Page 55 of Brooklyn Bratva

“Good morning! I hope you sleep well, Becya.” Her eyes sparkled and I felt my cheeks heat up, hoping the walls weren’t as thin as I suspected they might be.

“Oh, yes, thank you. I was out like a light.” I cleared my throat, hoping my blush would follow suit, but it dug in stronger at my white lie. I had dropped off very easily. Once Ivan had worn me out. “The bed is so comfy.”

I looked at the table again, in awe, with an awkward pause because of the way she was standing there beaming at me. “Wow. This is so much food! You didn’t have to do all this. How long have you been awake?”

Mrs Kovalenko, shrugged. “I no sleep well. I like to cook. Vanya like to eat. Is good. Sit, sit.”

I pulled up a chair as instructed and she sat down with a pleased smile on her face as I folded the napkin she handed me onto my lap and started to put a little of everything onto my plate. She sat back, cradling her mug of tea and self-consciousness crept over me mid way through a bite of eggs. I was starting to get the feeling she knew what was going on between me and her son.

“Aren’t you eating too?”

Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head, waving away my question like a vaguely annoying fly. “I not hungry yet. Is too early.”

Any other day I would have agreed with her, but that didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Plus, Ivan had given me a pretty decent appetite last night and this morning. All things considered, I could definitely eat.

I’d just started my first mouthful, when Mrs. K slid another stack of prescriptions onto the table next to me.

“Call me Mama. You will pick these up for me, Becya, yes?”

I tried not to let the shock show on my face.

“Mrs K. – Mama – did you take all the ones I gave you last week?”

There had been enough painkillers in the bag I’d brought her to kill a horse. I’d assumed it was at least a couple of weeks’ supply. She didn’t look like she was addicted, but what did I know? Maybe she was.

Mrs. K blinked at me. “This is for friend. Look, see. Name is here. We play bingo.”

“Oh, right.” I frowned at myself. Of course it was.

“I say you work at Medical Center, she ask if you do favor and pick them up.”

“Of course. No problem!” Already I felt bad questioning Mama about her pills. She was a stand-up lady, and she’d been nothing but kind to me. There was no reason for me to start getting suspicious, especially when the whole point of me being here was to look out for her and pick up chores that were too taxing.

“Good girl, Becya.” She beamed at me, patting my wrist.

I folded the prescriptions into my bag just as Ivan stepped into the kitchen, towelling his short hair roughly. I bit my lip, leaning back in my chair.

The sight of his bare chest was never going to get old. I could spend all day counting the ripples of his muscles and learning every undulation of his chest and arms. It didn’t matter that I’d just had him, I wanted him all over again.

He ducked down to kiss me full on the lips, rendering the question about when he wanted to tell his mother about us totally pointless. It was a struggle to stop myself from letting out a moan. It was a good thing Mrs. K lived here, because if we were all on our own, we’d never leave the bedroom, and I’d get kicked off the placement at the Medical Centre and Ivan would lose his job and the Ukranian’s would take over Brighton Beach entirely.

Mrs. K cleared her throat. “Ivan breakfast go cold.”

I pulled back a little guiltily, but I needn’t have worried. Her smile was as wide as ever, and she had a look of deep affection in her eyes. “Good girl, Becya. You and my Vanya. Is very good thing.”

I tried to keep my cool, to sit there munching my way through what now seemed like an enormous mountain of food without over-analyzing what he was going to think about the size of my plate.

I needn’t have worried. Ivan heaped two of everything onto his plate.

For a minute he cast a critical gaze over the table, as though he was assessing whether he’d taken full advantage of the spread, calculating to make sure he had everything he’d intended to sample stacked onto his plate. His eyes turned to me again, and that same self-conscious heat blossomed through me under the intensity of his gaze.

“You like the syrniki – the dumplings?”

I nodded and his smile twitched with a low grunt that sounded like approval and his arm came out towards me. I watched him pick up a tiny spoon and scoop up some of the jelly. He picked up one of the syrinki and dolloped it onto it, then he did the same with a spoon of sour cream and held it out to me. “It’s better like this.”

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