Chapter 24
Rei Kurosaki
I was starting to feel a little hungry, so I quietly slipped out of Dimitri’s bedroom and headed downstairs. But on my way there, I saw Alexei. He looked up when he heard me.
“Hi,” I said awkwardly, offering a small nod. I knew they were coming that day, but it had kind of slipped from my mind.
Alexei gave me a slight tilt of his head. “Dimitri just stepped out for a moment. He’s handling something with Ilya.”
I nodded slowly. “I see…”
I tried to walk past him toward the kitchen, but his voice stopped me.
“Have you… spoken to Marco lately?”
I paused mid-step and turned back to face him, arching an eyebrow.
The question caught me off guard. We had talked on the phone a few times.
I had opened up to him more than I expected.
I even told him about Dimitri, about how he was taking care of me, about how I was staying here for now.
Marco had not judged me. Even though I knew he did not like Dimitri and was scared of him and his friends, he did not make me feel bad for getting closer to Dimitri.
He just said he was happy I had someone looking out for me, even if that someone terrified him.
Still, I did not understand why Alexei of all people would care.
“Why is that your business?” I asked. My tone was a bit rough. I felt suddenly protective over Marco. He was my only real friend here, and I did not want anything hurting him.
Alexei stared at me with that flat expression he always wore. It was impossible to read him.
“You can use your words and answer the question,” he said coolly.
I crossed my arms, feeling defensive. “Yes. I have spoken to him. We’ve been texting and calling. Now you tell me — why do you want to know?”
Alexei did not answer. He just stared at me, and that only made me more irritated.
Before I could push him further, the front door opened and Dimitri rushed in, his eyes immediately scanning for me. “Baby,” he said, walking straight to me and pulling me into his arms. “Are you okay? I was only gone for twenty minutes.”
I leaned into his chest, nodding. “I’m fine. I just came down to get something to eat.”
Dimitri’s hand stroked down my back, but his gaze shifted to Alexei with clear suspicion. “Did you do something to him?”
Alexei shrugged, completely uninterested. “I have to go now.”
From the other side, Ilya started complaining. “Awww! But I want to stay!” he whined dramatically. “I haven’t properly met Raaai yet!!”
Alexei rolled his eyes and grabbed Ilya by the back of his collar, dragging him toward the door like an unruly puppy.
“We are going,” Alexei said flatly.
“Hey! Raaiii!!” Ilya called out cheerfully while being hauled away, waving wildly. “We should hang out sometime! I can show you my knife collection! I promise I won’t stab you!”
I blinked, staring after him. This idiot did not even say my name correctly.
“My name is Rei—”
But they were already gone.
Dimitri let out a long sigh. “Ignore him. Ilya is… Ilya.”
I nodded. The conversation with Alexei left a strange feeling in my stomach. Why was he asking about Marco? And why did he look so serious about it?
Dimitri snapped me out of my thoughts. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly, eyes searching mine. “You look tense.”
“I’m fine. Just… hungry.”
He kissed my forehead, then the flower in my hair. “Come on. I’ll make you something.”
He always cooked for me.
I sat on one of the high stools at the kitchen island, watching Dimitri move around. No one had ever cooked for me like this.
My mother did cook for me, but there was never any care behind it.
She would make overly sweet desserts even though I hated them, or bland, boring dishes that felt more like obligation than love.
Every time I reminded her of my allergies, she would nod absently and forget again the next day. It stopped hurting after a while.
But my dad… he remembered everything.
Every preference. Every allergy. Every little detail. He would spend hours in the kitchen on weekends, humming old Japanese songs while he made my favorite dishes. He always knew exactly how I liked my rice, how much miso to put in the soup, which vegetables I pretended to hate but secretly loved.
And now… Dimitri did too.
He even watched videos late at night. I had caught him once, earphones in, brow furrowed in concentration as he studied Japanese cooking techniques.
He learned how to make proper dashi broth, how to fold tamagoyaki just right, how to balance flavors the way I preferred.
He started making healthier meals because he knew I was not a fan of overly sweet or heavy foods.
But every once in a while, he would still make pancakes in the morning, stacked high with berries and a drizzle of honey, smirking as he set the plate in front of me.
“Life needs sweets, little fairy,” he would say, kissing my temple. “Even you.”
And then there were the Russian dishes.
He insisted on making them for me. Borscht, pelmeni, honey cakes from his grandmother’s recipe.
He would watch my face carefully as I took the first bite, looking almost nervous.
It was strangely adorable - this violent, terrifying mafia prince getting anxious over whether I liked his babushka’s pirozhki.
