Chapter 107 Chapter 107 The Threat
I come walking out of my room. It’s still dark outside, and everyone should be asleep. I need to go for a run to clear my head.
Taylor is standing outside my door, talking to one of the other guys at his post. He turns and smiles when he sees me.
“I know you released me, but I figured I could come with you for one last run,” he says, grinning. He’s wearing black sweats, gun holsters resting over his shoulders.
“Do you miss me already?” I tease.
“Yes. I have no doubt you’re going to be my favorite post,” he grins. “It’s been fun.”
I motion for him to follow me, and we jog down the stairs and out the double front doors. I turn my music up, and we run through the gardens. The air is cool, smelling like damp dirt and tree bark. I inhale deeply every few steps. Guards are everywhere, their eyes tracking me like magnets.
I spot a path leading toward a small forest and take it. Taylor follows. The stone pines are massive—majestic. I stop just to take them in, wondering how old they are. They’re huge. I bend over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath, and my headphones slip and drop to the ground.
Someone starts yelling—Italian, I think. Or more like yelling at me. As he gets closer, I recognize him. The stiff from last night. He’s waving his arms around.
Taylor steps in front of me to protect me—sweet, but useless. The stiff pistol-whips him without hesitation. He keeps yelling in Italian. I catch a few words that sound close to French, but not enough. His gun is suddenly in my face, and I’m about to drop him—
—when Illia Sr. steps out from behind one of the trees, zipping up his pants.
“I know you are not out here threatening my family, Nicholas!”
“She is not your family!” he spits. “She was bothering Dimitri last night. Someone should teach her some respect!”
“Elena is my goddaughter,” Illia says calmly, dangerously. “And you will not touch a hair on her beautiful head. Or else.”
Goddaughter? What the hell?
Taylor slowly pushes himself back up, trying to apologize for not protecting me. I cup his face, checking the damage from the hit. Illia whistles, and guards start appearing around us.
“Taylor, you’re new, but I bet you know this,” Illia says, lighting a cigar. “What’s the penalty for threatening a family member—and a female at that?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a girl dart away from the tree Illia came from. Oh shit. He was busy.
Taylor straightens. “Death by firing squad,” he answers immediately, like it’s nothing.
My eyes widen. Nicholas starts pleading, but no one listens. Illia lifts a hand, and two guards grab Nicholas and drag him away.
I just stand there. Shocked. Frozen.
Daylight starts creeping into the sky as Illia casually talks to Taylor about his next assignment. Like nothing just happened. Like they’re not about to kill someone for yelling at me—and pointing a gun at me.
Images hit me hard. My father handing me a gun. Forcing me.
“Clean this mess.”
I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. I just pointed and shot. First Kiril. Then Boyan. The men who hurt me. Blood everywhere. On the floor. On the walls. On me.
For days after, I couldn’t stop seeing it—blood on my hands I couldn’t wash away.
“Why don’t you take Elena back to the house, Taylor,” Illia says, studying me. “I’ve got something to finish up.” He grins.
“Oh, she ran off,” I say, laughing suddenly.
Taylor looks at me like I’ve completely lost it. Illia laughs with me.
“Well then, I guess we’re all going back to the house.”
We walk back in silence.
As we step inside, I catch the smell of something sweet baking. I slow down.
“That must be Jax,” Illia says proudly. “He’s a chef.”
“I have to see this,” I grin, taking off toward the kitchen.
“I’m off! Have a good day, Elena!” Taylor calls after me.
“Ice that,” I toss back with a guilty smile. I got him hit.
I push open the kitchen door. Jax stands at a massive woodblock island, pots and pans stored underneath. The surface is dusted in flour, trays of pastries lined up and ready for the oven. His arms are covered in flour up to the elbows. White shirt. Light blue ripped jeans.
Jax is giving me a full-on lady boner. He looks that good.
He pulls the towel off his shoulder and wipes his hands as I walk to the fridge. He moves in behind me.
“What do you want, babe?”
I lean back into him on purpose. “A smoothie?”
He wraps an arm around me, opens the freezer, and grabs frozen fruit. Then fresh mint from the fridge before shutting the oversized door. There are two of these giant fridges. He tosses everything into the blender and adds juice from a decanter on the counter.
“Wait!” I stop him and grab a bottle of vodka from the freezer.
He laughs but gives me a splash. I nudge the bottle toward him again. He laughs harder—and adds more.
He blends it and pours it into a glass, handing it to me.
I take a sip. It’s really good. I bite back a sound.
“I was waiting for a moan,” he says, leaning down.
I take another sip—and moan for him.
His hand slides to my hip, fingers pressing into my skin.
I slide my phone toward him.
“What’s this?”
“Give me your number,” I say.
“I’m too old for you.”
“I asked for your number, not your age,” I grin.
The kitchen starts filling up—guys, moms, Vladimira and her family. Jax types his number into my phone and hands it back.
Illia Sr. just watches us, sipping his orange juice.
Marta comes in and asks to help. Jax immediately puts her to work.
I head for the door to go shower.
“Elena!” Jax calls out. “Come have lunch with me in Florence today!”
“Jax!” Illia warns. “You’re old enough to be her father!”
“Sorry for interrupting your blowjob this morning,” I shoot back, turning to look at Illia. Every eye in the room snaps to him.
Then I look at Jax and nod.
He grins.