Page 89 of Scarlet Vows
I tease her about cooking, but she’s fucking amazing, at least during the times that Magda lets her cook. She acts like she can’t, but she can. I’m okay at it, though a thousand times better than Demyan, who cooked a horrendous breakfast that one time. I mean, he may be able to bake a potato or sear a steak, but I have my doubts.
His sister, though… The girl can cook. She’s wearing the frilly apron, and two cookbooks lay open, plus her iPad, and she wields a big chef knife like she holds a scalpel as she peers at one of the recipes.
Her concentration, the apron, the fucking knife are such a turn-on that my cock stirs.
Like she can feel the start of my arousal, she turns and meets my gaze. She blushes such a becoming rosy pink that it makes my knees a little weak.
“Am I late? I’m not ready!” Her eyes light up at my tie.
I hold up a hand. “Nope, I’m early. Just thought I’d check on the source of all the delicious aromas in the air,malyshka.”
Svetlana smiles like a teenager at the silly name I call Alina.
“You can wait until dinnertime,” Alina mutters. “I’ve got enough to do without having an audience, like finish cooking and getting ready, so go do something else.”
Grinning, I head out of the kitchen to the foyer, and start up the stairs, when a pitiful bark sounds behind me.
Albert looks at me sorrowfully, as if he can’t possibly take the stairs. I roll my eyes and pick him up, scratching his little belly as we go up.
“You run up these stairs and down them all the time.”
Albert huffs and whines.
“Don’t give me that. I’ve seen you.”
Albert barks again and snuggles in like he hasn’t heard a word.
In my study, I set him down and pour myself a whiskey. Albert plays with his toys, chewing on a squeaky thing.
“You know,” I say to him, “Santo is coming tonight. He’s big.”
Albert stops, looks at me.
“I think he’s probably nice to dogs, but stick with me or Alina, or I’d suggest staying in my room.”
Actually, I think I’ll shut her door so he can’t see in there. It seems smart. I may get her to lock it, put some things in my room, a dress on the bed, or something. Not that I expect Santo to venture upstairs and into bedrooms. There’s a line between a casual tour and stepping into very private territory like bedrooms, but it’s best to be safe.
I top up my drink and sit at the desk, determined to do some work, get the info I want to discuss with Santo ready, when my phone buzzes.
Shit. It’s Demyan.
“How are things?” he asks, his voice low.
I’m guessing the kids are sleeping.
But it’s good he called. I fill him in on what’s going on with Yegorov Bratva even though Pavel and I send him daily reports. It’s a courtesy thing. I outline my plans for the following week, and then he asks about Belov.
I sigh. “Difficult. More so than I thought. The men have respect issues with me. I’m not my fucking grandfather, so I’m not fucking trustworthy. Melor, my second here, mentioned trouble they’re having with the Simonov Bratva.”
“Shit, we don’t have dealings with them. I know of them but don’t know them. We don’t cross paths. I can look into them, make some calls,” Demyan says, and I can almost hear his frown as he thinks.
“No, I appreciate it, but it’s fine.” Quickly, I outline everything Melor told me, all the things I read about the bratva,the fact that Santo has had run-ins with them, and that I plan to talk to him.
Demyan’s silent as a door clicks. “Listen to me, Ilya. You’re the most capable man I know, but you’re new at being a pakhan. Oust the troublemakers is my advice.”
“Melor doesn’t think that’s smart in this case. I tend to agree with you, but we don’t know these guys yet.”
“The solution isn’t getting into fucking bed with Santo. He’s a dangerous man to get involved with, and you’ll live to regret it.”
