Page 50 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

I park my car and see one of the guards standing near the side. “Excuse me. Can you please help me get the groceries in?”

He immediately walks to my car and grabs most of the groceries, striding toward the house to deposit them in the kitchen. I follow with the one bag he left behind with the meat in it.

When I walk into the kitchen, Claire looks at the groceries skeptically and then turns to me. “Is there something I can put together for you, ma’am?”

“Actually, do we have a slow cooker? And can you give me a quick show around the kitchen? I’d like to make this myself.” I give her a reassuring smile. “It’s a family recipe.”

“Of course, utensils are in these drawers or hanging up here. The pantry is over here, and I’ll take the slow cooker out for you and set it up.” She hurries around the kitchen, pointing out different things. “If you need help with anything, I am happy to be of assistance.”

“Thank you. Your food is delicious, and I’d be happy to teach you this recipe one day. But today, I just feel like I’m in the cooking mood. Do you have a spare apron?”

“It’s hanging on the back here,” she opens the pantry door and takes an apron off the hook. She hands it to me and I slide it on.

“Thanks,” I say. “You’ve been a huge help.”

“I won’t get in your way,” she says. “There’s plenty to do in the house that doesn’t involve the kitchen.”

“Thank you. If I get in your way, just tell me.” She leaves the room, and I unpack the groceries from the paper bags. First, I turn on the slow cooker and add a cup of water and two cups of wine.

I dice the spring onion and toss it in. I look around, and as I’m working and looking for things, I realize my mind keeps drifting off to Danil. He’s like a shadow at the back of my mind.

I wash the baby potatoes and put them in whole to soften. I find a pan, put it on the stove with some olive oil, and cut off what fat remains on the oxtail. As I finish the pieces, I throw them in the pan to brown them.

The smell that fills the room is divine, and I can’t wait to sink my teeth into the soft meat. Once the meat is fried, I put it in the slow cooker. I set the juices aside for now. Then, I fry some onions, carrots, green beans, and corn before throwing them in.

I set the slow cooker to high and prepare the gravy in the leftover juices from the meat I set aside.

While I prepare the gravy, I sing softly to myself. I hate humming; it sets my teeth on edge, and it’s not the kind of place I’d like to whistle in.

I chop up some fresh herbs and spices that I have, and I watch the knife carefully. Could I stab Danil? Could you get rid of him that way? I’d be killed, and also, the thought of hurting Danil sends a surprisingly sharp pain to my abdomen. I don’t want him to be hurt, and I’m hoping he will give me the divorce when I ask for it with the money.

The side hustle is going great. I’ve made a hundred thousand dollars already, and I have a big seller coming up whose paintings I’m going to go check out. They swear it’s worth at least seventy grand. I can probably get more for it. My clients like to spend money, so it won’t be hard.

But then what if I get the money and Danil doesn’t agree? I wonder if Kervyn can then get involved because, technically, the debt can be repaid. Shit, what if he doesn’t go for it? No, he will. He can’t deny half a million dollars.

I’ll need a little more than that, though, to leave Vegas. It makes me sad to think about it because I’m leaving Penny and Sam behind. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay in contact with them after I leave Danil.

His mother is going to be… shit. I slice my finger open and drop the knife. “Shit.”

“Are you okay?” Claire calls.

“Do we have band-aids?” I call back. “And maybe latex gloves.”

“Please don’t ask why we have both of those things in the same bathroom,” Claire jokes as she walks in with them.

She cleans my cut with some peroxide and then band-aids it up. I put a glove on that hand so that it’s hygienic.

I check on the food and stir it before I turn my attention back to the gravy. I would kill for a glass of wine, but not now that I’m pregnant. Cooking with wine and drinking it are two different things.

I spend the rest of the day in the kitchen perfecting the gravy to add to the stew and then keeping an eye on the food.

When it’s almost ready, I take out a pot and throw oil, onion, and crushed garlic into it. I flash-fry the onion and crushed garlic before I fill it with hot water and add a cup and a half of rice.

I set that to cook, and as I’m about to taste the stew again to ‘see how it’s going’, I hear Danil come in and call my name. “Asher?”

“Yes, in here,” I call out. It’s instinctive. I should give him the cold shoulder, but I can’t bring myself to tonight. All I want is to eat this delicious stew I’ve made and rest after being on my feet all day.

“Smells delicious, what is Claire…” he pauses. “I’m sorry, are you cooking?”

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