Page 20 of The Bratva Bosses' Surrogate

I burst out laughing, the sound filling the room, cutting through the tension. “You’re a quite simple girl, you know that?”

She smiles, a genuine one this time. “Why?”

“Because most girls would ask for diamonds and Prada bags, not that there’s anything wrong with wanting those. And I’d get those for you immediately. But it’s just, really? Grilled cheese?”

She chuckles, the sound warm and light. “All the things you order the chefs to cook for me are too healthy for me to enjoy. I need something less healthy, I guess. And greasy. Definitely greasy.”

“Fine, I’ll order the chefs to cook it for you,” I offer, already thinking about what instructions to give.

She shakes her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “No, I want you to cook it for me.”

“What?” I’m genuinely taken aback. “I can burn water, Sofia.”

She chuckles, the sound light and teasing. “Come on, how hard could it be? It’s just bread and cheese.”

I rub the back of my neck, feeling slightly out of my depth. “I’ve never made grilled cheese before.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes,” I admit, a bit defensively. Cooking was never my thing. I’m more about giving orders than following recipes.

Her smile widens, and she gives a soft laugh. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, Viktor. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

I look at her, this woman who’s managed to bring a bit of light into the grim situation we’re in. And despite my better judgment, despite the voice in my head telling me it’s a badidea, I find myself nodding. “Alright, let’s make a damn grilled cheese.”

We step into the kitchen, and damn, it’s like walking into a chef’s paradise. Gleaming countertops, every gadget you can imagine, and those tall window walls letting in streams of sunlight. The view outside is stunning, the gardens sprawling out beyond the glass. But I’m not here to admire the view; I’ve got a mission.

“Okay, where the hell do they keep the bread?” I mutter, opening and closing cabinets like I’m searching for hidden treasure.

Sofia’s leaning against the counter, a smirk on her face. “Usually where the other food is,” she quips, clearly enjoying this.

I shoot her a look, but it’s hard to stay frustrated when she’s laughing. “Very helpful, thanks.” Finally, I find the bread, and a small victory is mine.

Next, the cheese. I’m standing in front of the fridge, doors wide open, staring at an array of cheeses. “Which one is the ‘grilled cheese’ cheese?” I ask, feeling out of my depth.

Sofia walks over, pointing to a simple cheddar. “That one. You can’t go wrong with cheddar.”

Armed with bread and cheese, I turn to the stove. “Now, how do you turn this thing on?” I’m half-joking, but the stove looks like it belongs in a spaceship with all its buttons and dials.

Sofia’s laughter fills the room, and I can’t help but smile. “Let me show you, chef Viktor,” she says, stepping closer to help.

As I fumble with the stove, Sofia steps in to help, and suddenly she’s right there in front of me. I’m close, so close I can feel the warmth of her body and the soft rhythm of her breath.She reaches out to the knobs, and I can’t resist the pull. I step closer, my chest nearly touching her back, my breath mingling with hers.

“Like this,” she murmurs, her voice a soft caress in the air between us. She’s showing me how to control the heat, but all I can focus on is the nearness of her, the subtle scent of her shampoo filling my senses.

Her hands guide mine, her fingers light and sure over mine. The world narrows down to just this, the two of us making a simple sandwich in a kitchen too big for just us.

Sofia takes my hands, guiding them around her. My right hand comes to rest on her right side, my left on her left, as if we’re locked in an embrace. She’s facing the counter, and I’m facing her, our bodies nearly touching.

She focuses on assembling the sandwich, her hands deftly placing the cheese between the slices of bread. She’s showing me each step, but my mind is barely on the task. All I can think about is the feel of her under my hands, the curve of her waist, the softness of her hair just inches from my face.

“You’re awfully quiet back there, Viktor,” Sofia teases, her voice tickling my ear like a secret.

I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. “I’m just concentrating on making sure the sandwich is right.” Who knew grilled cheese could be this damn intense?

She laughs, a light, melodious sound that does strange things to my insides. “If you’re concentrating that much, you can do it yourself,” she says, stepping away and leaving me to fend for myself.

As she turns to face me, the proximity catches me off guard. She’s right there, so damn close I could count the flecks of color in her green eyes.

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