Chapter 13 - Arseny

I glance at her, and her gaze catches mine. We hold it there for the briefest of moments before she looks away. "I know how to cook venison steaks if you're worried."

"I'm not worried," I say quickly. "Just surprised. I don't know many people who can make it properly."

"Are you worried I'll ruin it?" she asks with a smile.

"No, you can cook dinner. I'm almost done carving up the meat and packing it, and then we can go inside." I go back to work, and within two hours, with the sun passing by and dipping into the west, I'm done.

I pack away the meat for Lawrence to collect in the morning while Elena is asleep. Once it's packed, I lead Elena inside. I sit at the counter as she takes the steaks and scratches in the pantry for seasonings and vegetables to make with the steaks.

"I had my guard bring potatoes if you want to make more fries," I say. "I can help."

"No, it's fine. You just sit there and relax." She smiles and brings out what she needs. I'm surprised that she chooses so well.

"You're familiar with seasoning meat, another surprise."

"Please don't be surprised. I'm a woman." She butterflies the steaks and starts to tenderize them. She's quite strong and brutal. I won't lie; those steaks don't stand a chance.

"Why does the cabin look a little worse for wear?" I ask, looking around. "Like things were moved and hastily put back?"

She glances at me. "You didn't honestly think I wouldn't try, did you?"

"I'm surprised you didn't get out. Enough determination, and you probably could have." I watch as she picks up a knife and peels and cuts the potatoes into fries. She's quick, accurate, and deft with a knife. Just how I like it.

"You've had cooking lessons, haven't you?" I ask curiously. "You cook like a chef has shown you how."

"No cooking lessons, no." She smiles. "But thank you for the compliment."

She turns the stovetop on and puts down a skillet with some oil. She seasons the steaks again and sets them aside. She then puts a pot on the stovetop to heat up.

"How then? How did you learn to cook?" I ask. "Don't hold out on me now. You look like you know what you're doing."

She looks up and leans on the counter. "My father being dismissive of me made me teach myself how to cook."

"I'm sorry?" I ask. "You cook like a chef because your father won't pay attention to you?"

"It's not just about being paid attention," she says, exasperated. "It's not paying attention to the business decisions, but I can contribute too. I've seen my father make some bad decisions that could have easily been avoided if he had just listened to me."

"Like what?" I ask.

"What do you mean?" she asks, taking the steaks to the skillet and putting them in. The air fills with the sound of sizzling.

"What decision did he make that you could have advised him on?" I ask. She goes back to chopping the potatoes while the steaks sear closed. She goes back to the stovetop and turns the steak over. "How do you like your steak?"

"Medium," I say. "Don't avoid the question."

"I don't know. I would have advised against the butchers. They contribute nothing to our family wealth and serve as no front for any business we conduct. They're too clean. At best, we could treat them as you treat them, like a hobby. There's no point to it."

"Unless it is for a power play against the Milov family, after all," I point out. "That could have influenced his decisions."

"True, but my father isn't like that. If he wants to power play, he'll do it in negotiations, not behind someone's back. You must understand; I know my father better than you."

"Do you?" I ask. "Did you know our fathers were friends?"

"What?" She looks at me for a moment. "I didn't realize…"

"Long story. Tell me, what would you do if I came to you and said that laundromats were no longer good enough to hide money behind? How are we going to move our money?"

"There are so many better ways to do it these days," she says as she takes the steaks off and lets them rest. She then puts in the first batch of fries, and the oil sizzles as it cooks them.

"I mean, you could do an offshore account and filter it through some shell companies. Make sure everything is done in a country where the American government or the IRS can't subpoena the records." She stirs the chips, presumably so they don't stick together.

"Okay, but how would you get that money back into the country?" I ask.

"Donations through charities. Especially charities that involve foreigners, so it's harder to trace the money back to us. One that also deals with a lot of cash, like a charity that helps immigrants find work." She checks the steaks and starts making a honey-based sauce for them. This has me completely enraptured.

"Okay, what about property investment? Buying the butchers could be about the properties they're tied to?" I tilt my head, thinking I've finally got her.

"No, they're not exactly prime real estate, so it can't be that. Something isn't sitting right. You have to trust me on that. I would rather worm my way into owning one of your laundromats or casinos. If I really had an option, I'd do what I said before: concerts and shows. They have high budgets, and money can easily pass through them unnoticed." She shrugs and pours the sauce over the steaks. "That needs to soak for a bit, and the fries are almost ready. Do you want to pass me two plates?"

I get up and get her the plates, setting them down.

"Why doesn't your father listen to you?" I ask. "You seem to have strong, solid opinions. I would listen to you if you advised me."

