10- Something New

As Blake settled onto one of the high stools around the kitchen island, he couldn't help but watch Eleanor with a mixture of admiration and amusement. The way she moved around the kitchen was almost hypnotic-confident, graceful, and undeniably passionate about her cooking.

"What's the plan here, chef?" he teased, leaning back with a grin. "Are you trying to impress the entire mafia with your culinary skills?"

Eleanor chuckled, glancing over her shoulder as she expertly seasoned the chicken. "I figured if I'm going to be living here, I might as well make it feel like home-at least for a little while. Plus, you look like you could use a decent meal after everything that happened."

Blake couldn't argue with that. The events of the past few days had been chaotic, and his stomach was a testament to the stress. "You're not wrong there," he admitted, his mouth watering as she pulled out a large skillet and heated it up. "Just make sure you save some for me!"

As she began to cook the chicken, the aroma filled the air, mingling with the scent of spices and herbs. Blake watched, captivated, as she moved on to the steaks, searing them with a perfect sizzle. "This is impressive," he said, genuinely impressed. "You really know your way around the kitchen."

Eleanor smiled, a hint of pride in her expression. "My mom taught me how to cook when I was young. It was one of the few things we did together that felt normal, you know? I guess it stuck with me."

With each dish she prepared-rice and peas simmering on the stove, fresh vegetables chopped and ready for a vibrant salad-Eleanor's focus was intense. She danced around the kitchen, a whirlwind of activity, while Blake helped where he could, washing dishes and fetching utensils.

Once the main dishes were cooking, she turned her attention to baking. Pulling out flour, sugar, and chocolate chips, Eleanor started mixing ingredients for cookies and pies. The sweet scent of baking began to blend with the savory aromas wafting from the stove, creating a comforting atmosphere in the expansive kitchen.

As the cookies baked in the oven, she turned to Blake and asked, "How about some juice? I made mango and carrot juice."

Blake nodded eagerly, and she poured two glasses, the bright orange color a refreshing sight. "This is amazing," he said after taking a sip. "What's your secret?"

Eleanor laughed, a bright sound that filled the kitchen. "Fresh ingredients and a little love. That's all it takes!"

As the kitchen filled with the inviting smells of her cooking, more of Alexander's men drifted into the space, drawn in by the enticing scents. They exchanged glances of surprise and appreciation, murmuring about how rare it was to see someone take charge in the kitchen, especially in a place like this.

"Who knew Azazel's daughter could cook like this?" one of them joked, earning a round of laughter from the others.

"Guess we're in for a treat tonight," another chimed in, eyeing the cooking chicken and steaks with anticipation.

Eleanor grinned at the compliments, her spirits lifting as she worked. The kitchen, once a sterile space in a mafia estate, felt alive and warm with her presence. As the food continued to cook, she felt a sense of normalcy amid the chaos of her life, a brief escape from the pressures of her reality.

"Dinner is almost ready, guys!" she called out, a hint of excitement in her voice. "Hope you're all hungry!"

Blake leaned against the counter, content. "I'd say we're more than ready," he replied, his stomach rumbling in agreement.

As the kitchen buzzed with energy and laughter, Eleanor realized that perhaps this place could be more than just a prison or a battleground-it could be a home, if only for a moment.

Alexander stepped into the kitchen, his presence commanding as he surveyed the scene before him. The vibrant aromas filled the air, drawing him in, but it was the sight of Eleanor that truly captivated him. She moved with confidence, pulling a tray of golden-brown pastries from the oven, her hair cascading down her shoulders, a slight sheen of sweat highlighting her focus and determination.

Blake, oblivious to Alexander's entrance, was busy wiping down the counter, chatting with Eleanor about the various dishes she was preparing. "I can't believe you made cookies and pies too!" he exclaimed, an incredulous grin spreading across his face. "What's next? A full-course meal?"

Alexander crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, a mixture of surprise and admiration etched on his face. He had always known Eleanor was fierce and independent, but watching her in this moment-joyful, alive, and unguarded-stirred something deep within him. She didn't look like a mafia princess forced into a life she didn't want; she looked like a woman in control, creating something beautiful in a world that often felt chaotic.

Eleanor glanced up, catching sight of him and momentarily pausing. "Oh, hey, I didn't see you there," she said, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "Dinner will be ready soon. Want to help?"

Alexander raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Help? In the kitchen? You must be joking." The tension in his voice was playful, but there was an underlying seriousness in his gaze as he watched her.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" she insisted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You can be my sous chef."

For a moment, he hesitated, then stepped further into the kitchen, the warmth and camaraderie wrapping around him like a welcome embrace. "Alright, what do you need me to do?" he asked, masking the intensity of his presence with a light tone.

"Just keep an eye on the chicken while I finish these pastries," she replied, nodding toward the stove. "And don't burn anything!"

He chuckled, moving closer to the stove as she handed him a pair of tongs. The easy banter and laughter in the kitchen felt foreign yet refreshing, a brief reprieve from the weight of their circumstances.

As the two of them worked side by side, Blake continued to chat, tossing in jokes and lighthearted comments, keeping the atmosphere relaxed. Alexander felt a strange sense of normalcy in the chaos of their lives, a moment where they were just people sharing a meal instead of a mafia leader and his unwilling bride.

But the joy was tinged with an awareness of the reality that loomed over them. As Alexander watched Eleanor slice through the pastries with precision, the sight of her deft hands brought a possessive feeling that surged through him. She was meant to be here, in his space, and no matter how much she fought it, he was determined to ensure she understood that.

