Morning Meal with the Pakhan

KAIA

I took a slow, deliberate survey of the room, absorbing every detail of my plush yet confining surroundings. It was a gilded cage, not unlike the one I’d been trapped in at Cristo’s place. The eerie similarities between the two situations didn’t escape me.

The only new twist was the unexpected pull I felt toward my captor. I silently thanked the heavens that he seemed oblivious to it. I wouldn’t put it past him to exploit it.

He had the look of a man who played dirty. Then a new thought struck me. What did the pakhan want with me?

There had to be a reason for him to keep me here. To provide me with my own ~room~ in his mansion.

I ventured deeper into the room, my steps slow and heavy, as if I were wading through molasses. The room was tastefully minimalistic, dominated by a queen-sized bed in the center, adorned with cream sheets embroidered with gold.

A hefty dresser occupied one wall, while a cozy sitting area nestled near a large bay window, its sheer cream curtains fluttering in the morning breeze. The air carried a faint scent of the sea, and I wondered if it was a figment of my imagination, a remnant of my time on the Zula where the briny, fishy smell had seeped into my very pores.

It had taken months to erase that scent from my memory. I dashed to the window, surprised to find it devoid of bars. I was accustomed to seeing bars on windows and doors at Cristo’s place.

But apart from the steel rooms downstairs, Aleksandr’s house seemed to lack any cages. My eyes widened in shock as I looked out and realized the house was perched on a cliff, and beyond my window was a steep drop ending in sharp rocks jutting out of the sea.

I swallowed hard as I looked down. No wonder there were no bars on the windows. One would have to be insane or suicidal to attempt an escape through it.

Turning back to the room, I approached the large wooden panels that made up an entire wall. I couldn’t spot a closet, but I assumed these panels concealed one. I nudged one of the panels and jumped back as the door swung open.

I pulled it open wider, revealing a rack filled with a few clothing items. There were some jeans, two sweaters, and a plain white T-shirt. I picked up one of the sweaters, checked the tag, and found it was my size.

I grabbed a pair of jeans, ignored the designer label, and saw they were also my size. ~What the hell?~

During my time with Cristo, I’d adopted a wardrobe of yoga pants and oversized hoodies to conceal my body from his gaze. Even though his stare was always intense, it lacked any sexual interest.

I didn’t want to give him a reason to look at me that way. I knew my curvy figure drew male attention, so I did everything I could to hide my body from him. He didn’t seem to mind and even let me order whatever clothing and products I needed from him.

Now, having these clothes chosen for me—clearly high-end and carefully selected—made me suspicious and curious about Aleksandr’s interest in me. I opened a drawer and found lingerie—bras and panties.

If they could even be called that. They were mostly sheer and looked so fragile I was hesitant to touch them. If I didn’t feel so grimy, I would have ignored Aleksandr’s request and gone down to meet him exactly as I was.

But after nearly seventy-two hours in these clothes, I desperately needed a shower. I grabbed the first set of lingerie from the drawer, then reached for a sweater and a pair of jeans, and headed into the bathroom to freshen up.

The bathroom was so luxurious. I was tempted to indulge in a long soak in the massive tub that could easily accommodate three people. But I opted for a quick shower instead, washing my hair with fancy jasmine-scented toiletries and using the matching face and body products I found on the counter.

How did the pakhan know jasmine was my favorite scent? I was beginning to realize that I had underestimated this man. If he knew so much about me and we’d only just met, I’d have to tread more cautiously around him.

I was in the middle of brushing my hair, letting the damp blonde waves cascade down my back. I’d been hiding under a soft brown wig while living with Cristo, my natural hair too conspicuous and attention-grabbing, and I couldn’t bear the thought of dyeing it.

Now, I glanced at the discarded wig in the trash as a knock echoed at my door. I set the brush on the vanity and stepped out of the bathroom. The last thing I needed was Niko barging in while I was still primping.

He seemed like the type to do just that. The door swung open and in walked Niko, his gaze sweeping over me before lighting up at the sight of my blonde hair.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Did you pick out these clothes?”

“This isn’t my house,” he replied flatly.

I scowled at his retort and stomped past him toward the door. He was clearly trying to get under my skin.

I trailed behind him to the elevator. After descending a few floors, we arrived at a grand corridor adorned with artwork. Niko guided me down the corridor, which opened up into a large, formal dining room.

My heart skipped a beat when I spotted Aleksandr already seated at the head of the table. His dark hair was tousled and slightly damp, suggesting he’d also showered before coming down.

He was wearing a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, revealing dark tattoos snaking from his chest to his neck. The fabric of his shirt stretched taut over his broad chest. I quickly averted my gaze, hoping he hadn’t caught me staring.

Niko escorted me to Aleksandr’s right side. As he reached to pull out my chair, Aleksandr gestured for him to step back. With a nod from Aleksandr, Niko left the room, leaving us alone.

I could feel his gaze on me, as if it was tracing a path from the top of my head to my sneaker-clad feet. Then, he pushed back his chair.

The air filled with the scent of bergamot and citrus as he approached, making me feel slightly intoxicated. ~What is it about this man that stirs something within me I didn’t even know existed?~ I thought.

The pakhan was a danger to me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. He pulled out my chair, and I hesitated for a moment before sinking into the plush seat.

As he pushed the chair back in, I thought I felt a faint stirring of my hair, as if he was taking a moment to breathe me in before returning to his own seat.

“Did you choose these clothes for me?” I blurted out, unable to bear his intense blue gaze any longer.

He traced his lower lip with his index finger, a smile playing on his lips.

“I did. They suit you perfectly,” he replied nonchalantly, causing me to shift uncomfortably in my seat.

He tapped his knife against a glass, producing a loud clinking sound. Feliks, a man I recognized, entered the room balancing a tray laden with food as if it were a daily routine.

He set a plate in front of me first, a vegetable omelet with a side of fruit and yogurt. Then he placed a much larger plate before Aleksandr. A large carafe of coffee was placed on the table, and Aleksandr reached for it, glancing at me.

“Coffee?”

I parted my lips.

~How can he act so nonchalant when I’m being held here against my will?~

“Why did you buy me these clothes? Why am I here?” I demanded, my voice rising with each question. I deliberately made my tone hostile to counter the strange feelings he was stirring within me.

He froze, setting the carafe back on the table. The room fell eerily silent.

“Mind your manners, kotik,” he warned, his voice a low rasp. “You wouldn’t want to know what happens to those who disrespect me.”

I bit my lower lip and folded my hands in my lap.

Aleksandr leaned back in his chair, watching me intently.

“The clothes were a simple courtesy since you didn’t have any of your own. I can have them removed if you prefer,” he drawled, seemingly indifferent.

“I don’t allow my men in the house, except for Feliks who stays in this room and the kitchen, and occasionally Niko. So, if you choose to go without clothes, you’d only be on display for me. I wouldn’t mind, if that’s what you want.”

I felt as if he’d sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

“I ~desire~,” I attempted to keep my voice steady, even as his eyebrows arched in a silent warning. “To ~depart~.”

He reached for the coffee pot once more, pouring into my cup before his own, then placing it back on the table.

He brought the cup to his lips, savoring a sip and emitting a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down my spine.

~Why does he make every mundane action seem so charged with sensuality? And why am I even contemplating such things when I should be plotting my escape?~

His voice jolted me from my wandering thoughts. “I need to ask you a few things.”

“Then you’ll release me?”

“That depends,” he said, picking up his utensils and cutting into the omelets.

“On what?”

He raised a forkful of omelet to his mouth.

“On your responses.”