Page 21 of Kidnapped By the Mafia Boss
I gasp when I walk into the bedroom and see the dress.
Back at the house, Voronov accompanied me to my room and told me he’ll return to take me for dinner in an hour, and that I should be ready.
“There is something waiting for you,” he assured me when I caught his arm and asked what I should wear. And he’s right.
The fabric is silk, with a pattern of leaves and roses, and it fits perfectly when I try it on, hitting the ideal length to flatter my legs.
The other thing he’s right about is anticipation. By the time he knocks, my belly is full of butterflies, even though we’ve spent the whole day together. I’m glad we waited.
I find Voronov looking at the spot to the side of the door where he kissed me this morning, and I blush at the recollection of how shameless I was. Am.
He has showered and is wearing a clean suit with a black bow tie. He’s casually holding an enormous bouquet.
“For you.” He offers me the roses in brown paper and wrapped with a ribbon. There’s a small greetings card tucked into the blooms, and my heart stutters.
“Thanks,” I say shyly. No one has brought me flowers before. The scent of the flowers meets my nose as I take them from him, and already this is a million times better than my date with Howard. Even accounting for the fact I can’t remember half of it.
I open the card, and find in bold black handwriting, “For the only first date that matters. D.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“You look beautiful,” Voronov says in that rumbly voice.
“So do you.” And that’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, because he barks a laugh and offers his arm. But it’s true. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, but with a rugged, older edge from his short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and close-cut beard.
He leads me outside into the still, warm night air and for a second, I’m confused. Then I see the table underneath an oak tree. Its branches are draped with string lights, and there are candles everywhere. It’s magical.
“Did you do this?” I ask.
“In a manner of speaking.” He tips his head and pulls out a chair for me. “When you mentioned you’d like a date, I made arrangements.”
I feel like a princess as he slides the seat in for me. I mean… It’s not as though I can’t do it myself. But his care and attention are special.
There’s a serving table off to the side, in the dark, and my date or captor or stalker or whatever he is, disappears into the black for a second before reemerging with two bowls.
“Italian?” I query, looking at the spaghetti with sauce as he sets it in front of me. “I thought as your captive I’d get your native meals?”
His lips twitch with amusement as he sits. “It’s your favourite, isn’t it?”
I groan. “Yes. But not since…”
“You’re having a do-over,” he replies firmly. “That means salvaging everything, including your favourite food. We can move you onto delicious Russian cuisine in due course.”
I sneak a look at him. Does that mean we’re doing this again? I want that more than it’s comfortable to admit.
I shouldn’t. He is imprisoning me. Like the fantasies on my CatchMeKissMe account, these feelings are wrong.
“I guess we’ll have the chance since you’re keeping me here. Jailor.” It’s a bait, I think. I’m being bratty, trying to get a rise out of him.
“Da,” he acknowledges wryly. “Do not imagine other Bratva bosses would give you Italian food, zayka. We are proud people. Here.” He passes me a bowl of parmesan and, thinking of Howard, I take a little.
“Is that all the cheese you want?” Voronov demands as I put it down.
Our gazes meet. His ice-blue eyes are tinted green by the yellow light of the candles.
“I shouldn’t…” I don’t know why I don’t deny it. Just say I’ve got enough.
“But cheese is delicious.” He picks the bowl up and scoops the spoon in. “The whole point of Italian food, no?”