"You know," Alexander said, his voice low, "you have a talent for this. You should do it more often."

Eleanor looked up from her task, her brow furrowing slightly. "You think so?"

"Absolutely," he replied, locking his gaze with hers. "You belong in a place where you can express yourself, not just as a pawn in someone else's game." The weight of his words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the world they were navigating.

Eleanor held his gaze, her expression softening momentarily before her stubbornness returned. "It's just cooking, Alexander. It doesn't change anything about my situation."

"Maybe not, but it gives you a choice," he countered, his tone firm yet gentle. "And you deserve to have choices."

The moment was interrupted as Blake chimed in, "Okay, lovebirds, dinner is about to be served! Can we focus on the food, please?"

Eleanor burst into laughter, the tension easing as she shoved Blake playfully. "Fine, fine! But you're the one who's getting the first taste, so prepare yourself!"

As they prepared to set the table, Alexander watched Eleanor move with grace and confidence. In that kitchen, she was not just Azazel's daughter or a pawn in a larger game; she was Eleanor Montgomery-a force of nature that he was drawn to, regardless of the consequences.

And as she laughed with Blake, he couldn't shake the feeling that this moment was just the beginning of something much deeper, something that would inevitably intertwine their fates even further. No matter how hard she tried to resist, he knew that Eleanor was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep her close.

As Blake and Eleanor placed the steaming plates of food in front of Alexander's men, the atmosphere in the dining room shifted to one of eager anticipation. The rich scents of steak fried chicken, rice and peas, and fresh vegetables filled the air, making mouths water and stomachs rumble. The men exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued by the unexpected feast prepared by Azazel's daughter and her best friend.

Blake took a seat at the head of the table, a playful grin on his face. "Alright, gentlemen! You're about to be treated to a culinary masterpiece, courtesy of the amazing Eleanor. So, let's dig in!"

Eleanor watched as the men began serving themselves, her heart racing with a mix of nervousness and pride. She had poured her heart into the meal, and now it was out in the open for scrutiny. As the first bites were taken, she held her breath, waiting for their reactions.

"Damn, this is good!" one of the enforcers exclaimed, his mouth full. The table erupted into a chorus of approving murmurs, and Eleanor felt a swell of relief and happiness.

"I told you she could cook!" Blake chimed in, winking at Eleanor. "This is what I call a proper meal."

Alexander took his place at the table, observing the scene unfold. His men were enjoying themselves, but his gaze was solely on Eleanor. The way she moved around the table, refilling glasses and checking on the food, radiated a warmth that he hadn't expected to find in the midst of their chaotic lives. She was fierce and defiant, but in this moment, she also brought a sense of family to the table.

As the conversation flowed, Blake and the men shared stories, laughter ringing out through the dining room. Eleanor found herself relaxing, despite the undercurrents of tension that still lingered between her and Alexander. It felt almost normal, like they were just friends gathering for a meal instead of being tangled in a web of mafia politics and familial expectations.

After they finished the main course, Blake stood and cleared his throat. "Okay, folks, the real treat is coming up next! Who's ready for dessert?" He gestured dramatically toward the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly baked cookies and pies wafted enticingly.

Eleanor laughed, grateful for Blake's ability to lighten the mood. "Alright, but only if you promise to save some room after all that food!"

As she headed back to the kitchen to bring out the desserts, Alexander watched her, a possessive glint in his eyes. She was spirited and resilient, traits that both fascinated and frustrated him. Despite her efforts to distance herself, every moment spent together pulled them closer in ways she couldn't yet understand.

When she returned with a tray full of cookies, pies, and the vibrant mango-carrot juice, the men cheered, and Eleanor's heart soared. As they devoured the treats, laughter echoed in the room, the earlier tensions easing into a comfortable camaraderie.

Eleanor couldn't help but smile at their enjoyment. "I'm glad you all like it. I could get used to cooking for you guys," she said, her voice light.

"Don't get too comfortable, Eleanor," one of the men joked. "We might just demand you as our personal chef."

"Yeah, and I'll charge you all for my services," she shot back, her confidence growing with each playful exchange.

As the evening progressed, the sense of unity and belonging wrapped around them like a warm blanket. Eleanor felt a sense of hope flickering in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more than chaos in her life.

However, Alexander remained acutely aware of the reality that surrounded them. His men were there, enjoying the food and laughter, but he could feel the storm brewing outside. Azazel would not rest until he reclaimed his daughter, and that thought darkened the lightness of the moment.

As the meal came to a close and plates were cleared, Alexander finally spoke, his voice deep and steady. "Eleanor, I want you to know that you're safe here. I will protect you and Blake, no matter what it takes."

She looked up at him, her heart racing. "I appreciate that, Alexander, but I can't just let this go. I won't be a pawn in this game."

He leaned in closer, his eyes piercing into hers. "You're not a pawn. You're my choice, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you both out of Azazel's reach."

Eleanor held his gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. She could see the sincerity behind them, and for a brief moment, the walls she had built around her heart began to waver.

But just as quickly, she reminded herself of the stakes. "I'm not sure I can trust that, not when my father is involved."

Alexander's expression hardened, his resolve unwavering. "Trust is earned, Eleanor. I'll prove to you that you belong here, with me, and that I'll always fight for you."

With that declaration hanging in the air, Eleanor felt the tension shift again, but this time, there was a glimmer of possibility intertwined with the uncertainty. As the laughter and camaraderie continued around the table, Eleanor knew that this was just the beginning of a battle that would test them all, both inside and outside the walls of Alexander's estate.