“Fine. I’ll see you at the club. At 8 o’clock sharp. And Maksim?”
“Yes,Pakhan?”
“Dress appropriately.”
“For fuck’s sake, maybe it’s time you found a wife…”
I hang up before he can add another word.
seventeen
Clara
"Ugh come on…” I grumble, fumbling with the cap of the oil bottle. My fingers feel clumsy, probably from the lack of sleep. I finally get it open and pour a generous glug into the pan. The oil sizzles and pops, the sound way too loud for this early in the morning.
I glance at the clock. Seven in the morning. Definitely too early for a Saturday.
I stir the pasta sauce, the rich aroma of garlic and tomatoes filling the kitchen. It’s a far cry from my party girl days when seven in the morning was more likely my bedtime than my wake-up call.
God, I can’t believe I used to live like that. How did I even manage?
Now, the extent of my rebellion is making pasta for breakfast.
I rub my eyes. The birds outside are way too chirpy, like they’re mocking my exhaustion.
“Yeah, yeah, good morning to you, too,” I mutter, stifling a yawn.
I’ve been burning the midnight oil for weeks now, ever since this merger between Caldwell Enterprises and Vortex Industries started. Late nights with the lawyers, poring over contracts, making sure we don’t get screwed over. It’s been a nightmare.
“We deserve every damn penny,” I mumble to myself, stirring the pasta a bit too aggressively. The sauce sloshes up the sides of the pan. “After all the shit we’ve been through…”
The business has been circling the drain ever since I stepped back. Dad’s been more interested in the bottom of a bottle than the bottom line. It’s a miracle we’re even still afloat.
My heart clenches, thinking about our situation. It’s not just the merger that’s got me stressed. It’s everything else, too. Losing most of our territories to those fucking Raven bastards… It’s a bitter pill to swallow.
I feel my anger rising just thinking about them.
The Raven. The faceless boss no one’s ever seen. It’s like fighting a damn ghost.
And then there’s the memory of that day. The day Jake was murdered. The image of that Raven mask is seared into my brain, haunting my nightmares.
Fuck.
A splash of hot oil lands on my hand, making me yelp.
“Son of a—!” I cut myself off, glancing over my shoulder to the far end of the room. The kitchen is big, stretching all the way back with its clean counters and shiny appliances, right to the windows that look out over the city.
I take a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. The pasta’s almost done, the sauce thick and bubbling. I give it a quick taste, the rich flavors waking up my tired taste buds.
“Okay, not bad,” I admit to the empty kitchen. “Maybe I missed my calling as a chef.”
I grab some vegetables from the fridge, chopping them haphazardly. Cooking has never been my strong suit.
Heck. I never thought I’d willingly step into a kitchen!
But I’m learning. Nothing’s going to keep Clara Caldwell from conquering even the culinary battlefield.
I toss the veggies into the pan, along with a liberal sprinkle of salt. The sizzling intensifies, filling the kitchen with the savory aroma of garlic and tomato.
