Chapter FourteenIrina

Chapter Fourteen

Irina

The loud sounds of colliding pots and pans grows louder as I amble to the kitchen, humming a completely made-up tune in my head. Entering the room, a wide Cheshire cat-like grin settles on my lips at the sight of the food displayed on the table.

"Blueberry pancakes?" It's just a question, borne from the happiness to see something so different on the table. But when the words leave my lips, they sound like the excited shriek of a six-year-old happy to be rewarded with cookies from the jar.

Nina stands by the sink, drying pots and other utensils while I grab a stool at the island and lean forward with folded arms, eyeing the dreary backside of her black and white uniform.

"Blueberry pancakes," she confirms, and I can almost see the motherly smile curving her lips. "You like?"

"Like? Pfft . That's for stuck-up snobs who will never admit to the mind-blowing taste of masterpieces like these. As for me, I love. I could eat these for days." Picking a blueberry from one of the bowls, I pop it into my mouth. "It's nice to see that the racket was worth it."

"Oh my... the noise woke you up?"

"Yeah." My head goes up and down as I stick a berry-infused fluffy pancake into my mouth. It is simply delicious. I have to give it to Nina; she sure knows how to whip up a good meal. "Should have been the aroma. But with the taste of these babies, you're forgiven."

Emitting a small laugh, she wipes her hands on a paper towel and turns around, facing me. Then, her brow goes up, and she has the most illuminating look I've ever seen on a person's face.

I lift a shoulder, mumbling with a mouthful. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," she shrugs when she dumps the paper towel and folds her arms over her chest.

I mimic the raised brow on her face. "You literally look like you have something to say."

"Maybe I do."

"Well?" The suspense is killing me, and I'm not sure at what point we've become friendly kitchen buddies—or whatever—but it feels comfortable having this seemingly mother-daughter-like moment with her. "Say it."

Slowly, and like she has all the time in the world to do so, she clears her throat, fiddles with the tiny heart-crested button on her shirt and crosses one ankle over the other. I peer closer, wishing I could figure out what has her beaming like sun rays, but I guess I'm just going to wait it out until she gains the courage to speak.

"It might be none of my business, but I see you're glowing."

"Well, yeah?" Swallowing the last bite of my pancake, I swipe the maple syrup off the plate with two fingers and stick them in my mouth. "I'm eating the best blueberry pancake-maple syrup combination ever. If I wasn't glowing, that would be a problem now, wouldn't it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"No?"

"Your glow has something to do with the boss, I'm one hundred percent sure."

That is unexpected.

Quiet falls between us and the dangling beige tablecloth string seems more worthy of attention than looking at Nina's face. I'm not sure what burns hotter; her knowing gaze or the creeping heat on my cheeks. What is she talking about? What glow?

It's true, I'm feeling a bit giddy—and maybe skittish. But it has nothing to do with my husband. I'm a hundred percent sure. Or maybe not.

"And I'm saying that because he had a strange calm about him, too," she continues.

That catches my attention and my head snaps up. Alexei was never the calm in the storm. He was the storm. So, Nina has to be exaggerating when she says he had a strange calm.

Still, it gets my attention.

"He did?"

"He did." She points to the empty plates and bowls in front of me. "He asked me to prepare that for you."

Gob smacked, I stare at the maple-syrup-stained chinaware like I haven't consumed seven pancakes and a bunch of blueberries. Warmth and heat spread fast to my core as Nina's words resound.

"He asked you to prepare breakfast for me and he was specific? Blueberry pancakes?" It shouldn't come as a shock; he is my husband, after all. Sweetness and romance are associated with husbands and wives.

But not mine.

It's the complete opposite when it comes to Alexei. Where sweetness and romance are concerned, he is hard and cold as ice. Men like Alexei don't ask housekeepers to make blueberry pancakes for their wives. They toss engagement rings at their fiancés and expect them to accept unspoken proposals.

Men like Alexei are cocky, arrogant bastards who have their heads way up in the clouds and expect everyone and everything to obey their command.

