CHAPTER 4

Ivan’s POV

The pain in my stomach felt like I was being stabbed continuously; even though I was now accustomed to it, it still caused discomfort. 

My eyes slowly opened; I was lying in Jennifer's bed, and she sat beside me, her head packed against the bed. I assumed she was asleep. 

I sighed as I looked up at the ceiling. 

Nights ago I had gotten shot by an enemy near a dumpster. I had wondered how they knew where I was, but thankfully, this American girl saved me.

I went back home, plotting my revenge before I returned home to Russia, but I didn't know that Viktor, one of my most trusted men, was working with the enemy. 

He had eyed my position as Mafia leader for years and thought killing me would help him get it, but I am not so easy to kill. I broke my phone and put it in a dumpster so that I couldn't be traced. 

I knew I couldn't go to a hospital. I was a wanted man by the American police. I needed help, but I couldn't trust any of my men, because they could be working with Viktor.

So I came here.

To Jennifer, she was all I could think of in my moment of near death. 

It is embarrassing that I know where she lives. That night we parted, and I drove back. To not alarm her, I walked behind her, keeping a safe distance until she got home safe. 

I didn't want the girl who shot and saved my life to be hunted down by the same men who had shot me; it wasn't safe for her in the dark. 

I looked back at her; she snored a little as she slept.

I swallowed, still deep in thought; I couldn't go back to claim my position as boss if I were still injured. According to the Mafia, if a soldier shows interest in the position as leader, they have to dig for it. 

A fight till death.

The rule was made because it was a big dishonor to be defeated by a soldier and be ruled by him. 

From experience of being shot multiple times, I know it would take at least five days for me to be able to walk again, not completely healed, but enough to fight back. 

I should get a place to stay, one of those buildings for rent. Argh… I don't remember how to say it in English, but I still had one of my black cards.

Jennifer already saved my life; I didn't want to be a bother. 

I grunted as I pulled myself up to sit. 

Her head flung up; her eyes were drowsy from sleep. She looked at me, her eyes lighting up. "You are awake; you are not dead,” she said excitedly.

There was something about the way she smiled; it made me feel something… warmth? Is that the word in English? I'm not sure; after one and a half years of English lessons, it's still very difficult to speak.

“I'm going to find a place to stay.” I slid out of bed and stood on my feet.

She quickly stood up to face me. “Do you not have a home? Why do you have to find a place?” Her face twisted in thought; you could see the little lines underneath her eyes if you focused just hard enough. 

Why was I focusing on her eyes? 

I looked down, but my eyes landed on her beautiful flower dress; the waist up was a corset that pressed against her breasts, pushing them out like little…little…ugh…I forgot the word, but it's a fruit Americans eat. 

I brushed my fingers and the bandage; it was neatly wrapped around me. She had done a good job. “Thank you for stitching me up.”

“You are a mafia boss; I'm sure you are wealthy. Why do you not have a home?"

My brows rose. “You know about me?”

“I looked you up on the internet,” she explained. 

I looked away and began to head towards the living room. “I have one of my black cards in my back pocket.” I looked around the place for my shirt, but it wasn't there.

“Are you looking for your shirt? I threw it out; it's bloody and has a hook.” 

I huffed, reaching into my back pocket. I pulled out my black card and stretched it to her. “If it's not too much trouble, a shirt or two; I want it in black.” 

She reached for my hand, but she didn't take the card; she pushed it down. “It's too late to go out.”

I looked up at the wall clock; it was 11:00pm. “Shit,” I cursed. I moved to sit on the couch; the pain had begun to grow intense, and my whole body boiled.

“Why do you have to leave too early?” She asked as she sat beside me; her eyes lingered on my abs. It didn't look like she was staring at the bandage; she gulped before her eyes moved to mine.

“I do not want to be a bother to you.” I looked away from her. I hated how she suddenly made yellow look beautiful. The last time we parted, I would think about her anytime I saw a white dress or got a whiff of caramel; she had that smell on her.

She was like poison to my mind.

“You are not bothering me,” she said. “You can stay here as long as you want.” 

Her eyes lingered on her throat as she swallowed, and then they moved to her chest, watching as her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. 

I felt something within me… How did people say it in English? Uh…want? For a woman? Desire, I think that is the right word. 

How could I feel that way for her? 

She is just twenty-two, and I'm forty-one, old enough to be her father. 

I looked away from her, my gaze fixed on the sink in the kitchen; besides…she wasn't my type. I cannot like a woman who is too weak to see blood without almost passing out, a woman who…fuck, I hate how good she looked in yellow. 

It was probably the bullet wound; I was getting sick, and it was messing with my mind. “I should go,” I said, letting out a loud grunt as I stood up.

"Shirtless?" she asked.

I stopped; I hadn't thought about it. 

My jaw clenched. "Fine, I will stay, but I'm leaving first thing in the morning. Do you understand?” 

She nodded, "Yes.”

I turned away and moved into the bedroom. I banged the door like a kid who had been pissed, but I'm a fucking grown man; I could have any woman I wanted. Why was I thinking about a twenty-two-year-old?

I had to focus on my recovery; there was a fight to the death waiting in store for me once I healed.

The next morning, 

I woke up to the smell of something frying.

A pancake?

I slid out of bed and walked out to see Jennifer before the stove; the curtains were all worked out, allowing the sunlight to come in. 

I looked at the wall clock; it was 9:00 am. 

I looked at the tray beside her; pancakes were stacked. Her hair was up in a high bun; it was messy, with a few strands falling to her face. She did it with the back of her hand, and it left some flour on her face.

Her eyes suddenly looked up, and a smile curled at her lips. “You are awake,” she grinned softly.

My eyes strolled down her body, pale white skin; she now wore a red tank top with a V-neck that revealed her breasts.

I pressed my fist against the door.

“She's not your type; she's not your type, Ivan,” I mumbled quietly, forcing myself to believe something I knew was not true. 

I had fallen.