22

Lucy
Cool soft sheets touch my bare skin. I wake up in total bliss. My body feels relaxed and wonderful. I smell something wonderful from the kitchen.
I sit up and look around. The sinking sun makes Lake Michigan glow a beautiful peachy pink. I must’ve fallen asleep after sex.
And that sex.
Whoa.
That was how Ravil was at Black Light. After I cried red because he choked a man for me. After he had to win me back. The time he got me pregnant.
I hadn’t forgotten, but that passionate side of him is normally so hidden, I’d started to wonder if I’d made it up. Or embellished. But no. That was the Ravil I’ve been masturbating to. Not the cool, manicured dominant who knows exactly what to say or do to make my body turn inside out. I appreciate that side, too. But seeing him unbuttoned, seeing a glimpse of the real Ravil-that’s the part that means something.
Our child was conceived in a fit of total passion.
Passion we both still feel for each other.
I get up, pull on a t-shirt and pair of yoga pants and test the door handle. It’s open. No giant Russian sitting guard outside the door, either.
On my bare feet, I pad toward the living room where I hear the boisterous sounds of men speaking in accented English. I guess they’ve given up the farce? Or maybe they’ll switch back to Russian when they see me.
I spy Ravil in the kitchen, pulling a tray of perogies from the oven with a hot pad, looking far more domestic than I could have imagined. His face blooms into a warm smile when he sees me. Gone is the inscrutable mask he normally wears. The handsome but cool facade. There’s genuine delight in his expression.
And damn, he looks adorable cooking.
“You didn’t actually make those yourself, did you?” I ask. My voice sounds husky from sleep.
A guffaw sounds from the couch. Maxim tosses an arm over the back of the sofa to twist grin at me. “As if. Ravil only knows how to heat food up.” English. Huzzah!
I lift my brows playfully. “Are you speaking to me now? I’m so honored.” I’m teasing-there’s no rancor behind the words. I simply don’t feel it right now.
Maxim darts a glance Ravil’s way. “I always spoke to you. It just wasn’t always in a language you understood.” He winks at me.
“Stop flirting with my-” Ravil breaks off mid-growl. I’m not sure what he was going to say. My captive? My prisoner? My lover? “-lawyer,” he finishes. He slides the perogies onto a plate.
“Your lawyer?” I scoff, strolling into the kitchen like this is my house, too. Like I’m a roommate here not a prisoner. Like I’m Ravil’s girlfriend.
Was that what I wanted him to say? Surely not.
“I’m Adrian’s lawyer, not yours,” I remind him. “Bear that in mind because you do not enjoy attorney-client privilege with me. Your secrets aren’t safe.”
Dima makes an exploding sound from the table where he’s working. His twin mimes a plane crashing. They’re laughing at Ravil.
The whole scene puts me more at ease than I’ve been since I arrived. Like I’m in on the one big happy family thing they have going.
“Don’t worry,” Dima pipes up, looking my way. “He doesn’t bake for any of his other lawyers. You’re definitely something more.”
I smile because it’s funny to see Ravil getting ribbed. It’s even more fun to see him as relaxed as I feel.
“Come, kitten.” He beckons me over. He has a tall glass of milk sitting on the countertop. “Drink this while the perogies cool. And the answer is no, I didn’t make them. Mrs. Kuznetzov brought them up ready to bake. I have them on daily order for you.”
“And he won’t let us touch them!” Pavel calls from the living room. “Not even the day-old ones. In case you get hungry in the night.”
“That’s good because I seem to want them for every meal.” I reach for one from the plate, but Ravil pulls it out of my reach.
“They’re too hot.”
He plops a container of organic strawberries in front of me. “Snack on these. I already washed them.”
Damn. Ravil is sweet. Sweeter than I want him to be. I could get used to being treated like that. And where would that get me? I’m not staying here permanently-that idea is ludicrous. Ravil doesn’t get to kidnap a woman and keep her.
But would it be so bad? a little voice in my head whispers.
Yes! It would. I bite into a juicy strawberry, savoring the taste. I’ve never sampled one so juicy, so sweet. Or is that my senses are all heightened from the sex and the physical pleasures Ravil constantly throws at me?
