Chapter Seven

Aksana

“Oh wow.” Dmitry sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I can’t eat another bite. Aksana, that was wonderful. Thank you.”

There was nothing left.

The sheer amount of food consumed by these grown men was beyond anything I had ever seen in my life. There wasn’t a single crumb left of the bulka, even though I had baked three loaves.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much before in my life,” Nikandr moaned, rubbing his stomach.

“Lunch was delicious, Aksana.” Maxim smiled as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.

We sat around the table, expressions of appreciation and contentment filled the air, accompanied by satisfied grins and heartfelt thank yous. Poor Little Max, Henry, and Katiya didn’t survive the meal. They were all slumbering peacefully in their seats, their bellies contently full.

“I don’t know how you are going to top this meal, Aksana, but I’m willing to try anything you cook,” Aleksandr said, winking.

Vladmir clipped, “She is not here to cook for you,” as he neatly folded his napkin on the now empty plate. Even though Vladmir cleaned his plate, he still hadn’t shared his thoughts on the taste.

My voice barely audible, I whispered while studying the man’s fuming expression, “It’s alright, Vladmir. I don’t mind. I actually like cooking.”

He interrupted me by raising his hand and then added with a firm tone, “As a guest in this house, she will be treated with the respect and kindness she deserves.”

“Jeez, Vlad,” Aleksandr moaned. “Chill out. I wasn’t insinuating anything. All I was trying to say is the woman is a damn good cook. You even cleared your damn plate.”

“All right, boys.” Illyria sighed, getting to her feet. “Clara, Vladmir, please help me with the children. They need their beds.”

Getting up to get Katiya, Illyria stopped me. “No, Aksana. You stay put. You cooked. Vladmir can carry Katiya and put her down. Can’t you, Vladmir?”

“I don’t mind, really, Illyria. She’s my daughter. I should be the one to put her down.”

“Sit down, Aksana,” Maxim instructed, pointing to my chair. “Vladmir will do it.”

I looked up at the man, he remained silent but nodded in understanding. He walked over to my daughter, swiftly unbuckling her before lifting her up and holding her close to his chest as he quietly left the room. He treated her with such tenderness and care. Like he was born to be a father, not one of the Two Spies for the Pakhan.

“Now that the grump is gone, tell me,” Aleksandr spoke, “who taught you how to cook like that?”

A smile spread across my face and I reached out and grabbed my glass of water. “I had several nannies growing up. Konstantin refused to be bothered with a little girl, so I spent the majority of my time with them. They were all wonderful cooks, but the one who taught me was Ivanka Popov. For three wonderful years, she taught me everything she knew. I can make any dish and bake the most delicious breads. Ivanka believed that no matter where I went in life, food was going to be my salvation.”

“How so?” Rurik asked.

“Ivanka believed that through food, anything was possible. Having an argument, talk it out over a hot meal. Missing someone, make a desert. Bored, create something new. We were always in the kitchen.”

“When did she die?” Maxim quietly asked.

“When I was fourteen,” I whispered. “Konstantin never let the nannies stay long. He didn’t want them getting attached.”

“But you did,” Dmitry said, and I nodded.

“I liked all my nannies, and a few I loved, but there was something special about Ivanka. Her death hurt me the most.”

“Is Russian food all you can cook?” Maxim asked.

“No,” I replied, clearing my throat. “I can cook practically anything, but my favorites are French, Russian, and Italian dishes. The more complex the dish, the better I am. Being married to Steele had its hardships, so I spent a lot of time in the kitchen cooking for him and the rest of the brothers. It was one of the few times he didn’t bother me. As long as I was in the kitchen cooking, he left me alone.”

“Well, consider the kitchen your domain while you are here with us,” Maxim stated firmly, getting to his feet. “I myself cannot wait to taste what you serve for dinner tonight.”

Smiling up at the man, I nodded.

“Any requests?”

The men all sat up, but Maxim held out his hand to stop them before saying to me, “Surprise us.”

In the following days, I fully immersed myself in the kitchen, filling it with the aromas of dishes I thought would satisfy the Pakhan, his wife, and the men. However, I quickly learned that no matter what I cooked, the appetites of my guests were insatiable. The Pakhan and his men were ravenous eaters, their loud smacking and groans of pleasure were all I needed to hear as they devoured everything I put before them. On the third day, I prepared an authentic Italian meal that even Illyria couldn’t resist. She took pictures of it and sent them to her family, playfully taunting them with the deliciousness they were missing.

