Chapter 4 - Elena

He's handsome. His dark eyes seem to pierce right into my core. He's tall and well-built. He looks very strong, obviously from carrying around the dead animal bodies.

The tour is cute, thoughtful, and sweet, and I enjoy learning about the layout of the butchery. It's bigger than it seems from the outside, which is surprising, but otherwise, there's nothing super special about the business operation or building.

There is nothing that would make me think my father would want to purchase this place. The son seems sad that they have to move out of their apartment above the shop, and I feel a pang of guilt. This business clearly means a lot to him.

I know how he feels. Spending your life preparing to take over the family business just to have the rug yanked from under your feet. I can sympathize with that. I mean, my brother was always going to be Pakhan, but I wanted my place as second in command, and now it looks like my brother Kyle will hold that position.

When we reach the office, I move in, and he follows, which surprises me. I was expecting to be left alone to explore. I don't need a babysitter, but he settles with some struggle behind the desk kept in the office.

The wallpaper is peeling from the walls, in a pattern that would have been more at home in the 1970s: an ugly green pattern with what looks like flowers. It's so faded that it's hard to tell.

There's nothing special about this room; it's just a storage closet. The room smells of aged paper and dust, and it isn't easy to imagine anyone working there.

My sinuses are already getting congested just from being in here. On top of that, I swear I hear a rat squeaking somewhere, and I shudder slightly. I can't stand rats. When I was younger, one ran over my foot, and it instilled a fear of them inside of me that I couldn't shake.

Trying to distract myself, I open the nearest filing cabinet and rifle through the papers—nothing out of the ordinary, mostly stuff that can probably be recycled.

I don't know why some people insist on keeping a million records from the first day of business. If they need it, it should be digitized or sent to the recycling plant.

It's a waste of good space, but I could set up a nice office here. But first, I need to figure out why this butchery is so special. If I can do that, I can work with my dad, show him how I pay attention, and be trusted to run a section of the family business.

I glance at the butcher"s son and go back to the files. His presence seems other-worldly. I can feel his dark eyes trained on me, and I feel awkward with him watching me so closely.

I move to a stack of files on top of a filing cabinet and stretch to bring them down. He's up instantly, and his body presses against mine as he reaches for the file. I lower my gaze to see his shirt pulled up slightly, showing a small patch of hair running down his stomach—a garden path.

I try not to blush, but I picture where it leads, and my face feels red with embarrassment.

He hands me the files, and I bring them to the table, where I go through them slowly. He remains standing, filling the room even more than he did before. When he was pressed against me, I could smell his scent: a strong and woody cologne.

I would be remiss if I didn't say he was extremely handsome and good to look at. A little too attractive to be a butcher"s son.

"You always work in a good suit?" I ask. "It looks tailored like it"s something expensive." I glance at him, and he meets my gaze.

"I like to look presentable at work. My father instilled that in me: always look your best because you never know where you're going to end up on any given day." He shrugs off my comments. "You're also dressed rather nicely for someone coming to check files."

"I am professional at all times," I explain. "As a woman, it's tough to be taken seriously in this day and age, despite the progress we've made. So, I make sure I always look ready to take on the world because I am ready."

He leans over me and looks at the files with me. "What are you looking for anyway? Maybe I can help you."

"I'm just going through things, seeing how this shop ticks." I don't look at him as I speak. I can't admit that I don't know what I'm looking for; I'm looking for something that stands out and makes this place special.

"Why? Wouldn't you need to know that before you bought it?" His logic irritates me. He's getting in my way. If I had my guard here, I could have made him leave, but I also didn't want to sour him against our family and cancel the purchase. My father would be furious.

"Look, you don't have to stay with me. You can go back to work." I am halfway through this pile of files, quickly flipping through the pages.

"You may need me to reach other things for you," he murmurs. He steps back then and leans against the wall.

I rifle through the papers, and the awkwardness of the silence is palpable. I hate it

"Do you have any siblings?" I ask quietly.

"I have three brothers, all three married, so I have sisters too now." He crosses his arm. "Yourself?"

"Two, an older one and a younger one. I'm the middle child. Only girl." He returns the papers to their stack for me and brings me down another stack.

"That can't be easy, being the only girl." He runs a hand through his hair, and my heart flutters slightly. "Having to prove yourself against your brothers."

