Chapter 7

Arianna

N ikolai's hard body is pressed against me and I lose all sense. I think he might just take me right now and fulfil his dirty promises, and god help me, I want him to. Instead, he lets me go and steps away, striding out of the room without another word, leaving me breathless and aching with desire.

What is it about this man that makes me forget myself?

Just being close to him has me flustered and excited. My skin feels like it's on fire from where he touched me and I'm damp and throbbing between my legs.

And why is he so infuriatingly stubborn? Why won't he just promise to help me and then I will tell him what I know?

Although my shower didn't do much to wash away thoughts and feelings of Nikolai, maybe some more sleep will. Despite having slept for a while in the car, I still feel exhausted. I climb into bed, not caring that I'm still damp and I haven't even found pajamas. The soft, fluffy sheets envelop me in a warm embrace, and I'm surprised to find myself quickly drifting off to sleep.

***

The sun's fully risen when I awake, although it can't be that late, I don't feel like I've slept all day and the sun isn't too high in the sky. Although I'm tempted to stay in bed and hide, I decide I may as well get up now and face the day head on. Decision made, I head toward the walk-in closet to see if there's anything I can wear.

When Dimitri said Nikolai had purchased a few things for me, he was most certainly underexaggerating. The closet is jam-packed and full of clothing for every imaginable eventuality. Even more baffling is how everything is the correct size. To my relief, whoever picked out my new wardrobe evidently wasn't aware of how I dressed before. There isn't a single babydoll dress or sparkly kitten heel in sight. Everything is far more subtle and grown up. I'm thrilled. It's like the person who selected all this knew exactly the kind of person I've always wanted to be.

I decide on a pair of high-waisted, wide-legged black silk pants with a Chinese dragon motif, a baggy off-the-shoulder open-weave pale green sweatshirt that brings out the color of my eyes, and a black one-piece swimming suit underneath. I might take a swim once it warms up, but given the time of day, it's still a little chilly. On my feet, I wear a pair of flat slip-ons that match the pants. I twist my long, still-damp hair up into a messy bun and secure it with a clip. Surveying my reflection, I'm satisfied to see that I look a million miles different from the meek little doll my father wanted me to be.

My stomach rumbles audibly, reminding me I haven't eaten in god knows how long. I check whether or not the door is locked, and I am surprised to find it isn't. Taking this as a sign that I can move around as I please, I decide to try to find the kitchen.

As I wander through the house, I note that most of the doors on my level are closed. The last thing I want is to get caught snooping, or worse, stumble into Nikolai's bedroom, so I head down the stairs straight away, assuming that's where the kitchen will be. On my way, I pass a living room with a gigantic television and the biggest corner sofa I've ever seen. Another room contains a home gym with an impressive amount of equipment. I head down the corridor to where the pool area is, assuming that perhaps the kitchen overlooks it. I'm pleased that my guess is right, and I manage to find the kitchen with relative ease. I'm also relieved I didn't encounter anyone on the way. Although I saw a few men manning the perimeter of the property, it seems that there either aren't many others here, or they're all asleep.

In the state-of-the-art kitchen, I find Dimitri, busy baking. The sight is somewhat surprising. Although Dimitri is dressed a bit like a butler, I didn't envisage him baking. Despite his advanced years, it is clear he was once a formidable man. Even stooped, he towers over me and is probably around six foot, on his lined face is a scar that works its way from eyebrow to lip, and the eye beneath it is milky white. Watching him bake, jacket removed, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal a trail of faded tattoos on his arms, his similarly inked knuckles working the dough, feels odd. He must feel my presence or notice my scrutiny since he starts talking without taking his attention off the task at hand.

"Come in Miss De Luca, I am making plushkis for breakfast if you are hungry," he says in his heavy Russian accent.

"Thank you," I reply, not knowing what they are. But my stomach growls again at the mention of food and I head over to join him sitting on a stool on the island in the middle of the room.

He continues to work in silence for a moment longer, expertly working the dough into twisted shapes that resemble a cinnamon bun before placing them into the oven. Wiping his hands on a dishcloth, a puff of flour lingering in the air, he says, "Coffee?"

"Yes, please. Black, no sugar," I reply.