Everyone seemed happy with my cooking.

All but Vladmir.

The man ate in complete silence, not uttering a word as he consumed whatever I placed in front of him.

I initially misinterpreted his demeanor as disdain towards my presence, but Rurik quickly explained that it was actually Vladmir who had advised Maxim to keep me in close proximity. Then I thought, maybe I had unintentionally said something to upset him. As one of the Two Spies , Vladmir was an authority, second only to the Pakhan. Aleksandr told me that Vladmir was rarely talkative and reassured me that I’d done nothing wrong. However, despite my efforts in preparing a culinary masterpiece, the quiet and reserved man remained silent when I presented the Gateau St. Honoré, a dessert that consisted of a delectable combination of puff pastry, pate à choux, pastry cream, and caramelized sugar, which embodied decadence in every bite. It became evident to me that his lack of response indicated a personal issue with me.

More importantly, he didn’t like my cooking.

Now, I was willing to overlook the fact that I had caused him and the Bratva problems in the past. And maybe I would have been better off on my own, running for the rest of my life, but damn it—no one hated my cooking.

If it was the last thing I ever did, I was going to cook this man a meal he liked.

Checking the list I made twice, I didn’t hear or see Illyria Valentinetti walk into the kitchen. She was a beautiful woman with golden blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Always dressed to perfection, she reminded me of a runway model more than an Italian Princess from a prominent family.

“Jesus, woman, do I need to have a bed made for you in the corner?”

I chuckled. “Only if it has a super firm mattress.”

Illyria laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. But seriously, Aksana, you never leave this room.”

“It’s my favorite place to be.”

“No, you feel safe behind all these pots and pans.”

“Well, there’s that too.” I grinned.

“I’m going into the city. Would you like to get out of here for a bit? Clara can watch Katiya. She won’t mind.”

“Only if we can stop at a few delicatessens. I need some ingredients that I can’t get at a regular grocery store.”

Illyria blanched, blinking at me a few times, and when she said nothing, I frowned. “What?”

“You want me to go grocery shopping with you?”

Curious, I leaned against the kitchen counter and asked, “You have been grocery shopping before, right?”

“I can order takeout like a pro. Name any restaurant in Manhattan, and I will tell you the best meal to order, but a grocery store. No. I don’t even think my own mother ever visited one.”

“Then today is going to be an adventure for both of us. You can show me the city and I will show you how to shop for groceries.”

“How do you know which one to pick?” Illyria asked while she stood before a fresh bin of peaches.

Shaking my head, I walked over, took a quick look at the peaches, then picked one up, handing it to her. “Give it a gentle squeeze and tell me what you feel.”

Doing as I asked, she grimaced. “It’s mushy.”

“That’s because it’s been sitting too long,” I explained, grabbing another, quickly smelling it before handing it to her. “Now, feel this one, then smell it and tell me what you think.”

Taking the peach in her hands, she lightly squeezed it, then brought it to her nose. “It’s firmer but still soft and it smells divine.”

“That’s because that one is ripe. It’s perfect.” I smiled, grabbing a plastic produce bag, and handing it to her. “Now find me seven more, just like that one.”

As Illyria diligently searched for my peaches, I couldn’t help but be aware of the constant attention she attracted—the lingering stares, the intrigued passerby, and the camera-wielding onlookers, eager to capture the beauty before them. Though she enjoyed a semblance of privacy with no one approaching her, it was curious how there was always a crowd of people clamoring to capture her image wherever she went.

The woman was a regular in the society pages, her name and face appearing frequently when she attended one extravagant event after another. She spent her entire life in the public eye, with cameras following her every move, leaving her with no privacy.

It wasn’t the way I wanted to live.

After getting all the produce I needed, Illyria and I meandered through the store, looking at all the items while she grabbed and picked up whatever caught her eye. And when we hit the frozen section, she about squealed in delight.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, opening the freezer door, grabbing a box of Italian Ice. “I used to love these growing up. Mrs. Rushton always made sure to have them whenever I was around.”

Grinning, I leaned against the cart and said, “Then grab a few boxes. They have lemon and cherry. I’m sure the kids would love to try them.”

Illyria smiled and started grabbing boxes.

Several of them.

“Illyria, we only need one of each.”

“Are you kidding me?” the woman scoffed, grabbing box after box of the frozen treat. “This is a gold mine. I have to get enough for the kids. They are going to love this stuff.”

