“We are from same village in Russia,” she tells me. “Boris is good man. He is lucky Marina puts up with him.”
“I’m sure he is.” I chuckle.
Everything is coming together for the stroganoff when I feel like there are more eyes on us.
“What’s for lunch?” I hear Ivan ask. His deep voice makes us jump. I turn around to see Ivan and his three brothers standing in the kitchen doorway, the four of them fill the doorway with their height and broad chests. I feel a heat lingering in my core, and I just know I’ll need dry panties soon.
“Ivan, did you know this girl cooks?” Mrs. Ivanova asks him while pointing at me.
“Yes, I did,” he answers.
“I see leftovers in fridge this morning,” she says. “I make fresh bread to go with lunch today and leftovers.” She points to the loaf of black bread sitting on the countertop.
“She’s helping me with the stroganoff,” I explain, turning back to the stove and stirring the sauce.
“Sit down, all of you,” Mrs. Ivanova instructs. “You eat.” She takes the spoon out of my hand and shoos me away.
I set the table for Ivan and his brothers, along with a plate of freshly sliced bread and a ramekin of butter. I take a seat between Ivan and Grigory, directly across from Dmitri. Mrs. Ivanova dishes out noodles and stroganoff onto all of our plates.
Bread and butter are passed around, and I fall into an easy conversation with Ivan’s brothers. I can’t help but notice that Dmitri is quieter than the rest. He keeps eyeing me like he’s trying to figure me out.
“Why does your brother keep staring at me like he hates me?” I ask Ivan quietly.
“He always does that. He works in security, so he’s always observing and trying to figure things out. Maksim does it, too,” Ivan explains.
“Does he ever stop staring? He’s kind of scary,” I tell him.
“Dmitri, stop staring,” Ivan says to his brother. Dmitri drops his stare and focuses on his plate.
When lunch is finished, Ivan’s brothers put their dishes in the sink and retreat from the kitchen. Mrs. Ivanova shoos me out, too, insisting that she’ll take care of the cleaning up.
“Emma, come to my office,” Ivan says, holding out his hand for me to take. I take his hand and he threads our fingers together, leading me down the hall. When we walk in his office, he closes the door behind us and locks it. He gestures to the couch, and we both take a seat.
“I need to tell you something,” Ivan starts, holding my hands in his.
“What?” I ask him in response.
“You need to understand what is at stake right now,” he replies.
“You’re scaring me a little bit,” I say nervously.
“What do you know about your father’s death?” Ivan asks.
“He was killed in a hit-and-run accident last year,” I tell him. “That’s all I know.”
“Do you know anything about his work life or business dealings?”
“No. Why should I?”
Ivan takes a deep breath. “Your father owed money to the Irish mafia. He borrowed money from them to pay your tuition to Cornell,” he starts to explain.
“How did you find this out?” I ask him, pulling away from him.
“I had a meeting yesterday with Declan Callaghan,” Ivan tells me. “He’s the leader of the Irish mafia in Boston.”
“Mafia? Wait, I’ve heard his name before…he was one of the people my father worked with,” I say. “Wait a minute, how do you know him?” I’m getting more confused by the second.
“He asked to meet with me. We have mutual business interests,” Ivan explains.