Men like Alexei couldn't care less if I had prison food for breakfast. Their list of priorities starts with them and ends with money and power. Nothing else matters. Women are mostly symbols of pleasure, nothing more.

But that might have changed yesterday.

Yesterday…

Just thinking about her, with the blood-red lipstick and intense hatred swimming in her eyes, makes bile rise up my throat. It isn't shocking to find out about Alexei's lover—no, bloody whore is more like it. It is expected; men in his world are sure to have flocks of women like that falling at their feet.

But this one is possessive and seems to have had numerous unforgettable moments with him. I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.

"If my guess is right, then I'd say that you both have given in to your feelings for each other."

I push the stool back and take my plates to the sink. It feels wrong to sit and watch Nina clear the dishes while I stay in the kitchen with her. But she said Alexei and I have given in to feelings for each other.

If I don't get myself distracted, I'm going to burst out laughing soon.

Feelings, she said. Is that what it is?

"Feelings…" I repeat aloud, gripping the edge of the counter, with my back against it as I test the word on the tip of my tongue. It's strange how good it sounds. "If that's what you choose to call it, then I'd say yes. It's something like that."

Did promising me not to have sex with another woman convey feelings? The last time I checked, it didn't. Just because he made the decision to stay loyal to his wife doesn't mean he professed his undying love for me.

And again, men like Alexei Vadim don't profess their undying love. I even doubt if they have the ability to love.

But I'm not stupid; I recognize effort when I see it. If he has chosen never to cheat on me with another woman, that action speaks volumes.

Nina's sigh reels me back to the present and I ask, "Did you say something?"

"Yes. I said, beneath the surface, if you look hard enough, you'll see that the boss is not a bad man."

Now I laugh without holding back. That truly is the most incredulous thing I've ever heard. Alexei Vadim, not a bad man? Oh, please. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Nina. Your boss is not a bad man. He's a terror. Sometimes, he makes the hair on my skin stand."

She chuckles softly and starts on my dishes. I make a move to assist her, but she brushes me off with a harmless scowl. " Nyet ." No. "I will do these myself."

I give her some room, and on cue, she continues tattling about her boss's hidden soft heart.

"…sometimes, it shows; in the little things he does or says. If you look beyond that gruff and angry exterior, you'll see a man on the inside worth loving." She stacks up the dishes on the drying mat and dabs her hands with another paper towel. Sadness fills her eyes when she says, "I've been around long enough to know exactly what I am saying. I took care of him before his mother died."

His mother? Before now, I'd heard nothing about his mother. I have lots of questions piling up, starting with knowing what she was like. But I can't ask them. Nina doesn't even leave breathing space to fit any question in.

"He had a rough childhood. Much rougher than any innocent child should ever experience, and that is what formed him into the ruthless man he is now." She sucks in a deep breath. "I'm not trying to justify any of the terrible things he's done; no one has clean hands, anyway. All I'm saying is, look deeper than the surface, and you might just see that ray of sunshine beyond the clouds."

After the most unexpected talk time with Nina in the kitchen, the rest of the day flies by in a blur, and each second digs up more and more questions gnawing inside my head. Curiosity at its peak.

I seek to know more than Nina is willing to let on about Alexei's childhood. Away from the watchful gaze of some of his men, I roam the mansion as far as my legs can take me, poking my nose in empty rooms in search of helpful albums, or anything else that would provide a further glimpse into his past.

All attempts prove futile.

By dusk, I am worn out, tired, and bored out of my mind.

After a warm bath, I go downstairs and Nina serves up a tray of tea and special biscuits, while I let my mind wander to things that could be happening outside the walls of the mansion. The thoughts don't last very long. Barely minutes later, and the door flies open, ushering a light gust of cool air, and a dark silhouette figure crossing the threshold.

Dark hair, broad chest, and mussed hair. And dark eyes. Darker than I've ever seen them before.

The only form of illumination in the living room is the silver moonlight pouring in through the curtains, and even that doesn't help the gruesome image in front of me. He looks like something out of a horror movie. Tea and biscuits forgotten, I practically jump off the couch with my heart in my throat, watching him make his way to me. Nina's voice resounds in my head.

