She has to come to the kitchen with me, and she sips tea and watches me as I stumble my way through cooking the favourite dish of my childhood from a recipe I found on the internet. Proper steak in the stroganoff, salad, and butter and dill covered potatoes.
And I’m ridiculously proud when we sit down together to eat and she says it smells delicious. I’m even more pleased when she digs in and then closes her eyes in pleasure.
“Kirill…” she begins hesitantly, after complimenting the food far more than it deserves.
“Lapochka.”
“Is that really your name?”
I suppose it sounds strange to her English ears. “Kirill Yakovlev.” I smile. “What else do you want to know?”
“Everything,” she breathes, and her curiosity is a shot of something hot and pleasurable. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.” I expect her to make some comment about our age gap, but she doesn’t. Perhaps she shares my opinion that it’s the gap between her innocence and my black heart that’s the real issue.
“What do you do?” she asks. “Like, when you’re not in a mask?”
I’ve already revealed my most cherished secret—my hobby—and brought her to the private house I retreat to when London is too much. Holding back further is absurd.
So I toy with my food and say, “I’m the head of the Blackfen mafia. It’s part of South-East London.”
Her eyes go wide.
“Though I mainly work with computers. I enjoy computer coding and puzzles. I took over Blackfen almost by accident when I killed the previous kingpin.”
“You’re a mafia boss.” She says it like that explains everything, and I suppose she’s not wrong.
“But I usually make my money by hacking into the accounts of rich men who abuse their power, and taking their money.”
“Who?” She’s leaning forwards, intent. Food forgotten. “How?”
I chuckle at her enthusiasm. She’s adorable. “I know you could guess some names, but don’t you think you’d rather not be any deeper in this than you already are?”
She tilts her head, and there’s doubt in her eyes as she agrees with a quiet, “Yeah.” She pauses. “I can’t imagine spending time with those men. Doesn’t it repulse you?”
This I don’t want to talk about.
“I don’t hurt children or innocents, but don’t allow your soft heart to think I’m a good person,” I say harshly, and it instantly spoils her curiosity.
“I got that vibe,” she mutters, digging into the salad with violence. “Don’t worry. It was clear at the point of kidnap.”
Ah. Yeah. With how much I love her company, I keep forgetting that she’s not here voluntarily. What felt like a fun game of stopping her attempts to ask for rescue, wasn’t actually a game for her.
“I don’t like it, that’s the truth.” I shouldn’t tell her this, but I’m incapable of rational thought when it comes to Tess. “Idon’t enjoy spending time with those scum. I do it because I sometimes get information that I can’t access digitally. People still do things offline. Apparently,” I joke, but it falls flat. I’m silent for a moment. “And in a way, it’s only what I deserve.”
“What?” Her fork pauses halfway to her lips.
“The company of men like that.” I shrug, feeling raw and naked. “I think sometimes it’s appropriate. Compensation for my crimes.”
Her mouth twists as she takes that in. “But now you have me as your captive instead.”
“Yes.” I have her. Best thing that’s ever happened to me. That thought pops into my head unbidden. And I fear I don’t want another prisoner.
“Is there anyone else you could spend time with?”
“There’s a group who want me to join them. The London Mafia Syndicate,” I admit reluctantly.
“Why don’t you?” she asks. As though it’s that easy.