"Sweet enough already," he quips with a small indulgent smile as he goes to work the machine. The smell of rich coffee and sweet buns fills the room.

"That's what everyone seems to think," I mutter. If he hears me, he doesn't comment.

Moments later, he places two steaming cups of coffee on the counter. In his, he pours creamer and two heaps of sugar.

"Me, not so sweet," he says with a wink.

A small bubble of laughter escapes my lips at the absurdity of the situation. The fact I am sitting drinking coffee with a baking Kuzmin Bratva member after having been willfully kidnapped by their sexy Pakhan less than a day ago seems surreal. We continue to sit in companionable silence, enjoying our coffee. I'm tempted to ask Dimitri where we are, but I imagine if he told me he'd be in trouble, and I wouldn't want that. But I do feel comfortable enough to ask him another question.

"No offense, but you don't exactly seem like the baking type, Dimitri. Where did you learn to do it?"

He looks at me for a moment, as if contemplating how much to tell me.

"I learned when I was young, but I was in prison for a long time. They gave me a job in the kitchen. I became good," he says with a shrug.

I know better than to ask what he went to jail for, or how long. But I am curious to know how he came to be working with Nikolai.

"I see. Have you been a, um… chef… for the Kuzmins for long?" I ask.

He lets out a belch of laughter, "I have been with the Kuzmin Bratva since I was a small boy in Russia. But not as a chef. However, these days I help Pakhan Nikolai in a more… home-based capacity. I am old and blind in one eye, not the best shot now. Nikolai is a good man and a good leader. I am proud to serve him."

I don't know how to respond to that. Clearly, he cares for Nikolai and there's history there. I'm intrigued to learn more, but I don't know how to ask without it seeming like I am prying. Before long, a timer goes off and Dimitri removes the steaming pastries from the oven to cool. Moments later, he hands me one, it's still warm and smells of cinnamon.

"Mmm, oh my god, that's delicious!" I groan. They really do taste like Cinnabons, but better.

Dimitri beams at me. "They're Pakhan Nikolai's favorite, and my secret recipe," he says proudly.

"Well, I for one would love to know your secret!"

His face turns serious, "I bet you are wondering how I got this scar? They tortured me for days, asking for my secrets. They did not succeed. If you think a pretty face is going to make me reveal this one, well then…"

At the look of shock on my face at his sudden change of attitude, he breaks into a grin, "…Then, you're absolutely right! I can teach you now if you like?"

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, laughing with relief.

"Sure, I'd love to, thank you."

A couple of hours and a few failed attempts later, I pull out a tray of my very own plushkis . The sense of pride and accomplishment I feel is silly, all things considered. But for a short while, I actually had fun and forgot about everything. When they're ready we both bite into them while sharing another batch of coffee.

"These are ochen vkusno ! Very good," Dimitri exclaims proudly.

"Mmm, oh wow, they are good, if I say so myself," I reply with a small smile.

"I see you two are having fun," a familiar voice from behind me says.

I whip around to see Nikolai standing and watching us in the doorway. The sight of him takes my breath away and I'm immediately aware of how I must look, covered in flour, hair tied back in a messy topknot. I got hot during the process and threw my sweatshirt off in favor of an apron, I feel surprisingly exposed now in just my swimsuit and thin pants. If he notices he doesn't let on.

He seems far more relaxed than I've seen him yet. Though perhaps that's just to do with the fact that he's dressed casually in a plain t-shirt and sweats. Plus, I get the impression he's just woken up. The t-shirt hugs his torso and I notice that his arms are covered in tattoos, beautifully intricate designs that snake around his strong biceps and up out of sight. I try not to let my eyes linger any lower where I can see the bulge his sweatpants cling to.

"Pakhan, I'm glad to see you are rested. I was just teaching Miss De Luca to make plushkis . She's quite good," Dimitri says, seemingly unconcerned by Nikolai's cool tone and foreboding presence.

I wonder for a moment if we've upset him somehow as he doesn't reply right away, he just raises an eyebrow and surveys us.

"Is she now?" he says neutrally, though there's a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

"Yes, why I'd go as far as to say hers are better than yours, Niki," Dimitri replies, a hint of challenge in his tone.

For a moment I'm shocked that Dimitri has dared to speak to him so casually, to tease him, but then Nikolai breaks into an uncharacteristic smile, one that reveals he has dimples in his cheeks.

