Chapter 32
Zoya
Three days later
I ’m in the kitchen by eight, moving between the counter and the stove while I direct the staff. My hands won’t stay still, and I find myself checking every prep bowl and garnish twice. “Maria, did you remember the paprika?” I ask, hovering over the workstation.
“Yes, ma’am,” she says with a patient smile. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Good. Irina, get those plates into the warmer, please.”
I turn back to the stove, stirring the soup, but Maria reaches out and gently touches my arm. “Don’t be nervous, Zoya. Everything is perfect.”
“I just want it to be good,” I admit, my shoulders finally dropping an inch. This journalism project is important to me, and being older than most of my classmates, I feel the weight of wanting to make a flawless impression.
“It will be,” she assures me.
The heavy thud of footsteps announces him before he even speaks. Alexei walks in, looking far too relaxed in gray sweatpants and no shirt, his hair a messy tangle from sleep.
“Something smells good,” he rumbles.
His arms wrap around my waist from behind. He leans down, burying his face in the curve of my neck. “Why are you even out of bed? Come back upstairs.”
“It’s nine in the morning, Alexei.”
“Too early.” His hands slide up my sides, his touch warm and possessive. “Let’s go back.”
I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up, even as I try to wedge my elbow between us to push him away. “Not today. Stop. It’s already too hot in here with the stove going.”
“Fine. I’ll turn on the AC.”
“Alexei…”
He ignores me, walking over to the thermostat and cranking it to full blast. The kitchen drops into a chill immediately, making Dmitri, one of the younger staff members, shiver.
I roll my eyes at the sheer absurdity of it. “Now it’s too cold.”
“It’s the perfect temperature,” he counters, heading straight back to me and wrapping his arms around me again.
I try to work, moving to check the chicken, but he follows like a shadow. I move back to the stove, and he’s right there, tethered to my hip.
“Alexei, I’m busy.”
“I’m not stopping you,” he says, though he finally retreats to the marble table. He sits down but keeps his eyes on me, his gaze intense and unwavering as he watches my every move.
I turn my attention back to the prep. “Dmitri, crack two more eggs and put them in the batter.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Suddenly, Alexei is up again. He stalks over, grabs my waist, and lets his hand slide down to firmly cup my ass. I spin around instantly, my wooden spoon still in hand, and smack his hand away. “Stop.”
He grins, his eyes dancing with mischief, and does it again. This time, I don't hesitate. I bring the spoon down hard on his shoulder. Thwack.
“Ow! Vedma…”
“Out!” I bark, chasing him toward the door and swinging the spoon at his arm. “Get out of my kitchen!”
He laughs, raising his hands to block the wooden projectile. “I was just…”
“Out!”
I give him a final shove through the doorway and swing the door shut, leaning my back against it. When I turn around, the entire kitchen staff is frozen, staring at me in absolute silence.
Dmitri looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Ma’am… I don’t think you should do that to the Pakhan. He might get angry.”
I look at him, still holding my spoon like a weapon. “Do you want me to hit you too, Dmitri?”
“No, ma’am!” he squeaks.
“Then don’t say anything. He was being inappropriate, and I was correcting him. The man needs to learn some manners.”
The room stays quiet as everyone slowly drifts back to their tasks, though I catch Maria biting her lip to keep from smiling.
“Alright,” I say, smoothing down my apron. “Let’s finish this up. My friends will be here in an hour.”
“Ma’am, your guests have arrived,” Svetlana announces from the doorway.
I quickly wash my hands, drying them on my apron before heading to the foyer. Larisa and Yulia are standing in the entrance hall with their mouths hanging open, while Kostya and Yegor linger behind them, staring at the ceiling.
“Holy shit,” Yulia breathes, her eyes darting around the marble floors. “You’re actually super rich.”
“I saw armed guards,” Larisa adds, her voice dropping to a panicked whisper. “Like, with actual guns. What the fuck, Zoya?”
Kostya is busy squinting at the massive crystal chandelier. “This place is enormous.”
I scratch the back of my head, feeling that familiar pinch of awkwardness. “Let’s just say my husband is very well-off. Come on, let’s head to the kitchen. We’ll grab some brunch and then get to work on the project.”
As we walk through the hall, Larisa stops dead in front of my wedding portrait. “Holy shit. Is this from the wedding? You look beautiful, Zoya - that dress is incredible on you.”
“Thanks,” I say, offering a small, tight smile as I usher them into the kitchen where Maria and Irina are waiting.
“Welcome,” Maria says warmly. “Please, take a seat. We’ll start serving immediately.”
Everyone settles around the long marble table. Maria begins pouring water, but as she reaches Kostya, a few stray drops splash onto the stone near his hand. They don't even touch him.
He jerks back as if he’s been burned. “Watch what you’re doing!”
Maria immediately bows her head, her face flushing. “I’m so sorry, sir.”
“Clearly, you don’t know how to do your job properly, slow hag” Kostya snaps.
The room goes dead silent. I stand up so fast that my chair screeching against the floor sounds like a gunshot. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Kostya looks up at me, startled by the sudden venom in my voice. “I was just…”
“I invited you into my home so we could work, but I will not tolerate you insulting my staff.” My voice is shaking, fueled by a protective heat I didn’t know I had. “These people are family to me. If you can't show them basic respect in my house, you can leave. Right now.”
