Page 50 of The Bratva King

“Nik, be careful with the kid.”

“I would never hurt a kid, especially Luke. I like him.”

Pasha looks surprised, but he just smiles and eats his steak.

13

Gabby

The kitchen is enormous, and I’m certain there is food, but the very large Russian woman who appears to be the cook makes it clear that I’m not allowed to open the fridge.

We’re guests, and I don’t want to be rude, but I need to feed my son. Galina told me we were welcome to help ourselves. This woman has decided otherwise.

“Eggs?” I say. “Fruit?”

She stares at me.

I mime cracking an egg. I feel insane.

Nikolai walks in, wearing all black. His hair is slightly damp. He looks at me, then the cook.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

I feel terrible for being ungrateful, like I’m taking advantage of his generosity, but dammit, it’s not like I can walk to the store.

“I was hoping to find something for Luke,” I say softly.

“The kitchen is stocked.”

“I believe it, but there’s a bit of a, uh, language barrier.”

A six-foot Russian female barrier.

He looks at the woman, who is suddenly very busy wiping down the quartz counter.

He says something in Russian. Short. Two sentences, maybe three.

The woman turns to me.

“What would you like?” she says in perfect English. Zero trace of an accent.

I throw my hands up. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Irina will get you whatever you and Luke would like,” he says.

I shoot her a glare. I don’t appreciate being made a fool.

Nikolai moves to the coffeemaker and pours a cup. He looks at my empty hands, and I suspect the longing in my eyes, and hands me the coffee before reaching for another mug.

I hadn’t dared to tackle Irina to get to the coffee. She’d given me the impression that the kitchen was her domain, and I wasn’t allowed to touch a thing.

“Whatever Luke needs,” he says. “Just tell her.”

"That’s what I was doing."

"She's particular about her kitchen."

"I noticed." I look toward the hallway, suddenly too aware of him standing beside me.