My white shirt on her full tits.
My dress pants on those sweet legs.
I’m not even going to think about her pussy, going bare in my Brioni, or I’ll lose my shit.
Good thing she’s locked in the bedroom where I can’t see her. Unfortunately, I can still hear her.
I’m chopping garlic while olive oil warms in a pan on the stove. Doing my best to ignore her as her endless complaints filter their way to me.
“I hope we aren’t having tomato soup and grilled cheese for dinner.”
I chop the garlic harder, my knife hitting the cutting board with more force than necessary. I wish I had a garlic press here, but no dice. My guys weren’t thinking about kitchen gadgets when they grabbed me supplies. Just cigarettes, food, and liquor. I only have the espresso machine because I requested it. And unfortunately, I can’t drink the Macallan they sent along because when you’re guarding a hellcat like Ekaterina Sidorova, you need all your fucking wits about you.
“Seriously, Andriani. How much longer are you going to keep me locked in here?”
I ignore her. She’s lucky I didn’t cuff her to the bed again, and I only made that concession because I didn’t have to head to the clearing for texts. Priest and Saint are negotiating with the Russians. All I need to do for the moment is sit tight. Plus, now that I’ve installed a camera in the bedroom she’s in, I can watch her if I need to. Besides, she can’t do much damage with the window boarded up.
“Have I mentioned that I’m starving? I’d give anything for a beet salad right now.”
Beet salad? What the fuck does this woman eat?
I shake my head and walk to the fridge, scoping out the containers. BlessZiaMaria. She sent me meatballs. Nobody does meatballs like myzia. I’m going to feed my lunatic ballerina good old-fashioned spaghetti and meatballs. There’s even a hunk of fresh Parm.
Ekaterina bangs on the door. “Answer me, Andriani. I know you’re out there. I can hear your knife, and I know you’re cooking something.”
“Who says I’m cooking?” I retort before I can catch myself.
“What are you doing then, dismembering your latest victim?”
She’s a pain in the ass.
“Yup. Gotta feed you something for dinner,” I call back.
“Gross. One step too far, Andriani.”
“Duct tape.”
It’s a threat I like to keep making, but the truth is, I must be a little fucked in the head because some part of me is enjoying this back-and-forth we have going on.
I finish with the garlic and toss it into the heated oil. It sizzles. Giving it a few stirs, I wait for her next ridiculous words. She’s quiet for longer than I anticipated as I grab two cans of San Marzano tomatoes and start cranking them open.
“Have you heard from Misha?”
There she is.
I haven’t, but that’s because I destroyed the burner before he had a chance. The point wasn’t to communicate with the bastard. It was to show him that we have leverage and that if you fuck with the Andriani family, you’re going to pay the price.
“Yeah,” I lie, dumping the tomatoes into the sauce pot with the garlic. “He said you should mind your manners and hold your tongue so I don’t have to send it to him in a fucking box.”
She goes quiet. After stirring the sauce for a few minutes, I give in and glance at the screen to see what she’s up to now. Pacing the floor, looks like. Probably trying to plot a way she can kill me using a bedsheet.
Not going to work. I don’t die that easily, and especially not at the hands of a Russian ballerina.
I stir in some dried herbs and salt, then set the pot to simmer while I rescueZiaMaria’s meatballs from the fridge.
“You’ve got to let me out of here,” Ekaterina demands, sounding frustrated. “I have a life, you know. People who are going to notice I’m gone. What are you going to do if I get reported missing?”
“Who, a boyfriend?” The thought tightens a knot in my gut.
