Love… is that what this is?
Mikhail
My evenings with Cassandra were the only tranquility I had.
Each day was filled with tedious searching and dead ends, as we hunted high and low for the rat scuttling around unnoticed through our own organization. The attack on the Empire might not have reaped any casualties, but the escalation of the bombing was a message, clear as day.
We were at war.
Each day, my team and I composed a new list of suspects. And each afternoon, we’d work through their backgrounds and alibis, reluctantly clearing each one. Whoever Cassio had working for him was well-hidden within my ranks, but I would find him. And once I did, his death would serve as a powerful message of strength to those who wish to rally against us.
The endless search was also taking its toll on my Bratva; the seeds of distrust, already planted from my transition into power, have continued to grow in dangerous ways. Now was not the time to be dealing withsmall, internal disputes of insubordination. That was yet another thing we couldn’t afford.
I loathed leaving for work each morning, sneaking away while Cass still slept, her dark curls forming a soft halo over the pillow. She was busy too, though. She was in the final weeks of her degree, and spent the long hours of the day slumped over her computer and notebooks full of scribbles, ferociously typing away as she completed various assignments.
Watching her single-minded determination was fascinating. Her delicate brows pinch down in piercing concentration as she works, puzzling out complicated budgetary concerns and economic issues in her brain, the likes of which I would never understand in a million years. I might own businesses, but there’s a reason I outsource such tasks to top-dollar professionals. That shit is complicated, and witnessing her work through it in her mind is beyond captivating.
She’s been staying with me since the incident at her apartment two weeks ago, and the time together has provided me with a grounding realization: I never want to live apart from her again. Meals, sex, conversations, casual touches. With her, it’s all different, and I never want to see a day without it. Withouther.
I set down the payroll documents I was inspecting, settling back into the curve of my chair. Ilya perches in his own chair beside mine, with the computer balanced on one thigh. “Find anything, Boss?”
I blow out a hot breath. “No.”
I was hoping that I could find some link, comparing my father’s old payroll slips and my current ones, but all I’ve learned is how messy the old bastard’s finances were.
He was backing everyone from prostitutes to sleazy street dealers, making it impossible to find one trail of consistency in the mess. I have, however, learned more about his feud with Cassio’s Mafia, which appears to have started when dear old dad pilfered a large drug shipment from their trade routes in an effort to expand into the drug trafficking game. I suppose Cassio now thinks stealing from our artillery shipmentsprovides some poetic justice. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like he’s stopping there.
I know I should stay late tonight.
Continue going through the endless spiral of history, documents, financial records…but I’ve already been away from my Menace for so many hours, and everything in me longs to return to her side, her magnetic attraction drawing me back to her orbit. I stopped at the care facility earlier, providing a much-awaited update on Cassandra to my mother, before collecting exactly what I needed to surprise my girl.
I stand from my desk, smoothing down the wrinkles in my slacks and slipping my weapon back into its holster. Ilya glances at me knowingly.
“I’m going to take the rest of the night off. Call me if you find anything.”
“Tell Cassandra I said hello.”
The asshole’s still smiling at me with that shit-eating grin as I turn and stroll toward the door.
A spiced combinationof onions and meat wafts through the entire apartment by the time Cass finally emerges from the room she’s been studying in.
The scent brings me back to a very different time.
A time when Nikolai’s laugh flooded the kitchen as we took turns chasing, Mother berating us to settle down from the stove. She only ever cooked for us when Father was away, so naturally, Stroganoff was more of a victory than a meal. A temporary fantasy, addled away by the violent reality of our true life.
All of this hits me in unexpected waves as I dice and stir, reconstructing her dish from all those years ago. A sharp pang of grief reverberates through my chest at the thought of my brother, but it’s somewhat soothed by the handwritten recipe that crinkles in my hand.
“What is that amazing smell?” Cassandra walks over to the kitchen counter before sliding onto a bar stool, a look of shock plastered on her face.
“Stroganoff. My mother’s recipe—though I don’t think it will turn out as good as hers.” I flash her a smile, enjoying the way her features melt into pure amazement.
“I didn’t know you cooked?”
“Cooking is just following instructions, baby. And as you might recall, I am excellent at following instructions.”
I give the pot one final stir before dipping my spoon to collect some of the creamy mixture. After allowing it to cool, I offer her the spoon. She moans as she wraps her lips around the metal, eyes shooting to mine.
“Fuck me, that’s good.” Her tongue swipes out to lick her lips clean, and the action causes a zing of attraction to travel down my spine.
