“What’s the matter?” he asks, voice infuriatingly calm. “Come sit down and eat your food.”
I grit my teeth, fingers flexing against the counter. Part of me wants to storm out, to tell him to go fuck himself. But a biggerpart… a bigger part wants to march over there, straddle his lap, and finish what we started.
Instead, I force myself to take a deep breath.
I push off the counter, taking my sweet time as I saunter over to the table. D’s shirt rides up my thighs, exposing my curvy ass, and I know he’s getting an eyeful. Good.
I slide into the chair across from him, crossing my legs slowly. His eyes follow the movement, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
Not so unaffected after all, are you, big guy?
“Something wrong?” I ask innocently, mirroring his earlier question. “You look a little… tense.”
D’s eyes narrow, but there’s a glimmer of amusement there, too. “Eat your soup, Wren,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Before it gets cold.”
I pick up my spoon, maintaining eye contact as I bring it to my lips. The soup is rich and flavorful, but right now, it could be dishwater for all I care.
The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken tension. I shift in my seat, hyper-aware of every point of contact between my skin and the chair. Fuck, I’m still so wound up.
“So,” I say, desperate to break the silence before I do something stupid, “how’d a big, bad mobster like you end up playing house in the middle of nowhere?”
D’s eyes flick up to meet mine, a hint of surprise in their depths. “Curious about me,kotyonok?”
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Just making conversation.”
He takes another spoonful of soup, considering. “It’s… complicated.”
“Yeah?” I lean forward, genuinely intrigued despite myself. “Try me.”
D’s quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost thoughtful. “Sometimes, even monsters need a break from the darkness.”
The words leave me unsettled. Because fuck, I get it. I get it more than I want to admit.
I open my mouth, not sure what I’m going to say, when D suddenly lets out an enormous belch.
For a second, I just stare at him, slack-jawed. Then I burst out laughing.
“Well, that’s sexy,” I snort, scooping another spoonful of soup into my mouth.
D rolls his eyes at me, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up in a way that’s irritatingly attractive. Then, like the barbarian he is, he picks up his bowl and downs the rest of his soup in one long gulp.
“Didn’t peg you for a toy car enthusiast,” I say, nodding toward the shelf lined with matchbox cars.
D follows my gaze, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “They’re not mine. They’re Luka’s.”
“Luka, as in Sophia’s husband, the big boss, right?”
He nods, a far-off look in his eyes. “When I first came to America, I was already a teenager. Luka was just a kid. He had a whole collection of these. We used to play with them for hours.”
I try to picture it: a younger D, fresh off the boat, playing with toy cars. It’s hard to reconcile with the dangerous man sitting across from me.
“So, you keep them?” I press, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”
D chokes on his water, coughing for a moment before he composes himself. “It’s more than just… toys,” he says gruffly. “These were the first things anyone ever gave me just because. No strings attached. First time in my life someone actually gave a shit about me.”
The raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard. I swallow hard, unsure how to respond.
“ThePakhan… he rescued me from the camp,” D continues, his voice low. “Brought me to America. Gave me a new life.”
