Pierogi

Leni

I stared at my phone, dreading the call. Papa’s reaction was exactly what I expected: furious, then confused. He had no idea how they’d gotten to me, which was less than reassuring.

Hanging up, I felt a wave of disorientation. My life had turned upside down in a matter of hours. Trading office boredom for this chaos was… not an upgrade.

It was insane how much my life had changed in less than twenty-four hours. Last week, my biggest worry was getting along with my coworkers at work.

“What are you thinking about, zheltofiol?” Dusan’s voice broke through my thoughts as he placed a bowl of soup in front of me. His eyes searched mine, amd I could see a bit of worry in it.

“What happened to the men who tried to attack me?” I asked, avoiding his gaze as I took a cautious sip of the soup.

“Are you sure you want to know, zheltofiol?” His voice was low, almost teasing. “I wouldn’t want you to lose your appetite.”

“Why do you care so much? Why do you keep trying to get involved with me?”

His smirk returned, sharp and knowing. “Because, Spasitel'... Ya prosto otplachivayu za uslugu.”

“What does that mean?” I ask quietly.

Dusan leans in close, his voice a soft murmur, almost a whisper. “You’ll find out soon enough, zheltofiol.”

His gaze lingered, piercing, as if he were daring me to respond. But I couldn’t—I didn’t trust my voice to steady itself.

As he straightened, that smirk was back, devilish and knowing. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he walked out with the empty bowl, leaving me alone with questions of unanswered questions.

Dusan

I stood by the wide, tinted window of my office, the estate grounds unsettlingly silent under the moonlight’s glare. The distant rustle of trees and the faint creak of the house settling were mere whispers against the steady drum of my heartbeat—calculated and deliberate. My fingers drummed against the timber desk, betraying the storm brewing inside my head.

Leni. Her name echoed like a haunting refrain, unrelenting. She was an irregularity, a wildcard I hadn't planned for. And yet, tonight had ensured she was very much a part of this world now.

The floor beneath me seemed to hum faintly with the muffled cries of the men downstairs. My jaw tightened as anger licked up my spine—not at their pathetic attempts to harm her but at how close they had come. Carelessness. It was a word I despised, and it nibbled at me now.

“Mr. Nikolić.” Viktor’s low, gravelly voice pulled me from my thoughts. My second-in-command stood in the doorway, his bulky frame casting a long shadow across the room. “They’re ready.”

I glanced back at him, my expression sharp as the edge of a blade. “Good.”

The air in the basement was thick with tension; the cold bit into my skin while the sharp aroma of blood mingled with the dampness of the stone walls. Two men sat bound to wooden chairs, their bodies slumped but their eyes darting—wide with fear

.

As I entered the room, my movements were slow and calculated, each step deliberate and dangerous. Viktor trailed behind me, his presence a lurking threat on its own.

“You thought you could take something of mine,” I said, my tone casual and almost amused as I circled them, my footsteps echoing sinisterly against the stone floor. “I’m really curious—was it bravery or stupidity?”

The man on the left, younger and more defiant, spat blood onto the floor. “You don’t own her.”

I paused, amusement flickering in my chest like a flame igniting kindling. A smile spread across my face as I crouched slowly before him, our faces level. “Don’t I?”

With a subtle nod from me, Viktor stepped forward and delivered a punch that sent the man gasping for air, his defiance crumbling into groans.

I leaned closer, lowering my voice to a chilling whisper. “Talk, boy. Who sent you?”

The second man, older and trembling, tried to look away but found his gaze drawn to mine as if under a spell. Minutes passed in agonizing silence; their fear hung thick in the air like fog.

Viktor's laughter echoed off the cold walls as I leaned against the doorframe, relishing every moment of their torment. The two men were bound and terrified, their eyes darting between Viktor and each other.

“Who tried to hurt Leni?” Viktor demanded again, his voice dripping with menace. The older man stammered out a desperate plea: “I don’t know! Please!”

I enjoyed the fear in their faces; it filled me with a satisfaction. Viktor stepped closer, his shadow swallowing what little light remained in the room.

“You’ll tell me,” he said softly—almost tenderly—before delivering a swift kick to the older man’s knee. The sickening crack echoed in the room like a gunshot.

The older man gasped; pain spread across his face mirrored in his eyes as they darted to me pleading for help that I would never render. I couldn’t help but smile; this was my domain. The delight of their suffering fueled me as Viktor continued his ruthless interrogation.

They had hurt Leni, carelessly throwing her car off the road. This was merely the beginning of what they truly deserved.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of despair hanging between us like a noose, the younger one broke under pressure. “It—it was someone from Moretti’s district.” His words stumbled out in fragments, barely coherent amidst his panic. “We don’t know who… just… orders.”

I straightened up slowly, narrowing my eyes as realization settled over me like a shroud. Matteo’s household had always been tight-knit—nearly impenetrable. For someone to leak information about Leni meant one thing—Matteo was involved in her kidnap.

I nodded toward Viktor. “Get them out of my sight.”

As Viktor dragged the two men away, I turned and walked back to my office, the echoes of their muffled cries still lingering in my ears.

