Chapter Nineteen - EMMA
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EMMA
I WALKED DOWNSTAIRS this morning, anxious to get to the kitchen. I had so much fun yesterday cooking, and I want to do it again. I walk through the doorway of the kitchen and notice an older woman standing by the kitchen sink.
“Good morning,” I say, flashing a friendly smile while heading in the direction of the coffee maker.
“Good morning. You are guest of Ivan.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was an observation.
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond to her, getting a cup down from the cabinet.
“You cook in here yesterday?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am. I hope that’s okay,” I answer her. She seems very protective of this space.
“Is fine,” she replies. “What you make?”
“Golubtsy and pelmeni, Irish stew, and soda bread,” I say as I list off the things I made. “I also made Irish shortbread cookies.”
“What is shortbread cookie?” she asks with a look of curiosity.
The woman must have a sweet tooth, because as I describe the cookies to her, she asks to try one. I found the container with them and hand her one. She bit into it, and let out a small moan as she closed her eyes and chewed the cookie.
“I am Mrs. Ivanova,” she says, holding out her hand. “I have been housekeeper for Kiselyov family for twenty years.”
“I’m Emma,” I reply, holding out my own hand and giving hers a firm shake.
“You make good shortbread,” Mrs. Ivanova acknowledges.
“Thank you. Ivan liked them, too,” I tell her.
“I take coffee to Ivan and his brothers. Then I come back and teach you something.” She places four cups on a tray and fills them with coffee, then places some of the shortbread cookies on a plate before carrying all of it down the hall to Ivan’s office.
When Mrs. Ivanova returns, she rolls up her sleeves and smiles at me.
“You make black bread before?” she asks me as she moves around the kitchen to gather ingredients.
“No, ma’am,” I reply. “I have a recipe for it, but haven’t made it yet.”
“I am making some today. Come, I teach you.” She smiles at me like a grandmother would to her grandchild.
Mrs. Ivanova is fun to talk to with her thick Russian accent and her matter-of-fact way of speaking. I make sure to pay close attention to things she says, taking mental notes of the recipe for black bread so I can write it down later and compare it to Boris’s recipe that he gave me yesterday.
With the bread dough in its resting phase, Mrs. Ivanova leaves to take care of laundry and some cleaning, while I pull out the ingredients to start working on beef stroganoff.
I had to go upstairs and grab my laptop so I could pull up Boris’ recipe for the dish, but I am soon working on browning the beef and making the sauce.
Mrs. Ivanova returns to the kitchen to put the bread in the oven and check on the progress I’ve made with the stroganoff.
“Where you learn this?” she asks as she surveys my work.
“My boss gave me the recipe. Before I came to Ivan’s house, I was a waitress at a Russian restaurant.”
“You worked for Boris Petrovksy?” she asks with surprise.
“You know Boris?” I question her right back.
“We are from same village in Russia,” she tells me. “Boris is good man. He is lucky Marina puts up with him.”
“I’m sure he is.” I chuckle.
Everything is coming together for the stroganoff when I feel like there are more eyes on us.
“What’s for lunch?” I hear Ivan ask. His deep voice makes us jump. I turn around to see Ivan and his three brothers standing in the kitchen doorway, the four of them fill the doorway with their height and broad chests. I feel a heat lingering in my core, and I just know I’ll need dry panties soon.
“Ivan, did you know this girl cooks?” Mrs. Ivanova asks him while pointing at me.
“Yes, I did,” he answers.
“I see leftovers in fridge this morning,” she says. “I make fresh bread to go with lunch today and leftovers.” She points to the loaf of black bread sitting on the countertop.
“She’s helping me with the stroganoff,” I explain, turning back to the stove and stirring the sauce.
“Sit down, all of you,” Mrs. Ivanova instructs. “You eat.” She takes the spoon out of my hand and shoos me away.
I set the table for Ivan and his brothers, along with a plate of freshly sliced bread and a ramekin of butter. I take a seat between Ivan and Grigory, directly across from Dmitri. Mrs. Ivanova dishes out noodles and stroganoff onto all of our plates.
Bread and butter are passed around, and I fall into an easy conversation with Ivan’s brothers. I can’t help but notice that Dmitri is quieter than the rest. He keeps eyeing me like he’s trying to figure me out.
“Why does your brother keep staring at me like he hates me?” I ask Ivan quietly.
“He always does that. He works in security, so he’s always observing and trying to figure things out. Maksim does it, too,” Ivan explains.
“Does he ever stop staring? He’s kind of scary,” I tell him.
“Dmitri, stop staring,” Ivan says to his brother. Dmitri drops his stare and focuses on his plate.
When lunch is finished, Ivan’s brothers put their dishes in the sink and retreat from the kitchen. Mrs. Ivanova shoos me out, too, insisting that she’ll take care of the cleaning up.
“Emma, come to my office,” Ivan says, holding out his hand for me to take. I take his hand and he threads our fingers together, leading me down the hall. When we walk in his office, he closes the door behind us and locks it. He gestures to the couch, and we both take a seat.
“I need to tell you something,” Ivan starts, holding my hands in his.
“What?” I ask him in response.
“You need to understand what is at stake right now,” he replies.