"Oh, challenge accepted, old man!"

To my utter amazement, he comes over and starts gathering ingredients. I assume I must be standing gawping at him in disbelief since he glances up at me and lets out a small chuckle.

"You'll find I'm full of surprises, kukolka, " he says with a wicked grin that makes my cheeks flush at the insinuation.

While he works, he makes easy conversation with Dimitri. Their relationship is much like that of a father and son and it makes me long for the kind of father I never had. It's clear that they care for one another, and that Nikolai has known Dimitri his whole life. Dimitri regales me with stories of Nikolai as a mischievous young boy. If I didn't know better, they'd seem like any other normal family.

"I knew Nikolai would make an excellent Pakhan when he was still a small boy," Dimitri says. "When we first moved to America, Nikolai was still young. He was in a foreign country with no friends. There was another boy from Japan who moved here around the same time. Unlike Nikolai, this boy was small, and the older bullies who ran the school thought of this as a weakness. One day, the bullies ganged up on the boy. They were much bigger and there were five of them against one. Even though the small boy put up a good fight, he couldn't win. The boys saw Nikolai watching and encouraged him to join in the beating, he could be part of their gang if he did. Do you know what he did?"

"No," I say genuinely intrigued.

"He ran over and fought those bullies, and with his help, the two boys easily defeated the others. Nikolai recognized even then, that sometimes weakness can masquerade as strength and vice versa. He knew the small boy had something the other boys didn't have, would never have, bravery and fortitude. Bullies are weak, small people who prey on those they deem easy to defeat. They have no honor."

"What happened to the boy, did they become friends?" I ask.

"They did indeed. It turned out that the boy's father was a powerful man. Their friendship helped ally our two families. When his father was killed, Endo and his twin were adopted into the Kuzmin family," Dimitri says.

"Wait, Endo is the boy in the story?" I ask, surprised that I didn't figure it out, and also that Endo has a twin.

They both nod at me and Nikolai looks a little uncomfortable. Though why the story would make him uncomfortable I don't know. It sounds like he did a brave and kind thing, earning him a loyal friend in the process. I want to ask about Endo's twin, where he is, but the two are already discussing something else and I don't know how to bring it back up.

Slowly, I build up enough confidence around Nikolai to relax and join in the lighthearted banter. He's so different like this, it's jarring to think of him as the same man who murdered six men in cold blood only yesterday. We fall so deep into conversation that we don't even notice Dimitri quietly slip away. When Nikolai's batch is ready, we each pick up and bite into the other's.

"Not bad, not bad at all," Nikolai says approvingly of mine.

"Bleurgh, horrible," I say with a mischievous grin.

Nikolai smiles right back at me. "Liar, mine are the best and you know it."

"Oh because you're the best at everything?" I reply sassily.

"Yes. I am," he says simply with the confidence of someone who believes it.

"Oh, well, in that case, I guess there's only one way to solve this," I reply, with a wicked glint in my eyes.

"And what might that be?" he asks seductively.

His eyes smolder and he steps closer to me. Immediately my body responds, eager to let him show me how good he is and for us to solve things his way. But my playful side is out in full swing, and I can't help myself, I want to see how the mighty Nikolai Kuzmin will react.

"Food fight," I yell, tossing a handful of flour at him.

There was more in my hand than I realized, and it explodes right in his face, covering him in flour. For a moment, he doesn't move. I assume I've managed to surprise him, and I wonder if I've crossed a line. But then he lets out a chuckle.

"Oh, you're going to regret that," he growls playfully before racing toward me.

I let out a squeal of delight and run away from him, but he closes the gap between us with ease, grabbing me around the waist and swinging me off the floor with the grace of a dancer. He places me on the countertop so we're eye to eye. The feel of his strong body between my legs has me tingling with desire. I place my hands on his strong chest, feeling the warmth of it, I don't know if I should listen to my head and push him away or my heart and pull him closer.

One morning of fun doesn't change things. Does it? He's still the monster I thought he was. Isn't he? Despite this, if he kissed me now. I know I'd be helpless to resist. I close my eyes in surrender to the inevitable.

"Sorry to interrupt, boss. There's, erm, something you should know about."