Page 6 of Wrath
“Is everything okay?” It better not be something to do with Dimitri. He’d promised her current working arrangement was enough to cover the protection fee for her family’s restaurant.
“Tak, tak. Is okay.” He let loose a string of words in Polish, but Misha only had a limited vocabulary in the language. Born and raised in Cardinal City, she had never visited the country her parents immigrated from.
“Tata,” she said. “English.”
A big, loud sigh came down the phone. “You have to come home and talk sense into new chef.”
Noticing the teenagers edging closer, she stepped onto the train as its doors opened and took up a place near the door. “We talked about this. I can’t keep coming home every time you have a problem. You need to start solving them on your own. Roksana is old enough to have a go. And what about Ciocia Violeta. She’s there every day.” Her aunt was the feminine influence in her life after her mother passed away, and while Misha attributed much of her laid back attitude to the woman, Ciocia wasn’t good with conflict. Roksana was a bit flighty, but despite her youthful face, she was twenty-one and certainly old enough to handle her own battles.
“That’s why we hired the new chef, so you no’ need to come in all the time.”
She was sensing a but.
“But,” her father continued. “He is impossible. Doesn’t listen to us. We try and try andtryto explain how to make the kopitka, but he make something fancy and customer no’ coming and you have to tell him.” A shuffling sound came over the phone as her father must have moved for privacy. When he spoke next, his voice was low and surreptitious. “He make gnocchi, Mishka. Not kopitka. He make Italian food in Polish restaurant.”
“Well, that’s because they’re the same.”
He gasped. “You know that’s not true!”
It was. “So just tell him it has to be made the way you like or you fire him.”
“You no’ seen this man. Nobody tells him what to do. He is dangerous, and big like a house.”
The vision Misha conjured in her mind was riveting. A giant, dangerous chef? Sign her up for that adventure. Sensing her father needed to rant some more, she let him ramble on. The conversation went round in circles for the short ride to her next place of employment. As she listened to her father, knowing the vent was good for his blood pressure, she idly glanced around the cabin and caught sight of the horny teenagers still watching her, conspiring amongst themselves. Did they follow her, or were they going the same way? Whatever the case, they certainly had their eyes on her.
“Tata,” she said. “I have to go.”
“You have more yoga classes today?”
Her heart squeezed at her lie. “Yes. I’m very busy tonight, but I can come and see you in the morning. I’ll have a chat with your impossible chef and help him see sense.”
After a grunt of thanks—which was also unheard of—her father cut the call.
Misha stared at her blank cell as the doors opened. Heneversaid thanks. Filip Minksi was a proud man who had suffered from debilitating arthritis most of his adult life. He’d once blurted out in a fit of despair, that the condition made him feel like a burden, so he powered through what he could on his own. This chef must really be escalating things.
Well aware of the trio following her like lost puppies, Misha headed down the short street to where The Kremlin nightclub prepared to open. A few yards from the entrance, where the surly Russian bodyguard manned the door, she quickened her stride and smiled brightly as he ran a big hand over his shaved head. The six-foot-five man had trouble fitting through the doorway with his massive shoulder span, but Yuri was a softy at heart. She’d had nothing but quiet, kind words from him, and he kept the worst of the rabble out with an iron fist.
“I brought a few puppies, Yuri.” She slapped his rock hard pec with the back of her hand. “Should we teach them a few tricks?”
He looked down at her with a frown. “They causing you trouble,lapochka?”
“Oh, Yuri.” She felt her eyes soften. “When you call me sweetheart, I almost think you’ve changed your mind about you and me.”
His brown eyes darkened with unmistakable desire. “No,lapochka. When you changeyourmind about more than one night, then I am yours.” He raised his brow in question.
“Sorry, big guy. You know I’m all about spreading my wings.” She would not be caged.
Not an escort like some other girls in the club, she treated her body like a temple, but she wasn’t exactly stingy with her sexual conquests. Pleasure was a gift from the goddess, and she took her happiness wherever and whenever she could, especially when so much of her life at the moment was the opposite.
Although Yuri shrugged, disappointment burned in his eyes before he went back to standing like a soldier, eyeing the boys whose bravado faded fast. “You want me to turn their puny puppy bodies into sausage?”
Misha pivoted and winked at the group. “What do you think boys? Will Yuri turn you into sausages, or will you come back as paying customers to see the show a little later?”
Each boy blushed from head to toe, and the tallest one gave a salute before saying. “Um. We’ll come back and pay.”
“Yeah, no worries. We’ll pay,” said the second, and all three walked away.
Yuri grunted. “One of these days,lapochka, you will not have me around to keep you safe.”