He was cute.
Dangerous. Possessive. Sometimes cruel. But so fucking cute.
Dimitri glanced over his shoulder at me, catching me staring. “You’re thinking too loud again,” he said. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
I rested my chin on my hand, watching him chop vegetables. “Just… thinking about how you always cook for me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” I said softly. “It’s the opposite of bad.”
Dimitri turned fully toward me, leaning against the counter. His gray eyes studied me with that unnerving intensity, like he could see every crack and scar inside my soul.
“Tell me,” he ordered gently.
I swallowed, feeling suddenly vulnerable under his gaze.
“No one has ever cooked for me like this. Not since my dad. My mom… she tries, I guess. But she never really paid attention to me. She would forget what I couldn’t eat. Forget what I liked.” I looked down at my hands. “But you… you remember everything.”
I met his eyes again.
“You pay attention to me. All the time. Even the little things.”
Dimitri was silent for a long moment. Then he walked around the island, stopping right in front of me. He tilted my chin up with two fingers, forcing me to look at him.
“Because you matter,” he said. “Everything about you matters. What you eat. What makes you smile. What makes you feel safe. I want to know it all. I need to know it all.”
My heart clenched painfully.
He leaned down and kissed me. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
“You’re not a chore, Rei,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes, letting his words sink into me.
In that moment, watching him cook for me with such focused care, remembering every small detail about me when no one else ever had, one clear thought rose above everything else.
I was so fucking lucky to have him.
Even if he was dangerous.
Even if he was obsessed.
Even if he might destroy me one day.
I was still so incredibly lucky.
After he finished, we sat across from each other at the long dining table. I picked at my food for a few minutes, but eventually, I could not hold the question in any longer.
“Did… you find the person?” I asked quietly, not looking up from my plate. “The one who put the… fingers in my locker.”
Dimitri’s fork paused mid-air. He set it down slowly, his eyes lifting to meet mine.
“Not yet,” he admitted. “Ilya is still digging. It’s layered deep. Whoever did this covered their tracks well. But we’re getting closer. I promise you, Rei. When I find them, they will suffer.”
I swallowed, nodding slightly. The memory of opening that locker still made my stomach turn. The blood. The severed fingers. The flashbacks. It all came rushing back too easily.
Dimitri watched me carefully, reading every micro-expression on my face. He reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“Hey,” he said, voice softening in that way it only did for me. “Don’t go back there. Stay with me.”
I gave him a small, tired smile. “I’m trying.”
He squeezed my hand, then leaned back in his chair, clearly trying to shift the mood. A mischievous glint entered his eyes, the one that usually meant he was about to tease me.
“You know,” he started, picking up his fork again, “I’ve been thinking. You’ve been eating my Russian food without complaint for days now. Be honest. Which one is your favorite? The pelmeni or the borscht? I need to know if I’m winning you over properly.”
I let out a soft laugh, grateful for the distraction. “You’re really asking me this right now?”
“Of course I am,” he said, smirking. “My ego is fragile when it comes to you. I need validation, little fairy.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “The pelmeni are really good. The filling is… surprisingly perfect. But the borscht is a little too beet-heavy for me.”
Dimitri gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like I had wounded him. “Too beet-heavy? That’s a crime. My babushka would be rolling in her grave right now. I should disown you for that comment alone.”
“You can’t disown me,” I shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You kidnapped me, remember? I think I’m stuck here.”
His smirk turned darker, more possessive. “Damn right you are. And I have zero plans of letting you go. Ever.”
I took another bite of my food, feeling a little lighter. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Only with you,” he replied smoothly. “Now tell me — if I made you Japanese breakfast tomorrow, would that earn me forgiveness for the borscht?”
I pretended to think about it, tapping my chopsticks against my lip. “Maybe. If you make tamagoyaki the way I like it. And no overly sweet pancakes this time.”
Dimitri leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, watching me with open adoration. “You drive a hard bargain, baby. But fine. I’ll make it savory. Just for you. I’ll even add extra scallions because I know you like them, even though you pretend you don’t.”
I narrowed my eyes playfully. “You notice way too much.”
“I notice everything about you,” he said. “The way you scrunch your nose when something is too salty. The way you hum quietly when you really like a dish. The way your eyes light up when I get the rice consistency right. I notice it all.”
My cheeks warmed. I looked down at my plate, pushing a piece of broccoli around.
“You’re being sweet again,” I muttered.
“Can’t help it,” he said, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers brushing the purple flower he had placed there that morning. “You make it too easy.”