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“You mentioned the Lenkovs,” I replied, knowing I was being pushy, but I wanted to know more about the man I had agreed to spend the rest of my life with.
“I did,” he said simply. His gaze searched mine, and I sensed hesitation within it.
“Who are they?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he took a sip of wine. He trailed his finger along the rim of the wine glass, and I watched, almost as if I was hypnotized. He cleared his throat.
“The Lenkovs are a very powerful family that have been here for much longer than I have,” he replied.
His expression was a mask, and I was left guessing what it meant, but I had a pretty good idea that the Lenkovs were something like a mafia family, maybe bratva by the sound of it. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought those existed anymore and were just something from books, television, and movies, but maybe I’d been wrong.
The other possibility was that they were just some filthy rich family that had their hands in everything, so much so that the law didn’t apply to them anymore. One thing was clear: they took part in illegal gambling and had no problem killing anyone over it.
“You’re not from here?” I asked, feeling as though the conversation had taken a much safer turn now.
“No. I was born in Moscow. I came to America a few years ago and started to make my mark in New York, but I’ve decided to settle down in Chicago now that I am a man of means,” he replied.
With one hand, he gestured for the waitress’ return, and she filled my water glass. I had finished my champagne and she whisked that away. I didn’t even look up when she placed my meal in front of me. It looked decadent, and I had to remind myself to dig in right away. I should be polite. I glanced up to see Sergei’s plate and my jaw dropped. His steak was cooked with absolute perfection and the mushrooms made my mouth water. The waitress placed another plate in the center of the table.
“The chef wanted you to try hispelmeni. Should you approve, he will add this to the menu in your honor, sir,” she said quietly.
“Thank you, Daria,” he smiled. His courteous treatment of the staff was admirable. He wasn’t demanding, nor did he talk down to them, and that made me like him even more.
“What ispelmeni?” I asked shyly.
“The chef’s family recipe. They are hand-made dumplings, stuffed with wagyu beef and onion, and served in a buttery white wine reduction,” she explained.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Of course,” she bowed her head. Sergei plucked a fork off the table and speared a dumpling. He stood up and slowly guided it to my mouth.
“Open for me,moya malyshka,” he commanded. I glanced at the waitress, but she bowed her head and I obeyed.
The dumpling pressed against my tongue, and I chewed slowly as the incredibly rich and savory flavors burst across my tongue. I couldn’t help but moan in delight. I’d never tasted anything like it. I finished chewing and swallowed before I sat back, feeling comforted and more at home than I ever thought I would.
“That’s really good,” I said quietly.
“Very good, Daria. My wife here comes from California, so if you can win her over, the chef’s dish will do very well on the menu indeed,” he smiled. He speared another and ate it himself. Daria waited and he nodded, adding in his own confirmation before she smiled and left us to dine on our own.
I looked at the caviar on my plate a bit incredulously, noticing that there was an extravagant amount of lobster claw meat throughout the whole dish. I dipped my fork into it, trying to get a little bit of everything in that first bite. The first thing that hit my tongue was the slight saltiness of the caviar, followed by the very buttery flavor profile of the lobster. The cheese didn’t overpower it, instead adding a mild creamy flavor. I recognized it as gouda at first, noting that there was a hint of parmesan on top, which added a much sharper flavor. Altogether, it was perfect and when I paired it with a sip from the waitress’ suggested wine, it was heaven.
When Sergei saw me glace at thepelmeni, he used the serving spoon to add a generous portion to my plate. I finally allowed myself to start digging in, although I tried to keep it as ladylike as possible.
“I haven’t eaten much today,” I murmured.
“You don’t have to be shy around me,moya malyshka.Eat your fill. I won’t have my woman go hungry. Plus, I already ordered usmedovikas dessert,” he winked. His possessive words made my heart skip a beat and I bashfully ate another dumpling.
“Medovik?”
“It is a traditional Russian honey cake. I think you’ll like it,” he grinned.
I knew I should protest against him ordering for me or referring to me as his woman, but I couldn’t bring myself to. A part of me liked him being possessive about me that way, and I clenched my thighs together, noticing that I was much wetter than before.
What was this man doing to me?
CHAPTER4
Sergei Reznikov
