Chapter 10
Ekaterina
I wake up in an empty bed, which gives me a sense of relief, but also disappointment.
I understand the first problem.
Not the second.
Was I hoping to see him? Hoping I would get the chance to study his face without looking like I was staring at a man I am not allowed to think of as anything other than the bastard mobster who is supposed to take care of me?
As much as I hate doing what I am told, it seems I slept very well in this bed, even with him beside me.
The brief conversation we had before I fell asleep relaxed and unsettled me in equal measure, even if, by the end, I was more confused than when we started and had more questions than I wanted.
Still, it helped me glimpse a small side of him that seemed almost human – almost – one I feel I might be able to deal with during my stay in this house.
But I still have to spend two nights in his room.
And just like that, I am annoyed all over again.
Half an hour later, I go to the kitchen, where Yaroslav is eating breakfast in silence. Aside from a brief greeting, he says nothing, continuing to read something on his tablet.
Polina, a woman of about fifty-five, plump, but with a round, lovely face and the same kind of smile she always wears, prepares me an omelet after the short instructions I give her when she asks. But the table is filled with every kind of food you could imagine for breakfast.
From croissants with butter or chocolate, to five types of jam and syrups for pancakes or toast. A platter of cheeses and sliced meat sits beside them, and there is also a large bowl of fruit, including several I do not recognize. The table is richer than a buffet worthy of a five-star hotel.
At first, I suspect it is only for show, but after Sasha appears, his face rumpled and his hair a mess, I realize this is normal, judging by the natural reaction he has after greeting us cheerfully.
“You bought these weird fruits again?” he asks Polina, lifting a clementine between two fingers. “I told you they’re too sweet.”
“And I told you breakfast isn’t only for you. Your brother likes them, so stop complaining. He doesn’t complain when I make you a stack of pancakes.”
Yar, sitting beside him, snatches the clementine from his hand and starts peeling it without taking his eyes off the tablet.
“And bananas?” Sasha exclaims, rolling his eyes theatrically, exactly like a small, spoiled child.
“You know very well who likes them,” she replies, busying herself at the refrigerator.
But her hint does not escape me, and I assume she is referring to the big bad wolf missing from the table.
“I need sweets. I’m still growing, and I burn a lot of energy when I play,” the youngest grumbles, sulking.
Polina mutters something in Russian, probably in response to his statement, then says in a scolding voice.
“You nagged me to make you croissants like the ones you ate in Paris,” she begins, grimacing as she speaks.
“Well, have I ever been to Paris to know what you ate there? Look, I made them for you, and I haven’t seen you eat any these past few days. Thank God for those brutes from security, otherwise they would have dried out. But if you don’t eat them all today,
I’ll beat you so hard I’ll burn all your energy myself.”
No matter how hard I try not to laugh, I barely manage to cover my mouth with the food in my hand, chewing something just so I don’t draw attention.
Yar continues to look absent from everything happening around him, methodically eating his favorite fruit.
“OK! OK!” The blond says, quickly taking a fluffy croissant that collapses appetizingly under the pressure of his fingers. “I’m eating. Stop scolding me. You’re always picking on me...”
“Because you are always loud and demanding,” she snaps back.
“Speaking of demands. Where’s Artem?”
My stomach tightens when the name is mentioned. I didn’t dare ask, even though I kept hoping someone would say something about where he was.
“What does Pakhan have to do with demands?” she asks, confused. “He isn’t demanding at all when it comes to food. Or at least not like you.”
“Not those kinds of demands. Culinary ones. He demands that I wake up early after spending the night in a club. Don’t tell me he’s sleeping.”
Well, with his question, his gaze shifts to me, assuming I know the answer.
In fact, I should, because I slept in his room. But embarrassment still colors my cheeks when I realize everyone in this room knows I spent the night in the bedroom of a man who is not my future husband.
More than that, I slept in his bed.
Beside him.
Fuck.
“Artem left early,” I hear Yaroslav’s deep voice, meant to break the tension I could already feel rising around me. “He’ll be back later.”
“Where did he go?” his brother asks, completely different from three seconds ago, his tone suddenly serious. “Alone?”
“He isn’t alone. Dima is with him.”
“But where...?”
“Enough, Sasha,” Yaroslav says, a little harsher, throwing him a meaningful look.
In short, I am not supposed to know.