Without uttering a word, I shook my head in disbelief as the attractive woman emptied the entire shelf.

Making our way to the checkout line, we found ourselves waiting patiently, and Illyria’s attention was immediately drawn to the tabloid section. With an exasperated sigh, she picked up a local magazine, flipping through the pages and shaking her head in disbelief, scoffing and huffing at the content every few pages.

“You know something, Aksana, if these vultures actually did five seconds of real journalism, they might actually get something right for once.”

“I never read that crap. It’s all trash, anyway. I think those magazines make up everything and try to outdo everyone else for the most outlandish story. It’s all about money to them.”

“What gets me is that people actually believe this crap,” she said, reaching for another tabloid.

“I like to think that a sane, normal individual doesn’t believe that crap, but there are some that do. Some people swear by what’s printed in those things.”

We walked out of the grocery store, the sound of carts being pushed and bags rustling filled the air, while Rurik efficiently loaded up our purchases. I sat in the back of the Range Rover next to Illyria, she couldn’t help but shake her head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe it. After everything we got, it’s a fraction of what I spend on take out. How is that possible?”

I chuckled. “That’s because what you order is bought, prepared, cooked, and delivered hot to your door. You are not only paying for the groceries, but for someone else to prepare the meal. Then you are paying for the cook and delivery person. Honestly, what you spend in take out on one meal, would feed a family of four for a week.”

“A week!” she gasped, looking at me.

I nodded. “Not everyone can afford to live the lifestyle you do, Illyria. Most Americans are struggling to put food on the table. This economy is horrible. Higher food prices, gas prices, even the price of homes have increased. Families all across the nation are pinching pennies and stretching everything they’ve got. It’s not a good time for the middle class.”

“So, what do they do? How do they feed their families?”

“Some find an extra job, some coupon, some just make do with what they have.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It’s the way things are, Illyria.”

“Is that why you like cooking so much?”

“I cook because it gives me joy. I’m happy in the kitchen, creating something that others will like. I like to see their faces when they taste something that reminds them of something or someone special. Food isn’t just about filling your belly with nutrients. When I was with Satan’s Angels, I had to shop and plan meals on a budget. Not because Steele didn’t have the money, he did. He only gave me enough to ensure I couldn’t get away. It wasn’t easy at first, but over time I learned to look for deals, specials and yes, I even clipped coupons. Now, it’s something that just comes naturally to me. I only buy what I need and nothing else.”

As soon as Illyria and I stepped foot inside the house, a feeling of unease washed over me, indicating that something was amiss. The sound of children crying filled the air, while the men engaged in heated arguments, shouting at each other.

Dropping the bags on the counter, I decided not to wait for Illyria and instead began my search for the problem. I had a feeling that whatever occurred was not as terrible as it seemed. Not hearing the distinct bloodcurdling scream of a wounded child was a relief for me, as it helped to alleviate a portion of my stress.

However, the moment I heard a man cry out, it became clear to me that he was in need of assistance.

When I entered the living room, I found all of them and immediately noticed Aleksandr sitting on the couch, clearly struggling to suppress his pain while Vladmir forcefully pressed on his leg. With a sense of urgency, I rushed over to Vladmir and gently tapped him on his shoulder. In a courteous act, the man shifted his position to the side, giving me the opportunity to have a clearer view.

Taking a seat on the couch beside him, I let out a deep sigh to express my weariness.

“And how did this happen, Aleksandr?”

The men all started talking at once. I applied pressure to the large gash on his shin, my question getting lost in the flurry of voices.

My impulsive nature took over and a loud whistle escaped my lips without any conscious thought.

Instantly, the room fell into a hushed silence.

“Aleksandr?”

The man grimaced while I poked around, getting a better look.

“Clara needed to use the restroom and asked if I would watch the kids for a minute. The second she was gone, Little Max made a beeline for Katiya, who toddled over toward Henry angrily. Henry pushed Max away and he fell, which pissed the brat off. Well, Max picked up a vase and threw it, intending to hit Henry, only it hit me instead and that’s when all hell broke loose.”

Maxim growled, picking up his son. “Did you try to hurt Henry?”

The little imp crossed his arms and glared at his father.

“Illyria, I am so sorry. I was only gone for a few minutes,” Clara quickly apologized.

