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My gaze moved from face to face, each one a unique piece of the puzzle that had become my mafioso reality. Svetlana's enigmatic smirk caught my attention, a fleeting glimpse of warmth in her eyes. Her slender figure, still wrapped in a tight black dress, exuded a captivating allure that went beyond the superficial. There was a complexity to her, a mystery that intrigued me.
Igor, the towering guardian, approached holding a cup of coffee for me with hands that seemed capable of crushing stone, yet there was a warmth in his stern expression. I remembered our handshake, a brief encounter with his colossal strength when we’d met the day before.
And then there was Roman, the seasoned groundskeeper, whose connection to the manor ran deep—clear from the stories he told while entertaining us at breakfast. His weathered hands spoke of years spent tending to the estate, and his introduction hinted at a lifetime of stories.
"Ah, young master Nikolai," Roman began, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Your parents, they had a fondness for a particular rose garden at the far end of the estate. It was a hidden gem, tucked away from prying eyes, surrounded by lush greenery."
Intrigued, I leaned in, eager to unravel the tales of my parents' time in the manor.
"Your mother," Roman continued, "had an affinity for rare and exotic roses. It became a tradition for her to collect new varieties whenever she could. One day, your parents brought a unique rose to the manor—something they’d had shipped from Russia—a bloom so enchanting it seemed to hold the essence of our motherland.”
My curiosity deepened. "What was special about this rose?"
Roman chuckled softly. "They called it the 'Eternal Blossom.' Legend had it that it never withered, a symbol of enduring love and beauty."
He went on to describe how the rose garden flourished under his care, becoming a haven of tranquility for my parents. They spent quiet evenings surrounded by the fragrance of blossoms, the air filled with laughter and the whispering tales of the timeless roses. Some of the homeless immigrants they’d allowed to stay at the manor got their fingers dirty and contributed by the house by helping to garden these roses, which Roman told me my mother used to fill the manor with life.
"Three winters ago," Roman continued, a touch of melancholy in his voice, "an unexpected frost threatened the garden. Your parents were away, and I couldn't bear to see the 'Eternal Blossom' suffer."
My gaze urged Roman to unravel the story further.
"I worked tirelessly through the night, covering each delicate rose with protective layers to shield them from the biting cold. It was a labor of love, a testament to the connection your parents had fostered with this garden, and all of us, really."
He paused, a distant gleam in his eyes. "When they returned and saw the garden preserved, your mother's eyes welled up with tears of gratitude. That 'Eternal Blossom' became a symbol not just of their love but of the resilience of life even in the face of adversity."
I felt a mixture of emotions, a bittersweet connection to my parents through Roman's tale. The rose garden, a silent witness to moments of joy and hardship, became a living legacy. In that moment, I could almost hear the echoes of my parents' laughter amid the rustling leaves, and the bond they shared with this place became more profound.
A sense of camaraderie began to settle within me, a feeling I hadn't anticipated. The walls I had built around myself after my parents' tragic accident—well, what I thought was an accident—seemed impenetrable, yet these individuals, brought together by a common purpose—protecting me—were slowly chipping away at those barriers.
As I took a bite of my eggs benedict, cooked to perfection by Mr. Ivanov, I couldn't help but steal glances at Damien. He had entered my life like a whirlwind, stirring emotions that defied the promise I had made to myself. Damien's presence was magnetic, drawing me in with a force I couldn't resist. The way his eyes sparkled with mischief and the genuine laughter that echoed through the room resonated with me.
I couldn’t explain why, but I was falling for him. I was falling for him like a boulder pushed off of a cliff.
I hadn’t anticipated any of this.
But I couldn’t deny the warmth all around me. I hadn’t felt this sense of family, not really, anyway, in years. Grandpa gave as much as he could to me, but he was only one man.
Here, we had a full motley crew.
As the morning sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the breakfast table, I couldn't deny the sense of belonging that was beginning to take root.
“Could I see the rose garden?” I asked.
“Of course,” Roman replied, evidently pleased.
“You can,” Damien said, the authority in his voice sexy and demanding, “but Roman, please show him the green house, too. It’s important that he begins his training today.” “Sure, Damien,” Roman replied.
“Next will be target practice, Nikolai,” Damien said, pointedly in my direction, “with
Svetlana.”
Svetlana made an imaginary gun with her fingers, pointed it at my head, and fired it, mimicking its sound with a whispered “phewwww.”
“Are you finished with your breakfast, sir?” Mr. Ivanov asked.
“Yes, thanks so much,” I replied. “And you don’t need to call me sir.”
“Very well, sir—I mean, Nikolai.”
