Page 60 of Sins He Taught Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 3)

Victoria

I haven’t seen Matvei this much since I started working at the mansion, but for the past few days, he’s been so much more present than before.

At first, it’s a little unnerving to see him around every morning. My gut reaction is that something is wrong. The last time he was around for breakfast with Nikolas and me was when Dad was tied up in the safe room.

Strangely enough, though, all Matvei does is eat with us and talk to Nikolas about his day and what he’s looking forward to doing. It’s almost endearing to see him treat the boy like a little adult. He doesn’t baby him or talk to him with the kind of softness I do, but Nikolas doesn’t seem to mind. He even manages to make Matvei laugh now and then, which is a miracle and a half for several reasons.

That man’s laugh is something I never thought I’d hear, but I enjoy it every time it happens.

This morning, when he strides into the kitchen in a gorgeous, well-fitted suit, he has a box of donuts in his hands. Nikolas’ eyes light up instantly.

Without a word, he runs to the table and takes a seat, tenting his hands neatly in front of him.

Matvei looks to me. “Nikolas told me he’s tired of oatmeal,” he says with a shrug.

I have to give it to him. He does seem to know exactly what to do to make the boy happy, even if he doesn’t get all touchy-feely and emotional like me.

It makes me uncomfortable sitting around the house all day, doing nothing, so after breakfast, I decide to be helpful around the house, washing some dishes with a plastic glove over my burned hand.

I wonder what my dad is doing now. Not the dishes, that’s for damn sure. I shudder to think of the dirty plates piling up in his sink. It’s such a wholesome, laughable, innocent thought that I’m surprised when I feel a sudden sob break loose in my chest.

I just barely manage to suppress it. I glance over my shoulder to make sure Niko, who is showing Matvei how to do a puzzle on the carpet, didn’t hear. Neither of them have looked up, thank God.

But as I’m distracted, a bit of water manages to slip beneath the wrapping around my burn, stinging like a wasp got me.

“Shit!” I whisper, jerking my hand back and tearing the glove free.

I’m fumbling around in pain while I hunt for paper towels to dab away the water, tears studding my eyes still from thoughts of my dad and how much I miss him, when suddenly, Matvei fills my vision.

He’s on me so fast it’s like he knew this was going to happen. His scent is in my nose, his hands taking my wrist gently in his grasp. So soft, so tender. I’m too frazzled to do anything but watch silently as he frees the old wrapping and carefully adds a bit of soothing cream to the burn.

I almost expect him to be rough with me by default. But he’s not—the exact opposite in fact. His fingers move carefully, spreading the cream over the burn. It provides instant relief.

My breathing slows down and I regain control of myself. When I’m not panicking anymore, he wraps gauze around it.

“Thank you,” I say, looking up to meet his eyes. He stares back with an unreadable expression. It could be annoyance just as easily as it could be compassion. I can’t quite place it, but it doesn’t strike me as immediately threatening, either.

“Nikolas got his bandage wet last night during his bath. I know what to do.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. He then heads back over to Nikolas so they can continue their contest. I’m left standing by the sink, fighting back a whole mix of emotions. It doesn’t make sense how someone as intimidating as him can be caring at the same time. Matvei Morozov is an enigma.

And it’s starting to get to me.

* * *

All day long, as I go about my tasks around the house—picking up Niko’s room, organizing things, whatever else I can find to keep myself busy—I think back to the kitchen and how Matvei cared for me. Rather than scoffing and telling me to clean myself up like he might at any other point in my employment under him, he hurried over to fix me up. It’s not something I take lightly.

Not from a mob boss, at least.

When Andrew, Matvei’s gardener, ducks inside for a cold drink later that afternoon, I decide to ask him about what Matvei is really like.

He thinks for a moment before he says, “The guy can be an asshole, but that’s because he probably deals with idiots all the time. Doesn’t have patience.”

“I get that,” I say, pouring a glass of lemonade for Andrew. “But I mean, how does he treat you and the rest of the staff? Is he oddly kind every now and then?”

“He has his moods,” Andrew shrugs. “But for the most part, if you’re loyal to him, he’s a good guy. Temper tantrums if you fuck up his roses or something, but as long as you’re decent and you keep him happy, he’s a damn good boss.”

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