I get dressed quickly in the Lounge clothes that have been laid out for me. The fabric feels soft and comfortable on my skin. I go downstairs to the study and bury myself in the files again. I need to focus. Too much back and forth with him is messing with my head. Hours pass, and I forget to eat breakfast. I push it off until my stomach growls in protest. From the corner of my eyes I see Ilay chuckle then walk from his chair to where I'm sitting. "I'll have the cook make you something."
"No, don't bother them" I say quickly. "Plus, there's a dish I specifically want. I'll make it myself, so don't worry and point me to the kitchen."
He raises an eyebrow but leads me to the kitchen, and when we step inside, I can't help but gape. It's massive, more like a high-tech laboratory than a kitchen, with every gadget and tool a chef could dream of. If this were a sci-fi movie, they'd call it "state of the art," and honestly, I wouldn't argue.
"You've never cooked in here," I say.
"Once or twice," he admits. "But I wouldn't mind my wife cooking for me."
I shoot him a look and open the fridge not surprised in the least that it’s packed. "I'm using your ingredients. Don't complain."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
I pull out chicken, vegetables, spices and start cooking my special spiced chicken and potato stew. It's a hangover slash comfort food. Ilay sits at the island, watching me.
The kitchen fills with the smell of simmering spices. "Smells incredible," he says. "Wait till you taste it." Two hours later, I plate the food and set it in front of him.
He takes one bite and his eyes go wide. "God," he says. "You're not only smart but a great cook too." I scoff. "Don't get used to it. This is a one-time thing."
"Yes, ma'am." He finishes two plates and we clean up together. Then head back upstairs.
SOMEWHERE IN RUSSIA
I sit in a guarded office building with two other men. The room is boxed in by narrow, floor-to-ceiling windows that let in a cold, gray light from the city outside. The walls are dark wood paneling, heavy with age, and the air is thick with the scent of cigar smoke and stale alcohol.
In the center, a large mahogany table dominates the space, surrounded by three leather guest chairs, one sleek lounge chair off to the side. Dimitri stands, his back stiff, pacing in short, tight strides, while Viktor leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes cold, as I stay seated, hands folded on the table, measuring every move.
The tension is almost a physical weight, pressing down with every flicker of the overhead fluorescent lights.
Dmitri slams his crystal glass onto the floor and it shatters with a sharp crack.
"How dare he?" he snarls, his face flushing dark with rage. "How dare he hand this to some nobody lawyer? A startup? We're talking about a trillion-dollar inheritance and he gives it to her?" He paces, his movements turning jerky and aggressive. I watch him, staying silent.
"I WAS RECOMMENDED TO HIM. ME. YEARS OF WORK, CONNECTIONS, RESULTS. AND NOW HE TOSSES IT ALL TO SOME WOMAN WITH A LAW DEGREE AND NICE LEGS?" HE LETS OUT A HARSH LAUGH. "WHY DID WE EVER LET HIM LEAD?"
I lean back in my chair, keeping my voice even. "You know how it works here. No one lets anyone lead. Leadership is earned. By strength." Dmitri scoffs. "Strength? He's gone soft. All for what? Some lawyer he wants to fuck? I say we kidnap that minx and kill her."
Viktor, silent until now, lifts his gaze. Giving him a death glare. "Watch yourself, Dmitri."
"No." Dmitri's fists clench. "No more watching. No more waiting. We act.” He pulls out his phone. “If he's not going to take this seriously, then we deal with the lawyer ourselves. Since she showed up, he's been sloppy. Distracted. We can't afford that."
“What are you doing?” Viktor asks.
“Calling Gregory.” He answers, “We have to act fast.”
I raise an eyebrow. "You want to go after her? With how much attention he's giving her? That's dangerous. One wrong move and he'll burn half of Moscow down for her."
Dmitri words doesn't falter, he presses on. "I don't care. Find a way to get rid of her. Cleanly. Quietly. I want her gone before she even knows what she's stepped into." The room goes still.
But I don't rebuke him. Because deep down, I know Dmitri has just drawn a line. And there will be blood.
Chapter 10
?
IRIS
By evening, I finally crack a piece of that damn stalemate. I jump up, practically vibrating, and tell him about the 89th clause.
