed, I heard his boots approach and stop at my door again. And then he left. Again.
I swallowed, feeling the irritation I carried from the living room rise within me again. I was further irritated because I couldn’t pinpoint why. I shouldn’t have any reason to feel the way I did. But I did.
**********
Showing up at my door but never knocking, let alone coming in, had become a norm for Konstantin in the past few days.
I would say it never bothered me—or at least, that it had stopped bothering me—to anyone who asked, but that would be far from the truth.
Every night that he came to my door and retreated, filled me with more questions than answers.
Questions that our brief and accidental encounters only propagated.
“Good morning, Alina,” Konstantin greeted, his stormy blue eyes holding mine hostage as he pulled me out of my thoughts, making me pause on the stairs.
He was nursing a cup of what I perceived to be coffee by the window of the dining room.
“Morning,” I answered, descending the stairs and hugging my sweater-clad body.
“How did you sleep?” he inquired, turning around to fully face me as I approached the dining table.
“Stop asking me those stupid questions. It’s not like we have an audience or anything,” I chided, pulling a chair back to sit.
He was beside me in a minute.
“This is your seat. You’re the lady of the manor. My wife,” he declared, pulling the chair next to the head of the table out.