CHAPTER 5

JENNI’S POV

I watched Ivan step out of the bedroom and pause in the doorway, his bare chest catching the morning light that streamed through the curtains. My breath caught for a second. The bandage I had wrapped around his stomach last night looked clean and tight, but I could still see the faint outline of where the fresh bullet had torn through him. He moved slowly, as if every step cost him something, yet his green eyes locked on me with the same quiet intensity from the night before.

The pancakes were almost done. I flipped the last one and tried to act normal, but my hands shook a little on the spatula. Why did he have to stand like that, half-dressed, looking at me as if I were the only thing in the room? I had thrown on my red tank top after a quick shower, not thinking he would be up so soon. Now I felt too exposed, too aware of how the thin fabric clung to me.

“Breakfast is ready”, I said, keeping my voice light. I slid two pancakes onto a plate and set them on the small table. “ I hope you like them plain. I did not have time to run to the store for syrup or anything fancy.” 

He gave a short nod and lowered himself into the chair across from me. The wood creaked under his weight. Up close I noticed the way his dark hair fell across his forehead, still damp from whatever quick wash he must have managed in the bathroom. Bruises from the old fight still marked his knuckles, but the new wound looked stable for now. I sat down too, pushing my own plate toward me, though my appetite had vanished.

We ate in silence for a minute. The only sounds were the scrapes of a fork and the distant hum of traffic outside. I kept stealing glances at him. This was the man the internet called ruthless, the head of the Russian mafia who had turned New Orleans into a battlefield months ago. Yet here he was in my tiny kitchen, eating pancakes I made like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“You look better this morning,” I said, trying to fill in the silence. 

“The bandage held, no bleeding through”

He swallowed and set his fork down.

“Thanks to you Jennifer.”

The way he said my name, rolling the “R” a little harder than most people, sent a shiver down my spine.

“I will not stay long, I find a place today, rent something. I have the card, black.” He said.

My chest tightened at the words. Part of me knew he should go. 

He was danger wrapped in a suit, the kind of man who left bullet holes and blood behind him. But another part, the louder part right now, did not want him walking out that door. Not while he still winced every time he moved too fast. Not while whoever was hunting him might still be out there.

“You do not have to rush”, I said quickly.

The wound needs at least a few more days before you push it. I checked online last night while you slept. Moving too soon could tear everything open again, and you said it yourself you cannot trust your men now.”

He stared at me for a long moment, these green eyes narrowing the way they had in the coffee shop the first night. I could almost see the battle happening behind them. Pride versus Pain. Loneliness vs the need to disappear. He exhaled through his nose and picked up the fork again.

“You are strange, little American girl”, he muttered, but there was no bite this time. Almost like he was testing the words.

“Most people call police after see gun or they run, but you? You stay two times now” he said trying to piece together a decent sentence in English.

I shrugged and poked at my pancake.

“ I guess I do not get scared easily when someone needs help, and you have not hurt me. You could’ve , but you did not and that counts for something.”

He did not answer right away. Instead, he reached for the glass of water I had poured him and took a slow sip. 

I noticed the way his throat moved, the faint scar that ran along the side of his neck disappearing under the collarbone.

My mind kept drifting back to last night, how he slammed the bedroom door like a man fighting something inside himself. What had he been thinking when he looked at me on the couch? The way his eyes lingered on my throat, then lower before he forced them away.

Heat rose in my cheeks. I pushed the thought down and stood up to clear the plates.

 “I have classes today, but I will be back by four. There is food in the fridge if you get hungry. Just rest. Please. Do not try to leave yet.”

Ivan pushed his chair back and stood too, slower than I liked. He reached out and caught my wrist gently before I could turn away. His fingers were warm, rough from old calluses, but the touch was careful.

 “You do not have to do this for me. I am not a good man, Jennifer. You know that now.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked up at him, at the hard lines of his face softened just a fraction by the morning light.

 “I know what the internet says about you. But I also know the man who let me clean his hand that first night. The one who told me to look away before he pulled the bullet out himself. That man is still here. And he needs help.”

He let go of my wrist but did not step back. For a second the air between us felt thick, charged with something neither of us wanted to name.

 I could smell the faint trace of soap on his skin mixed with the warm scent of pancakes. My mind flashed to the way he had stared at me earlier, like he was trying to talk himself out of wanting something he should not have.

“I will stay one more day,” he said finally, voice low. “Then I go. For your safety.”

I nodded, though the thought of him leaving twisted something sharp in my chest. “ One more day. Okay.”

He turned towards the living room couch, his movement still guarded. I grabbed my backpack and headed to the door after changing clothes.

I paused at the doorknob.

“Ivan?” I called.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“Be careful when I’m gone. Lock the door, if anything feels wrong call me, my number is on the fridge”.

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips, the first real

One I had seen from him.

“ You worry much, little American girl” he replied.

I smiled despite myself as I stepped out into the sun, the door clicked shut behind me.

As I walked down the street towards the campus, I could not shake the feeling that everything had changed in the space of one night. Ivan Volkov was in my house, in my bed last night, and ate my pancakes this morning.

The scariest part was how right it felt.