But what if this was some sort of code….
I turned back to the ledger and tried to find a connection. Maybe this was all a complete waste of time, but if I was right, then this might be the key to how he was cooking the books.
As the sun stretched across the chilly lake, I stayed rooted to the spot glancing back and forth between the cookbook and the ledger, trying to decipher the meaning.
“I didn’t realize you were so enthusiastic about cooking,” Dmitri drawled from the door, his eyes glancing lazily at the cookbook.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t even heard him come in, I’d been so engrossed in figuring out if there was a connection.
“I’m not,” I said, reluctantly shutting the book. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled. I’d consumed nothing but coffee and the words in that book.
“Looks like I’ll be handling dinner then.” Dmitri motioned me forward with a commanding flick of his finger. “Bring the cookbook with you. I’ll see if there’s anything interesting to make.”
“Weren’t we going out to eat with Jayden?”
“Jayden’s leaving us to our own devices for the evening,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb.
“That’s… odd,” I said, picking up the cookbook and the ledger, trying to decide how to approach him with my hypothesis.
“Not really.” He led me through the hallways like he owned the place. “Probably cleaning up whatever mess he doesn’t want us to find.”
“Should we be watching him?” I said, sitting on a cushioned stool underneath the huge kitchen island.
“Handled.” Across the island, he leaned an elbow against the marble, and stretched his other hand towards the book. “Anything interesting?”
I stared at his giant hands, and my brain stuttered for a moment.
“Ummm, yes actually,” I said, mentally smacking myself. I killed people for a living, was twentieth in the rankings, and yet I couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought to save my life.
“Tell me more.”
He leaned his chin against his tatted knuckles, and it was as if his presence was sucking all the breath and thoughts out of me. I’d spent hours trying to crack this code, nearly combusting from excitement, and now all I could focus on was the nearness of him.
I yanked my gaze away from him and focused on the cookbook. “I found this inside the library….”
Before I could think too hard that it was probably just a coincidence and that I should stay silent, I launched into my conjectures.
Dmitri stayed silent the entire time, and I refused to look up from the cookbook, unsure if I was more worried about his physicality killing my train of thought or seeing his reaction.
“So… what do you think?” I asked, finally looking at him.
Dmitri nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Smart,” he said.
I searched his face, waiting to find a hint of the sarcasm he was ready to unleash on me.
But a smirk didn’t cross his lips as he said, “It isn’t enough to bring back to the Pakhan.”
My shoulders slumped. Of course not. All I had was a cooking book with underlined numbers. How could I have been so stupid to think that this was actually worth working on? That I could do something that actually mattered.
“Yet,” he added, a frown gracing his lips. “It’s a good lead. I’ll have my men look into it.”
He typed something into his phone before flicking through the cookbook. His finger paused on the marked up page of chicken marsala.
With long steps, Dmitri strode to the pantry and appraised the fully stocked space like it was his own kitchen. He nodded to himself as he peered into the refrigerator.
“What’s up?” I asked, pressing my hands onto the marble, and trying to see what he was looking for.
A small smile crossed his lips as he pulled out some chicken, olive oil, and prosciutto. “I’m making dinner, kotenok.”