Giving her son the motherly eye, Illyria soothed the worried girl while she glared at her husband. “It’s not your fault, Clara. I should have known my son would inherit his father’s temper.”

“Why are you mad at me!” Maxim quickly said, holding his son closer.

Henry walked over to his aunt, pulling on her pant leg. “Auntie Ria, are you mad?”

Illyria looked down at the sweet boy and smiled. “Not at you, Henry, and thank you for protecting Katiya. That was very brave of you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as my daughter toddled over to Vladmir, who didn’t think and picked her up, holding her close.

“This wound isn’t too bad. Do you have a first aid kit? If you do, I can clean and debride the wound, then sew it up. If not, Aleksandr will need to go to the hospital.”

“How do you know to do all that?” Vladmir asked skeptically.

Looking up at the man, I nodded. “I was a few weeks away from graduating nursing school before I left California.”

“Rurik, go get the first aid kit,” Maxim ordered.

“California? I left you in Virginia,” Vladmir asserted.

“Yes, you did, and then I left when King got word that the Satan’s Angels were scouting the area. He sent me to Louisiana, and I stayed with the Bourbon Kings before I had to leave again.”

Vladmir narrowed his eyes. “He was supposed to tell me if he moved you.”

“Does it really matter now?” I challenged. “I’m here now and safe.”

“Yes, it matters,” the man retorted. “I gave Valhalla my word that I would protect you and now I learn you were gallivanting across the United States?”

Slowly getting to my feet, I glared at the infuriating man and seethed, “Gallivanting? I wasn’t gallivanting anywhere, Vladmir. I was running for my life. I’m sorry if no one stopped to call and get your permission to move me. I’m sorry no one reached out to you to let you know that no matter where I went, the Satan’s Angels always found me. I’m sorry if I’ve been a thorn in your side ever since you met me, but I wasn’t taking any chances with Katiya’s life. She is all that matters to me. If those bastards ever get their hands on her, they will kill her. Do you understand that? They want to kill me and my baby.”

Illyria quietly walked over taking my daughter from Vladmir, as I took a step toward the man, who immediately backed up. “Do you know what it’s like to spend every fucking day living in fear? I do. I lived it my whole life. Never knowing if that day would be my last. Then, to have the man who was supposed to be my father sell me and force me to marry the vilest living creature on this planet, all because he wanted to secure an alliance, to take you and your friends down. YOU!”

“Aksana,” Vladmir whispered, taking another step back.

“NO! You don’t get to judge me. I did what I had to do and would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant my daughter gets to live free from all this shit. While you were off fighting your stupid war, I was trying to survive it. I was innocent, Vladmir. Caught in the middle of a war I had nothing to do with, all because some jagoff biker sold me to the very man who hated you the most!”

Nobody moved.

Nobody said a word.

As I became aware of the consequences of my actions, I quickly retreated and stepped back, observing Vladmir angrily storm out of the room. These people only wanted to help me. After they graciously welcomed me into their home, I proceeded to insult every single one of them, resulting in a deeply embarrassing situation for myself.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Please forgive my outburst. That was uncivilized of me, and I know better.”

“Aksana, what did you mean by Baranov hating Vladmir the most?” Maxim calmly asked.

Turning to face the man, I replied, “Because Vladmir told him no. In all my years, I’d never heard anyone tell Konstantin no and live.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted Vladmir to betray you. He needed someone on the inside of your organization and everyone he sent, you either turned away or killed. Over the years, he became obsessed with you. The legitimate son of one of his Two Spies . He hated that you and the others survived the night of the Bloody Massacre, but when he learned that you all made it to the States and were making a name for yourself, he knew he couldn’t just kill you, so he let you have the east coast, which pissed your brother Boris off to no end. Boris wanted the east coast for himself, because that’s where George Stone and the Soulless Sinners were.”

“The alliance.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I overheard Steele on the phone talking with Konstantin shortly before I escaped. They were arguing. Steele wanted to attack the Golden Skulls and just be done with them, but Konstantin told him no. That he needed to find someone first. Someone called Gray Greer.”

In that moment, Maxim’s posture became rigid, and if I had a knack for predicting outcomes, I would confidently bet all my money on the fact that Maxim knew exactly who this Gray Greer person was.

“Thank you, Aksana,” Maxim said politely before looking at Aleksandr. “Now, if you would please fix Aleksandr before he bleeds all over my wife’s new sofa, I would appreciate that.”

Nodding, I got to work.