“What else do you want?” Ravil asks. “You don’t have to eat perogies, I just wanted them on hand if you craved them again.”
“I want perogies.”
“I guess there’s no doubt that our baby’s Russian, ah?” Maxim says, wandering into the kitchen. He grabs a perogie and bites into it, then exclaims and opens his mouth, panting. “Hot!”
“You should’ve warned him,” I scold.
“He should’ve obeyed my order not to touch them,” Ravil counters.
“Cocksucker,” Maxim mutters, but it’s obviously with affection.
Oleg gets up from his chair in the living room and walks to the door.
“Where are you going, Oleg?” Ravil asks, even though he can’t speak.
“It’s Saturday night,” Maxim reminds him.
Ravil looks blank.
“He goes to that club to listen to music on Saturdays.”
Oleg lifts a hand to wave goodbye and walks out.
Maxim says, “There’s a girl.”
Ravil’s brows shoot up. “Oleg goes to a club to meet a girl?”
Maxim shrugs. “To see a girl. She’s the lead singer of the band. He has a thing for her.”
Ravil shares a who knew? look with me, as if I know Oleg well enough to be as surprised as he is.
“He has a big thing for her,” Maxim says, waggling his brows.
“So you’ve met her? What’s the story?”
“Well, I went with him once to see where he was going every Saturday. And that’s when I saw. She knows he comes to see her and flirts up a storm with him.”
Ravil cocks his head. “Huh. I’m having a hard time picturing it.”
“You’ll have to see it for yourself. Maybe you can help him ask her out.”
“Why didn’t you?” Ravil demands.
“Because he acted like he was going to knock my teeth out if I pushed. But with you, it might be different.” Maxim’s phone rings, and he looks at the screen. “Ugh. It’s Igor.”
Ravil sends him some sort of meaningful look.
Maxim holds the phone, looking at the screen.
“Are you going to answer it?”
Maxim says something in Russian that sounds like a swear. “No.”
“The man is dying, and you won’t take his call?”
Maxim waits until the phone stops ringing then tucks it into his pocket, his shoulders sagging. “He wants me to come back to Russia.”
“To take his place?”
“Fuck if I know, but there’s no way I’m going. I prefer it here. With you.” He elbows Ravil who rolls his eyes.
Ravil’s phone starts ringing. He looks at the screen and sighs. “Igor.” He points a finger at Maxim. “You’re the cocksucker.” He answers the call in Russian. His voice grows gentle, and I realize they weren’t being figurative about the man dying. Ravil speaks as if he’s soothing the man.
“Who’s Igor?” I whisper.
“The bratva boss in Moscow,” Maxim says in a low voice. “He has pancreatic cancer. Everyone’s jockeying to take his place.” He holds his hands up. “But not me. You couldn’t pay me enough to move back and run the show there.”
“Is he Ravil’s boss?” I try not to sound too interested. Or that my interest is more than mere curiosity.
Maxim gives a casual shrug. “Da. But he won’t be called back because he’s done so well here. Our real estate mogul owns six buildings here.”
Ravil hangs up and looks at Maxim. “You’re in luck. He’s already named Vladimir as his successor. There will be challenges, but none of that concerns us.”
“So why does he want me out there? I’m not going to play advisor to Vladamir. That rat doesn’t deserve my strategies.”
“He said he wants to give you something before he dies. In person. It sounds like it’s very important to him. Get on a fucking plane tomorrow, I don’t think he’ll last much longer.”
Maxim scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Fine.”
“And call him the fuck back. I told him you were in the shower.”
“The shower? Really? That was the best you could come up with?”
Ravil smirks. “Call him, mudak.”
“Oh that’s cute. Are you cursing in Russian so you won’t offend the lady?”
“Get out of the kitchen.”
Maxim’s hand shoots out, and he snags another perogie before Ravil gives his backside a shove with his foot.
I reach for a perogie and bite into the meat and potato goodness.
Maxim steps into the living room and uses his phone.
“Mmm. Do you think it really is Benjamin who loves perogies?”
Ravil gazes at me fondly. “I think you both will always like them.”
Something light flutters in my chest. The idea of always. And our baby Benjamin. And Ravil looking at us both the way he looks at me now.