The Darkness Within

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Four

"What's your favorite gemstone?" Sergei questions.

His words make me stop short in dicing an onion, for fear that I'll fumble and slice into my finger if I continue.

After our training session at 4pm today, he didn't split off to go work for a few hours before dinner as per usual. Instead, he offered to teach me how to make a traditional Russian soup, dismissing his chefs for the night.

It's strange to see him look so domesticated, for lack of a better word. He's wearing sweatpants and a white shirt while moving around the stainless-steel, chef-grade kitchen with an ease that tells me he knows exactly what he's doing. That strikes me as unusual for a mob boss and cold-blooded killer.

I study his features for indication as to where the hell his question came from, but he looks as impassive as ever, not giving anything away.

I have a niggling suspicion that this is his way of hinting towards marriage, but he's not the sort of person to hint at anything. He's a straight-shooter—something I respect about him.

So, instead of dancing around his question, I bluntly ask, "Why?"

He pauses in situating pans and pots over an eight-burner stove, turning to face me head-on. "I want to take your preference into account for an engagement ring."

Well, that came out of left field. I'd already deduced that, in Sergei's mind, what we have is far from casual. Likely because I offer him what nobody else can; the feminine company of someone who shares his level of intelligence. For someone who lives in a state of boredom, that's magnetic. I know, because he attracts me for the same reason.

But marriage? That seems like too much, too soon. That's a level of commitment I never expected myself to make. Primarily because I never met someone who I thought was worth marrying.

Then again, I also thought I'd die a virgin—life has thrown quite a few surprises at me.

I take a beat of silence to compartmentalize my thoughts, because they're starting to scramble concerningly. If there ever was a match for me—someone who I'd consider worthy of matrimony—that would, theoretically, be Sergei. We click in a way that I know must be rare. We understand each other in the way that only geniuses can. Our minds work at similar, astronomical speeds, we're equally perceptive and startlingly good at reading others. When it comes to business, we make an excellent team. When it comes to personal life, we also make an excellent team. When it comes to sex, our chemistry is off-the-charts explosive.

I'm too detached to be frightened by his line of work, or the things he does—something that must be a novelty to him. I'm sure there have been women in his life who were desperate to please him, but I don't believe they could've taken all the aspects of his life in stride like I have. I'm sure their morality would have held them back. I don't have such issues, because my moral compass is underdeveloped, to say the very least. In fact, it could be said that I don't have a moral compass in the first place—just a few baseline standards, backed by pure logic, that I stick to.

"That seems like a big step," I slowly respond, unable to think of anything else to say.

It's not as if he proposed—though I wouldn't expect a grand proposal right off the bat with Sergei. He's a master strategist, always thinking a dozen steps ahead in any situation. Knowing his mind, he'd casual bring up the prospect of marriage at a mundane time, just to get a feel for how I'd respond. Which is exactly what he's doing.

I almost laugh, because in his position, I'd do the exact same thing. Our similarities are vast, and quite frankly, disturbing.

"Why?" he casually questions, abandoning the stove and fluidly moving towards me. He stops right behind me, wraps an arm around my waist, and says, "We're perfect for each other in every way. You know by now there's nothing in this world that could separate us. What's the issue with putting an official title on us?"