Page 56 of Brooklyn Bratva

My eyes locked with his and instead of taking the dumpling from him, I found myself leaning in, mouth opening to take a bite. His mouth opened too, just enough for me to see a hint of his tongue and a jolt went through me at the thought of him plunging it into my mouth. I took a bite, my eyes locked with his.

The dumpling was almost like a pancake, but the texture and the taste was different. Still warm, it was perfect. The best thing I’d ever tasted. But all I wanted was to taste his mouth. My tongue curled out to catch the drip of sour cream on my lips and I smiled around the mouthful. His thumb brushed away a smear of jelly from the corner of my lips and I nearly stopped breathing at the sensation of his skin against mine. Every single part of me tensed with anticipation.

The way he was looking at me was enough to drive me insane with lust. How was I ever going to be normal around him again now that I knew exactly what he did to me? I couldn’t get his naked body out of my head.

“Your mom is an excellent cook.”

Ivan glanced across at his mother, as though he’d forgotten she was sitting there, and I cursed myself for reminding him. He pulled back, clearing his throat and adjusting the napkin on his lap.

He bit into the remainder of the dumpling, eyes down on the rest of his food. Without another word he reached for another dumpling, and returned his focus to his plate, picking up his fork again after he’d licked his thumb clean.

“Mama, why don’t you take Becca to the market today? I’ve got to pick up a colleague from the airport.”

I felt the urge to pout at not getting to spend one of my days off with him, but I held it in. I’d known that was going to be the case. Spending time with Mrs. K was nearly as good. At least it meant I felt like I was properly part of the family.

“That’s a great idea. I’d love to go with you.”

Mrs. K’s lips pressed together tightly and after a long stare at her son, her eyes diverted firmly to the table top where she was counting her change into a coin purse.

“I very busy. I have to run my errands. Is boring for Becya.”

Suddenly I wasn’t so sure about her welcoming me into the family with open arms, despite that pet name she kept using. Did she even like me at all?

“Mama. I’m asking you to take Becca with you to the store. It would be nice for you to spend some time together.”

Her smile tensed and there was a brittle coolness to it that hadn’t been there a moment before. Suddenly I wasn’t all that confident about her welcome into the family fold.

“Ivan, it’s fine. I’ll go for a run, or-”

“No. Becca, you go with her. That’s final Mama.”

She let out a short petulant breath, but when she looked up again, the warmth was back in her eyes. “So bossy Vanya.” She rolled her eyes at me, and the passing worry I’d had vanished. “Listen how you speak to Mama. Fine, we go together. You go work. We go have fun.”

CHAPTER 30

Ivan

“Maxim Toropov. Call me Max.”

I eyed the suave man who’d just come through the arrivals gate, deciding whether or not to shake the hand he extended. My nose wrinkled as I tried to make him out. His suit was well cut but not obviously designer. His appearance was flawless, but nothing to be remarked upon. He looked ordinary. Contrary to most Russians around here and back in Moscow who had the amount of money at their disposal that I knew his line of work afforded, Max seemed to be adept at blending in.

For a Russian, that was unusual.

For someone with his stature and athletic build, it was even more impressive.

His left hand cupped over both of ours as they clasped together. “Heard so much about the work you’re doing out here, mate. Making a bloody good job of it, by all accounts.”

The flawless English accent surprised me, as did his easy-going manner. I wasn’t taken in by it. By reputation alone, this man was as serious as they came.

Some of the affability dropped once we were inside my car. His voice dropped to a deeper tone and the flash of a smile that crept onto his face vanished.

He clicked his seatbelt in, scanning the traffic as intently as if he was the one driving as I pulled away, heading for the main road out of JFK.

“I hear you’re having problems with the Ukranians.”

I’d looked into the eyes of men like him before, all of them numbed over to some degree. His were the same. I understood why. Taking life did that.

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