“You’re scaring me a little bit,” I say nervously.
“What do you know about your father’s death?” Ivan asks.
“He was killed in a hit-and-run accident last year,” I tell him. “That’s all I know.”
“Do you know anything about his work life or business dealings?”
“No. Why should I?”
Ivan takes a deep breath. “Your father owed money to the Irish mafia. He borrowed money from them to pay your tuition to Cornell,” he starts to explain.
“How did you find this out?” I ask him, pulling away from him.
“I had a meeting yesterday with Declan Callaghan,” Ivan tells me. “He’s the leader of the Irish mafia in Boston.”
“Mafia? Wait, I’ve heard his name before…he was one of the people my father worked with,” I say. “Wait a minute, how do you know him?” I’m getting more confused by the second.
“He asked to meet with me. We have mutual business interests,” Ivan explains.
“Okay…” I reply, dragging out the word. “What did this Declan Callaghan want?”
“He wants you,” Ivan tells me as he lets out a heavy sigh. “According to Callaghan, your father owed him a large debt. When your father couldn't repay the debt he was given the option of handing you over to Callaghan as payment.”
“Excuse me?” I’m shocked by the admission and can’t help but think Ivan is making this up to keep me here against my will. “That’s not possible.”
“It’s true,” Ivan reinforces.
“What the fuck? My father would never consider that to be a viable option.
“I don’t know, lyubimaya. What I do know is that your father didn’t come up with the rest of the money he owed the Irish, so Callaghan had him killed and now they’re after you,” Ivan says.
My memory flashes back to the time after my father died but before I moved to Boston. I used to feel like someone was watching me while I was at school.
“The men who kidnapped you from the park worked for Callaghan,” Ivan explained. “He told me that he knows we have you here, and demanded we hand you over.”
Fear shot through me. “And you turned him down?” I ask.
“Of course I did,” Ivan growls. “I told him he could go fuck himself. Your father’s debt with him is not yours to pay.”
“Thank you.” I sigh with relief. I rub my temples with my fingers to try and relieve the tension headache that is creeping in. “So what does this all mean?”
“Security has been increased around the house. You will start learning basic self-defense moves and how to handle a gun,” Ivan tells me. “You are not to go anywhere on your own.”
“What about Gran’s ashes? I have to go to the funeral home and pick them up.”
“I’ll send someone to pick them up,” Ivan says, pulling his phone out. He send off a quick text message and puts it back in his pocket, focusing his attention back on me.
“This is a lot to process,” I tell him, feeling my heart start pounding in my chest.
“I won’t lie to you when it comes to your safety,” Ivan says, placing his hand on my knee. The move feels warm and comforting.
Ivan leans into the opposite corner of the couch and holds out his arm in invitation.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and heat pools near my core much like it did last night when Ivan kissed me in the kitchen, but I’m not sure I’m ready to get that close to him after the news he gave me just now.
I look down at my lap where I’m fidgeting with my fingers. I’ve kissed men that I’ve dated, and none of them ever made me feel like Ivan’s kiss does. This man knows what he’s doing, and kissing him could lead somewhere I’m not sure I’m ready for.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting up straighter and reaching for my hand.
“I need to share something with you, in the spirit of honesty,” I tell him. I’ve got to get this out before I lose my nerve, thought I don’t know why I feel he needs to know at this exact moment.
“Go on,” he says, raising his left eyebrow in suspicion.
“Your kiss makes me feel things that I haven’t felt for anyone before. I get butterflies if I even think about kissing you.” I feel a blush start to rise up my cheeks. Ivan just watches me, like he’s taking in all my words and waiting for me to continue.
“That makes me nervous, because I’ve never gone any further than kissing before, and I feel like a man in your position may have certain…expectations.”
“Are you saying you’ve never been with a man?” Ivan asks, learning forward and resting his forearms on his knees.
“Yes…” I whisper. Ivan sits back, watching me, and I have absolutely no idea what is going through his head. “I had boyfriends in college, but never had the interest to take anything beyond kissing. They broke up with me because I told them I wouldn’t sleep with them.”
“Those boys were stupid,” Ivan spits out. “A man would never do such a thing.”
“I think I’m starting to have feelings for you that make me want to take that next step, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”
“Come here,” Ivan says, motioning for me to come closer. I do, and he puts his arms around me. “I would not force myself on you in any situation.”
“Thank you, Ivan,” I say as I nuzzle into his chest.
“I loved kissing your lips that night. I won’t do anything until you are ready for it,” he says.
“I’m just not there yet,” I tell him.
“You don’t owe me an explanation. I do have a question, though.”
“What is it?” I ask him.
“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Ivan dips his head low, and his lips are on mine with a slow and gentle kiss. The warmth in my belly is back.
Ivan lets out a groan when he pulls his lips away from mine. I leave him to his work, but not before noticing that he grabs himself through his pants to adjust things. Later, I find my box of books from my apartment and shuffle through it to find the one I want to read.
I settle into bed and pull up my blanket. As I try to focus on the words in front of me, my thoughts drift to lunch and the kissing that followed in Ivan’s office.
Could life be starting to look up in the midst of all this chaos?