Killer Abs - C.M. Steele Page 0,2
yours.” I rolled my eyes and pushed the cart around the store. It took an hour to shop and pay before we were on the road again to the big gated estate in the city suburbs.
Of course the rich thug had a classical architecture home that rivaled country estates all over Europe and Russia. My heart nearly stopped at the pure beauty. How dare someone like him own such majesty. The mansion spread out for over a block and I heard he didn’t have any family.
Two other guards came out and assisted with the groceries. I followed them into the house through the side entrance. I’d forgotten that as the help, I wasn’t allowed in the main entrance. As we passed a door, Igor set down my duffle bag. “This is your room. Come, the kitchen is this way.”
They set the bags down on the expansive kitchen island that was any cook’s dream and then they left, muttering something to Igor on their way out. The way they stole one more look at me, I had a feeling whatever they’d said had to do with me.
“You can work in here. You don’t go into any of the main rooms in the house. The food will be taken from you by the housekeeper. If you fuck up, it’ll be the last thing you do.” I stared at the man in the suit, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. I was now the temporary personal chef for the Russian Crime Syndicate—Maxim Kazakov specifically.
I’d never met the man, but I’d heard of him. I didn’t know what he looked like, and I hoped that I never found out just in case they felt I knew too much. Now, I sat in the most pristine kitchen of one of the most ruthless men in the world with a threat hanging over my head.
“Yes, sir.” I’d gotten myself mixed up with the wrong kind of people. At sixteen, Mr. Andretti had given me a chance to go into the kitchen and work. Over the years, I’d proven my value to the restaurant, and I thought maybe it would help me get into a culinary school. Still, all it got me was a one-way ticket into the Russian underworld.
“I’m Igor. You will refer to me as such. ‘Sir’ is Mr. Kazakov.” Igor frightened me, not that I’d let him know that, but he did. He was the ogre type of man in a suit that looked like they used the whole spool of material just for him.
“Okay,” I muttered, peeking through the cabinets to get familiar with all of the kitchen tools.
“Mr. Kazakov prefers his meals to be fresh, so you will be notified if a meal is requested. Should you disappoint him, you will be out on your ass immediately, if you live.”
“Damn. No pressure.”
“You came with great recommendations from Mr. Andretti.” Mr. Andretti was like a second father to me and had helped a young girl who needed a job and an opportunity. I’d never do anything to risk his life, and that’s exactly what Igor was implying. “Don’t make him regret his praise.”
I wouldn’t. Digging through the kitchen, I found everything I needed to make Mr. Kazakov his favorite dish that he ordered regularly from the restaurant.
Chapter Two
Maxim
I took off my suit jacket and rolled up my sleeves as I entered my office. I summoned Igor before I had to take my call. With my last chef finding himself at the wrong end of a blade, I needed this woman to work out at least for the two weeks although having one of Andretti’s chefs permanently sounded wonderfully satisfying to me.
“How is the temporary chef getting settled?” I was born in Russia, but I had spent a great deal of time in Italy as a late teen and then as an adult, and I’d fallen in love with the food while doing business with my friend Alessandro.
Over the years, nothing had compared until I found Andretti’s restaurant three years ago. It had become a place I ordered from regularly at least twice a week for dinner.
Tonight, I have two guests coming over to visit from Italy, and I promised them cuisine like they would find at home.
When Andretti’s flooded after some busted pipes, my only other recourse was to hire their chef until the restaurant opened. Andretti offered me his sous-chef Maria who’d learned to cook by watching. I shouldn’t have accepted anyone without a proper background check, but I trusted Andretti.
“She’s okay.