“It was just a comment…”
“Apologize. Now.”
Kostya looks to Yegor, then to Larisa and Yulia, but everyone is staring at him with varying levels of secondary embarrassment.
He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Fine. I’m sorry.
To the staff…I shouldn’t have said that.
” Maria nods silently, refusing to look at him.
He turns to me with an expression that is anything but sincere. “And to you. I was out of line.”
I sit back down, the adrenaline still humming under my skin. The rest of brunch is tense and uncomfortably quiet. Once the plates are cleared, I pull out my portfolio and spread my old clippings across the table.
“I used to work as a freelance journalist before I got married,” I explain. “I’ve kept up with some of it since then. These are a few of the stories I’ve covered.”
Larisa leans in, her eyes widening as she reads the headlines. “Wow. You interviewed the mayor? And this piece on the housing crisis in the industrial district - this was in a national paper.”
Yulia flips through the pages, impressed. “This is incredible work, Zoya. You did all this while being married? That’s wild.”
“Yeah. My husband supports me doing what I love, though it’s only recently I started to cover less dangerous stories” I say with a shrug.
Kostya makes a sharp, derisive sound in the back of his throat. “I’m sure he helped. Probably bribed a few people for the interviews or used his 'rich connections' to set the whole thing up.”
I lock eyes with him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying. It’s a lot easier to get a scoop when your husband has that kind of money and influence.”
Yegor kicks him hard under the table. “Dude. Shut up.”
I ignore Kostya, turning back to the project maps. “Anyway. I know exactly which areas we should focus on. The South District, near the textile factories - that’s where the most overcrowded student housing is.”
“How do we get there?” Yulia asks.
“I’ve arranged transportation, and I have spare cameras if any of you need them.”
“I’ve got mine,” Yegor says.
“Me too,” Larisa adds.
Kostya stays silent, looking bitter and out of place, staring at my designer lounge clothes as if they were a personal insult to his existence.
“We should move out by one,” I say firmly. “That gives us the afternoon for photos and interviews. We’ll be back before dark.”
Everyone nods in agreement - except for Kostya, who just continues to sulk.
We’re about to head out when Alexei walks into the room.
He’s clearly heading out too - dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tattoos dark and sharp against his forearms. The conversation at the table dies instantly as my classmates freeze and stare.
“Vedma,” he says. “I hear you’re going out. Where?”
“Just out. We’re working on our project.”
“Where exactly?”
“The South District.”
His expression shifts instantly, a hard edge settling over his features. “Everyone out. I need to talk to my wife. Privately.”
Larisa and the others don't need to be told twice; they scramble to their feet and vanish from the room before he can even finish the sentence. I cross my arms, feeling a stubborn heat rise in my chest.
“Alexei, don't start with the overprotective stuff. I’ll be fine. I’ve been to much worse places than the South District.”
“That was before you were announced as my wife,” he counters, stepping toward me. “Those streets are dangerous now.”
“I used to go into dangerous places all the time when I was freelancing…”
“And I used to keep people around you for protection,” he interrupts, his voice sharp.
“You think I just watched you for five years and never intervened? Do you have any idea how many times I had people shadowing you? Even when you were kidnapped, I made sure not a single hair on your head was touched.”
I freeze, staring at him. “What?”
“You think you were ever actually alone? I was always there, Zoya. In the background, making sure you were safe.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely agitated.
“But I can’t do that right now. Not with the tension between the Georgians and me.
That’s Georgian territory - Dato’s territory. I will not have you caught in that.”
“I can’t live like this,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m trying to have a normal college life. I can’t back out of every project because of mafia business I never signed up for.”
He steps closer, cupping my face in his hands. “Vedma, please.”
I pull his hands away, trying to remain firm. “Look. Just send extra security with us, okay? We aren't going there to announce who I am. We’re just going to ask a few questions, take some pictures, and leave in an hour. That’s it.”
“Are you sure you’re only gone for an hour?” he asks, searching my eyes. “Because I expect you back in exactly sixty minutes. I don’t want to have a heart attack, Zoya. My heart can’t take it, and you know how I feel about you getting hurt. I don't want to see a single hair out of place.”
I can’t help but chuckle at the drama of it. I stand on my tiptoes and give him a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be fine. Just send someone you trust to protect me.”
“I’m sending two men and a skilled driver - Lev and Grigori.
Paul is staying with me today.” He grips my shoulders, his gaze turning deadly serious.
“Just make sure you don't go too deep into their territory. Dato and I are looking for reasons to kill each other right now. I do not want you in the crossfire. Understand?”
“Understood.”
“One hour, Zoya. That’s it.”
“Alright, alright.”
He kisses me one last time before heading for the door. I walk back into the dining room where my classmates are hovering by the windows.
“Is everything okay?” Yulia asks nervously. “Is your husband mad?”
“No,” I sigh. “He just insisted we take security because the area is high-risk.”
Larisa grins, the tension breaking. “Oh, okay. Now I feel like a real celebrity. Bring on the muscle.”
We head outside to find a black SUV idling in the drive. Lev and Grigori are already waiting by the doors, standing like stone statues with their holsters clearly visible.
Kostya’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit. This is real security.”
“Get in,” I say, pointing toward the door. “We’re on a clock.”