"I'm the only woman in my family. It means my father and my brothers automatically think that I'm weak. Even my cousins don't listen to me. If it were up to me, I'd make it clear that if you're on my payroll, you'd be rewarded well, and if you betray me, they'll never find your body."

I smirk. "And who would you use to assist you?"

She points a knife at me. "Why would I need assistance?"

I sit back down and watch as she cooks the last batch of fries.

"What about you?" she asks, leaning on the counter. "You ask me all these questions. I obviously know you're an enforcer. Have you always been groomed to be one?"

"It was natural," I reply. "My siblings all had goals in life. Kervyn's biggest goal as Pakhan was securing an heir, which he did. Now, he wants to extend his family further. My brother Danil is power-hungry and always wants to be a step ahead. Luka wants to have fun, although since becoming a father, he's cut down on the raucous fun and just has mild fun."

"So that's what they wanted. What did you want?" she asks, checking the fries.

I swallow and shrug. "I was just there to support what my brothers wanted. I knew I had a role in the family, and once Kervyn told me what it was, I honed my skills to suit it. Making sure that no one would fuck with our family. People hear my name and quiver, not to brag."

"I know what you mean. I have heard what you're capable of."

"You've heard what I've let survivors talk about. The ones who didn't survive would tell you a worse story if they could speak." I smirk arrogantly.

She scoops the fries out of the pot, and the oil splashes her hand.

"Ow! Motherfucker!" she cries out.

I get up quickly and lead her to the kitchen sink, where I run her hand under cold water. "Does that sting?"

"It was a big dollop of oil. I wouldn't complain normally. Ouch," she whimpers. I see the bright red spot on her hand and nod. "Are you done cooking? I can put some burn shield on it."

"Burn shield?" she asks.

"This liquid helps with burns. I'll go get it."

I leave and get the first aid kit out of the bathroom. I come back out, and she's where I left her. I'm certain she's not going to try to run again, at least not right now, and that makes me happy.

I hesitate to admit it, but I'm enjoying having her around.

I take out the sachet of burn shield and pour it onto her burn.

"It's cold," she says, surprised.

"I'd hope so. Here." I take out a small bandage and wrap it around her hand. "That'll give it a chance to absorb."

She looks up at me with a small smile. "Thank you."

I move to dish up the food while she sits down. "So what do you do when you're not enforcing the law of the family?" she asks.

"I own several laundromats with my cousins as a front for money laundering, but that's about it," I say quietly. The butchers is a hobby—something to do when I need to blow off steam and frustration."

"Why don't you just have sex like everyone else?" she teases me.

"Because most girls are afraid of me." I look up at her as I set her plate in front of her. "Ketchup for your fries?"

"Please." She picks up her cutlery and tucks into her steak, groaning softly. "These came out beautiful."

I set down the ketchup and come to sit next to her.

I cut into my steak and pop a piece in my mouth. It feels like it melts in my mouth. "God, this is good."

"See, I told you to trust me," she says as she puts ketchup on her fries.

"You should be cooking every night. I might make you." I grin.

"I don't mind, not really. Though your food has been good too." We fall into a comfortable silence as we eat our food, and once done, I take the dishes to the kitchen sink to start washing up.

Elena cleans the countertop and the island where we eat and then explores the pantry. "You have wine!" She brings out a bottle of red wine.

"I keep a bottle or two to cook with, but if you want to have some fun now, we can't be drinking," I say as I rinse off the dishes and set them on the drying rack to dry.

"Why, what are we going to do?" she asks as she puts the bottle of wine back.

I dry my hands off and go into the bedroom. "Wait here."

I reach into the closet at the very top, high out of Elena's reach, and I bring down my other set of knives.

I walk back to the kitchen. "How would you like to learn to sharpen a knife properly? I can teach you."

Elena tilts her head. "Interesting. I could get behind that idea."

"Come sit at the island with me." I unroll the canvas and show her my other knife collection. "I've washed my main set. I'll sharpen those while you sharpen these."

"With a sharpening stone, right?" she asks. "I normally use one of those countertop things that you can sharpen your knives on."

"Please don't insult me," I chuckle. I get my knives from the sink and bring them over.

I start by sitting opposite her on the bar stool. I pick up one of my knives and the black stone and slowly run the blade along it. "You want to sharpen the edge, so don't make it go flat."

I watch as she tries. "Don't cut yourself," I warn her.

She tries again.

"Here, let me show you." I stand behind her and wrap my arms around her. I'm distinctly aware of our bodies touching. I wrap my hands around hers and guide her slowly.