"… the boss is not a bad man."

He's not a bad man?

How is this not the representation of everything bad?

I'm shaking now. The good man has blood on his shirt and the promise of death in his eyes. This is one of those times when he makes the hair stand on my skin and somehow manages to make me forget everything else.

He spreads his arms, walks closer with the scent of blood and sweat, and tries to wrap his arms around me.

"I missed you." The darkness in his voice rumbles at the back of his throat when he pulls me in. The rich sound is enough to stir butterflies in my stomach and make my toes curl in the carpet. Except, it doesn't.

I cannot concentrate on anything else. He has blood on his shirt.

Shaking, I peel his strong fingers from my waist and take a large step away, creating enough distance to make his brows rise. My eyes flicker to the thick red on his shirt, and he follows my gaze.

The brows rise higher and are followed by a deep frown.

Without a word, he walks away from me and heads up the stairs.

I pace the floor, struggling to drown the million voices in my head, yelling at how wrong I am for making an assumption. What if he is hurt? What if it had been his blood on that shirt? It is possible and I could have asked.

But this is Alexei Vadim and there is a reason he earns the title, "Devil of New York." There is no way that blood is his; not with arms as warm as his and flames of fire in his eyes.

Heavy footsteps sound in the quiet of the living room and my head snaps towards the stairs. Shimmering droplets of water on his hair form a narrow trail from behind his ear to disappear into his shirt.

Now, he looks normal, and sexy, like a model in a bathroom commercial, and it doesn't help that he smells like spring soap.

The voices in my head grow louder and I know they are not going to shut up until I voice the question. Mustering courage, I march up to him, glaring like it has any effect at all on the tall man.

"That wasn't your blood." It is not a question.

He tucks his hands into his pockets, shakes his head, and stares me down. "No. It was not my blood."

"I knew it!"

The ghost of a sexy smile curves his lips upwards. "And you're happy because?"

"Happy, you said?" I push at his chest with a pointed finger. Needless to say, men like Alexei Vadim do not appreciate being pushed. As quick as a flash, the smile disappears. He grabs my wrists and yanks me closer. Close enough to see the angry storm brewing in his eyes.

"What the fuck is your problem, huh? The blood's no longer there, is it?"

I refuse to be intimidated. I stand my ground. "And that suddenly makes everything better? If it was not your blood, it was definitely someone else's. And it was your shirt. If you ask me, that doesn't sound or look good. Care to explain what happened?"

Pulling me even closer, he juts his jaw, and I think I see a flicker of pain in his eyes. "A girl died and I couldn't save her."

He lets me go and I cannot figure out what startles me more. The lack of contact or the information. "What…" I blink. "What girl?"

"Doesn't matter now. She's gone. And to make it even worse, I'm being blackmailed with a video of me killing some fucking bastard who tried to rape a young girl."

What is happening? Why does he look so pained? It doesn't matter that he tries to hide it. I see right through the tough fa?ade. I rub my temple. "Explain this to me, because I don't… I don't understand. I thought you…" I trail off.

Alexei Vadim is a smart man; he catches the insinuation clearly.

"Let me guess, you thought I killed her? You thought I'm into the business of selling off women and not giving a fuck about what happens to them later?" He scoffs. "Typical."

I blink again. What do I have to say to that? Absolutely nothing, because it is true. I thought the worst of him. I thought he trafficked women, used them, tossed them out like rubbish. But now, this man in front of me is hurting because he couldn't protect one.

Emotion swells in my heart, and before I can stop myself, I throw my arms around him and hug him. I feel his body tense, but I don't let him go. I am too overwhelmed to speak, but I know a hug can never go wrong. It is my way of apologizing for assuming the worst about him.

And when he relaxes and hugs me back, I know the brave stunt was all worth it.

Maybe Nina is right.

Maybe if I look beyond that gruff and angry exterior, I'll see a man on the inside who is worth loving.