Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman) by Nicole Fox

Author:Nicole Fox [Fox, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nicole Fox
Published: 2019-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Roman

Things with Lucy have become so domesticated. It’s a foreign concept for me. My whole life, I grew up on my own. Nobody to look after me, nobody to just be there. Aside from just seeing my family every day, this was the one thing I missed the most. I missed knowing that if I ever needed something, I’d have someone willing to help.

Lucy has become that person.

In the mornings, she wakes up earlier than me. There’s a pot of coffee on, and breakfast is on the table. I never have to think about what I’m going to eat because she has it covered. We’ve worked up that kind of rhythm, and it’s surprisingly nice getting used to it. I try hard to hate it, to put myself off it so I don’t become accustomed, but I can’t.

After breakfast, she writes, and I work out. This is our routine. It’s dependable. I don’t wonder where she is or if she’s safe because I know that she is.

But the part I like the most about these few weeks spent with her at the safe house is dinner.

We cook together. Lucy tells me all about how her grandmother used to be an amazing cook and that she learned everything from the woman. She’s too old to take care of herself now, so Lucy had to pick up the recipe book and keep the wheels turning. Here at the safe house, she’s brought some of the best recipes with her.

Tonight, we make honey-baked salmon, baked green beans, and a side salad with a sesame seed dressing. I don’t say anything, but I’m kind of embarrassed that I’ve never had anything this nice. Before Lucy, I ate to stay alive. I didn’t find anything particularly special about dinner. A slab of steak and something green, all seasoned lightly, was enough to get me through the evening. But now that she’s introduced me to newer ingredients and flavors, I might be hooked.

“That’s probably gonna be super spicy,” she notes, glancing at the crushed red pepper I sprinkle on my salmon filet.

“I like spicy,” I smirk.

“Fair enough. Don’t let me yuck your yum.” Once we’re finished seasoning everything, she puts it in the oven and gets started on mixing the drinks. Since we’ve been here three weeks, she decided that she wanted to do something special and make cocktails for us. Same as my food, I usually drink liquor straight. I don’t need any frilly things to make it tolerable. I’m not drinking for flavor, after all.

But again, I relent, letting her have her way. It seems to be something that makes her happy, and I’m happy to provide. She’s good at this anyway. As she flits around the kitchen preparing the drinks, I sit back in my chair and nurse my glass of water. It’s a big mistake, but I know that I could get used to this.

Unfortunately, after tomorrow, there won’t be this anymore.

“I’m thinking we’ll get started at dawn,” I say. She continues to mix a pitcher of juice and alcohol when she turns to look at me.

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