Page 11 of Cruel Bet

“Thank you,” I reply, not knowing what they are. But my stomach growls again at the mention of food and I head over to join him sitting on a stool on the island in the middle of the room.

He continues to work in silence for a moment longer, expertly working the dough into twisted shapes that resemble a cinnamon bun before placing them into the oven. Wiping hishands on a dishcloth, a puff of flour lingering in the air, he says, “Coffee?”

“Yes, please. Black, no sugar,” I reply.

“Sweet enough already,” he quips with a small indulgent smile as he goes to work the machine. The smell of rich coffee and sweet buns fills the room.

“That’s what everyone seems to think,” I mutter. If he hears me, he doesn’t comment.

Moments later, he places two steaming cups of coffee on the counter. In his, he pours creamer and two heaps of sugar.

“Me, not so sweet,” he says with a wink.

A small bubble of laughter escapes my lips at the absurdity of the situation. The fact I am sitting drinking coffee with a baking Kuzmin Bratva member after having been willfully kidnapped by their sexy Pakhan less than a day ago seems surreal. We continue to sit in companionable silence, enjoying our coffee. I’m tempted to ask Dimitri where we are, but I imagine if he told me he’d be in trouble, and I wouldn’t want that. But I do feel comfortable enough to ask him another question.

“No offense, but you don’t exactly seem like the baking type, Dimitri. Where did you learn to do it?”

He looks at me for a moment, as if contemplating how much to tell me.

“I learned when I was young, but I was in prison for a long time. They gave me a job in the kitchen. I became good,” he says with a shrug.

I know better than to ask what he went to jail for, or how long. But I am curious to know how he came to be working with Nikolai.

“I see. Have you been a, um… chef… for the Kuzmins for long?” I ask.

He lets out a belch of laughter, “I have been with the Kuzmin Bratva since I was a small boy in Russia. But not as a chef. However, these days I help Pakhan Nikolai in a more… home-based capacity. I am old and blind in one eye, not the best shot now. Nikolai is a good man and a good leader. I am proud to serve him.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. Clearly, he cares for Nikolai and there’s history there. I’m intrigued to learn more, but I don’t know how to ask without it seeming like I am prying. Before long, a timer goes off and Dimitri removes the steaming pastries from the oven to cool. Moments later, he hands me one, it’s still warm and smells of cinnamon.

“Mmm, oh my god, that’s delicious!” I groan. They really do taste like Cinnabons, but better.

Dimitri beams at me. “They’re Pakhan Nikolai’s favorite, and my secret recipe,” he says proudly.

“Well, I for one would love to know your secret!”

His face turns serious, “I bet you are wondering how I got this scar? They tortured me for days, asking for my secrets. They did not succeed. If you think a pretty face is going to make me reveal this one, well then…”

At the look of shock on my face at his sudden change of attitude, he breaks into a grin, “…Then, you’re absolutely right! I can teach you now if you like?”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, laughing with relief.

“Sure, I’d love to, thank you.”

A couple of hours and a few failed attempts later, I pull out a tray of my very ownplushkis. The sense of pride and accomplishment I feel is silly, all things considered. But for a short while, I actually had fun and forgot about everything. When they’re ready we both bite into them while sharing another batch of coffee.

“These areochen vkusno! Very good,” Dimitri exclaims proudly.

“Mmm, oh wow, they are good, if I say so myself,” I reply with a small smile.

“I see you two are having fun,” a familiar voice from behind me says.

I whip around to see Nikolai standing and watching us in the doorway. The sight of him takes my breath away and I’m immediately aware of how I must look, covered in flour, hair tied back in a messy topknot. I got hot during the process and threw my sweatshirt off in favor of an apron, I feel surprisingly exposed now in just my swimsuit and thin pants. If he notices he doesn’t let on.

He seems far more relaxed than I’ve seen him yet. Though perhaps that’s just to do with the fact that he’s dressed casually in a plain t-shirt and sweats. Plus, I get the impression he’s just woken up. The t-shirt hugs his torso and I notice that his arms are covered in tattoos, beautifully intricate designs that snake around his strong biceps and up out of sight. I try not to let myeyes linger any lower where I can see the bulge his sweatpants cling to.

“Pakhan, I’m glad to see you are rested. I was just teaching Miss De Luca to makeplushkis. She’s quite good,” Dimitri says, seemingly unconcerned by Nikolai’s cool tone and foreboding presence.

I wonder for a moment if we’ve upset him somehow as he doesn’t reply right away, he just raises an eyebrow and surveys us.

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