Once inside, I leaned back in my chair and quietly nursed a drink in solitude while memories consumed me—the first time I saw her haunted my mind like an unwelcome ghost. Her eyes had been dead then; it was as if her world had collapsed around her. My gaze drifted to the corkboard on the far wall—cluttered with photos and notes that formed connections like spider silk weaving through darkness.

One image held my gaze: a snapshot of Matteo’s family taken years ago. Leni’s figure was barely visible in the corner—blurred and partially hidden—but her finger tugged at her brother's shirt as if she were scared of being seen.

How long had she been scared? How long had she been hiding?

I took another swig of whiskey, needing its burn to ground my spiraling thoughts. Leni wasn’t just Matteo’s secret daughter; She was a vulnerability, but also something more. Something I couldn’t ignore.

I needed her close. Not just for protection, but because… it was necessary.

Protecting her wasn’t just about obligation anymore; no—it was something far more personal now. I needed that fire by my side—that daring mind challenging me, sitting right next to me—sud’ba.

And anyone who dared to touch her or take her from me—even her father—would understand why I was Dusan Nikolić.

They’d bleed from every opening in their bodies—and I’d make sure they never used their fingers again, ya obeshchayu.

A sudden knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. Viktor.

“Come in,” I said, my leg crossed across my table.

He closed the door behind him, his usually confident demeanor replaced with something more worried. “Boss, we have a situation.”

I didn’t like the way his words hung in the room, so I motioned for him to continue. “What is it?”

Viktor stepped closer, his voice lowering. “It is about the girl, Leni.”

I froze, my gaze narrowing. “What about her?”

“She is downstairs.” Viktor’s eyes locked into mine. “She’s in the kitchen with Rafaela… they're bonding.”

I could feel all the blood in my body going to my face, Rafaela was like a mother to me and her assessment of Leni mattered, if she didn't like someone then I didn't. No questions asked.

“Bozhe, pomogi mne”

Viktor met my gaze. “Should I take her back to her room?”

“There is no need for that, I'll go down to make sure everything is okay.”

The tension in my chest twisted as I stood, my movements deliberate, my mind racing. Viktor stepped aside, his posture tense as I passed him. The thought of Leni and Rafaela "bonding" was unsettling in a way I couldn't quite place. Rafaela wasn’t one to mince words, and her approval wasn’t something easily earned. If she didn’t take to Leni, the repercussions could ripple through every aspect of this house.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the golden glow of the chandelier casting long shadows across the marble countertops. I could hear their voices before I entered, a soft murmur of conversation interspersed with occasional laughter—Rafaela’s hearty and genuine, Leni’s quiet, almost hesitant.

When I stepped into the room, both women turned to look at me. Rafaela was leaning against the counter, a rolling pin in her hand, while Leni stood across from her, a faint dusting of flour on her fingers.

“Dusan,” Rafaela greeted, her eyes sharp as they appraised me. “You’ve interrupted a lesson.”

“A lesson?” My voice came out cooler than I intended, my gaze flicking to Leni, who looked caught off guard but didn’t shrink away.

Rafaela chuckled, setting the rolling pin down with a deliberate thud. “The girl doesn’t know how to make pierogi. Can you imagine?” She shook her head in mock disbelief. “Thought I’d fix that.”

Leni glanced at me, her expression unreadable. “I didn’t mean to intrude. She just... offered to show me.”

The idea of Leni standing here, learning something so simple and domestic, felt jarring against the chaos that surrounded her outside these walls. It was almost... innocent.

Rafaela wiped her hands on a towel, her gaze flicking between us. “She’s a quick learner, this one,” she said, her tone laced with approval. “Got a good heart, too.”

Something in my chest eased at her words, though I kept my expression carefully neutral. “That remains to be seen,” I said, my eyes locking with Leni’s.

Her lips tightened, but she didn’t respond. Rafaela, however, let out a dry laugh. “You’re impossible, Dusan.”

“Leave us,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. Rafaela raised a brow but nodded, her footsteps echoing softly as she left the kitchen.

Once we were alone, I stepped closer to Leni, the air between us charged. “You’re making yourself comfortable,” I said, my voice low.

She met my gaze, her chin lifting slightly. “I didn’t ask to be here.”

Her defiance sent a spark of something primal through me, but I tamped it down, keeping my tone measured. “And yet, here you are. Mixing flour with Rafaela like you belong.”

“I don’t belong,” she shot back, her voice trembling slightly. “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

I tilted my head, studying her. There was fire in her now, the same fire that had intrigued me from the start. “You survived tonight because I made it so. That’s not something you get to forget.”

“I didn’t ask for your protection.”

“No,” I said, stepping even closer, my presence looming over her. “But you have it. Whether you want it or not.”

She held her ground, her eyes blazing with a mix of fear and defiance. “What happens now?”

I smiled, slow and deliberate, knowing it would unnerve her. “Now? Now you learn what it means to be mine.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the silence between us was deafening. Then, without another word, I turned and left the room.

As I walked away, I heard Rafaela say something to Leni that made her pause, a small gasp escaping her lips. I stopped, my hand tightening on the doorknob, but I didn't turn back. What had she said?