And that is my sign to get up from the table, after my appetite disappears, even though I managed to eat half of my omelet.
“I’ll be in the piano room for now, but at noon I need to be in the city,” I announce, because Dima, the one who is supposed to be with me at all times, seems to be gone for the moment.
Strange organization...
“That won’t be a problem,” Yaroslav tells me with the same serious tone. “If Dimitri doesn’t return by then, one of us will take his place until he is free. Him or us, you will always be guarded.”
I really don’t want to bother anyone...”
“No inconvenience. We promised to take care of you, and we will do it without hesitation.”
He doesn’t leave me much room to argument, especially since his severe manner reminds me of the Pakhan’s threat, the one demanding that I be respectful and behave myself, or else he will extend my... punishment.
“We’ll see by then. Maybe I can postpone the meeting another hour.”
He gives me a silent nod, then returns to his tablet while Sasha makes sure to add loudly. “You know, I really like the way you play. You’re truly talented. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
He winks playfully at me, but I hear his brother saying his name sharply, clearly wanting to stop whatever else he might have said.
Or perhaps because he has already said too much.
Who else was he referring to?
“Thank you, Sasha,” I say with a sincere smile.
As I head toward the relaxing room, I cannot stop wondering whether he was referring to someone in this house or speaking generally, thinking of all the critics and press articles that praise my talent.
Either way, I should not think about it more than necessary.
The day passes without any unpleasant events.
Artem returns before noon, but I do not get the chance to see him, because he retreats straight into his office, and from that moment on, Dima becomes my shadow.
At lunch, I meet with a loyal client of the gallery, a woman I had promised to have a coffee with, so we could speak casually about art.
After that, I make my way to the gallery to spend some time with Oksana.
With Dimitri nearby, we try to be as subtle as possible regarding the great change in my life, meaning the new house where I live and its occupants.
I haven’t even told her I sleep in Pakhan’s room, and I think I still prefer to keep that detail to myself. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but I am too embarrassed by the whole thing to tell anyone else, especially someone who might misunderstand it completely or draw the wrong conclusions.
There is nothing romantic about any of this.
“Hey, sexy. Don’t you want to have tea with us?”
Since we arrived, my friend has been throwing seductive glances at the soldier dressed in his usual full black suit, reminding me of a Grim Reaper always ready to carry your soul into the next world. Except he completely ignores her, despite her model-like body, blond hair, and full lips.
To be honest, he has all my respect for managing to maintain his professionalism in front of a professional seductress like my Russian girl.
“No, thank you,” he refuses in a dry tone, without taking his eyes off the entrance and the windows.
“Your loss,” she sings in a cheerful voice.
Then she leans toward me across the small table where we are sitting in the area arranged as an office.
“What an unpleasant audience. Are they all the same in that house?”
I chuckle.
“More or less. I like that everyone minds their own business.”
“And they had better do that very well. If anything happens to you, I’ll make sure they pay with their blood.”
I’m sure she is capable of it.
“This little kitten scratches badly,” I purr at her, smiling slyly.
“Maybe my father doesn’t have some grand title in Bratva, but I’m sure he would give me a couple of Kalashnikovs to do the job.”
She speaks with modesty about her family, even though her father is an important man inl Bratva, the right hand of a very powerful Pakhan in Russia.
“That won’t be necessary,” I tell her, trying to calm her. “We’re not talking about amateurs. They’re Angely Smerti. The leaders of the Tyomnye Ptitsy.”
She rolls her eyes, visibly unimpressed by my pompous list, which I deliver with a touch of sarcasm.
“Right, right. The Angels of Death and their famous Birds of Darkness. Everyone trembles with fear when they hear they’re nearby.” She sighs. “But they’re treating you well, aren’t they?” she asks, this time more worried.
“They’re polite. Don’t imagine I foresee some friendship that will last after I leave that place, but until then, I hope things will be quiet.”
I hide the small hesitation that tries to appear when I remember where I will sleep tonight.
To be honest, I do not think I want to remember that disturbing detail right now either.
“You mean until the wedding.”
My blood runs cold.
“Yes. The wedding.”
She senses the coldness that spills into my voice.
“How are the preparations going?”
“I’ve settled everything necessary by email with the wedding planner. I have one more dress fitting next week, and that’s it. She’s handling the rest.”