"It can be trying, but I'm confident in my abilities, so I'm not worried. Pets?" I ask—anything to stave off the awkward silence.

"Not really a pet type. You?" he asks.

"I had a dog that passed last year. I love dogs but haven't had the heart to get another one," I explain.

There's nothing of use here. I sigh and look around. "Is this all the files?"

His phone goes off, and he checks it before he looks at me. "Uh, no. There's a shed out back with more files. Maybe what you're looking for is in there."

"Maybe I'll try one more stack here, and then you can take me to that shed. And then, honestly, you can go back to work. I'm not afraid of some papers." I grab some more files, and this time, I sit behind the desk and start rifling through them.

"If you told me what you're looking for, I could help you a lot faster or ask my father to help. Most of the stuff in here is ancient." He blows dust off a stack of papers and dusts himself off.

I cough slightly and shake my head. "I'm just looking over reports and things. You honestly don't have to stay."

"I insist," he says. "I'm always happy to help a beautiful young lady."

I blush slightly and go straight back to the papers. He fidgets with documents on the shelf, and we fall back into that horrible silence. I can't stand it.

Maybe that's why my father doesn't trust me—I'm such a chatterbox. Perhaps he thinks I'll tell people about the family business? That's preposterous, though. He should know I know to keep my mouth shut.

I flip a report a little more violently than intended, and the butcher's son looks at me curiously. "Everything okay?"

"Can you take me out back to the rest of the paperwork?" I ask, standing up. "I'm just not finding what I want here."

"Sure, it's through the alley out back. Come with me." He walks out of the room, and we briefly bump into the owner of the butchery.

"Did you find what you're looking for?" he asks curiously.

"I'm taking her out back to find it. Hopefully, it's there," his son says. "We'll see you shortly."

"Okay," the owner says, but something in his eyes worries me. He looks a little paranoid. Maybe because he knows who I am, perhaps I intimidate him.

I feel quite chuffed about that, intimidating someone with my presence and name. People should be scared. My family is powerful.

I follow the son through the narrow corridor toward the back, and he walks out, letting the door close behind him.

Rude.

I follow, and I notice a car parked in the alleyway.

Everything goes dark suddenly when something is yanked over my head. I try to claw at it, and it feels like material, almost like a pillowcase.

I yell out, and I feel something sharp poke into my back. "Keep quiet, or you're going to get stabbed."

I struggle against the hands holding me. "You don't know who you're messing with, kid. My father is a powerful man."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Emery Sokolov. Such a powerful man."

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" I ask.

"Walk down the stairs. There's three of them." He pokes me in the back again with a knife, and I carefully feel my way down the stairs.

"Up against the car," he says and leads me forward. He all but slams me against the car, and I hear something that sounds like a zip tie.

The hold on the pillowcase lessens, but it isn't loose enough for me to yank it off. He's tied it closed. Next, he takes my hands and zip-ties them together. I try to resist, but he slams me against the car again.

"No cute games, Elena," he says. "You best comply, or your father will receive you back in pieces."

I let him zip-tie my hands, and then I hear a car door opening. He throws me into what I assume is the back seat. His windows must be tinted if he's not afraid to have me sit in the back. Asshole. How did I get caught like this?

My father will never take me seriously if I don't get out of this situation.

"Let me go," I yell, wiggling to sit up. "And maybe my father will spare your life."

"I don't fear the Sokolov family, Elena. You're coming with me whether you like it or not." I feel and hear the car start even though it's like a kitten purring. I feel it move and fumble with my clutch purse to get my phone out. Maybe I can dial someone.

If I tip my head at an angle, I can almost see through the fabric.

"Oh no," the butcher"s son says. He takes my phone from me, having reached from the front. "We won't be having that."

I hear a window roll down, and I can only assume my phone went for a goodbye journey out of the car.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Why do you want the butchers? What were you looking for back there?" he asks.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I was trying to find out what made that butchery special. That's why I wanted the files," I snarl. "If you turn me loose now, your family won't have to pay for this."

He doesn't respond straight away. I didn't realize a butcher's son could be some sort of psycho.

"What are you going to do with me?" I ask, trying to maintain my confidence.

"I don't know yet," he says with a chuckle. "But it's going to be fun."