Chapter Five - Sylvia
The scene of their dinner took Sylvia by surprise, just by how beautiful it all looked. Fedor Volkov definitely knew how to live in luxury.
Inside the house, in her assigned bedroom, she had managed to forget she was in Puerto Rico, but the beautifully decorated balcony overlooking Fedor’s own private beach where the waves lapped against the shining sand, was starkly tropical.
The sun was beginning to set so the sky was awash in different shades of orange and purple. A small table for two had been set underneath this gorgeously illuminated sky. Fairy lights had been strung from the balcony railings, the only source of light for their dinner, which was enough for now.
Their dinner had been laid out for them.
Pyotr held out a chair for her, and she finally let go of Fedor’s arm before taking the seat.
“For your appetizers, we have a Classic Georgian Salad and some Eggplant Caviar. For the main course, we will be serving Beef Stroganoff with Mustard and a Black Bean Soup. For dessert, there is the Boss’ favorite Apple Pie.” Pyotr introduced the food to them, and Sylvia watched Fedor with a smile.
The food looked delicious and she couldn’t help but smile, imagining him sitting alone at this table and eating by himself.
“Thank you, Pyotr,” Sylvia said, and he only nodded in response.
“Boss, will I still bring files?” he asked Fedor in his broken English, but before Fedor could answer, Sylvia jumped in.
“No files. No work. This is your vacation, isn’t it Mr. Volkov?” she asked, turning her lips up seductively in a soft indulgent smile. Fedor looked back at her, not conceding to a smile yet. There was a look of irritation in his eyes, but he held it back.
“Just some wine for Ms. Stern, Pyotr,” he said to his aid, who promptly turned on his heels and walked back into the house.
“You should call me Sylvia, and I can call you Fedor. We’ll be spending a lot of time together, and we might as well get on first names now, don’t you think?” she asked, as Pyotr walked in with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and uncorked it right beside her, with a smooth expertise.
Sylvia picked up her glass and held it up to him, aware that Fedor’s eyes were on her. Before she could catch him looking, he had turned away and started digging into his salad.
“So Fedor…” she began when Pyotr had left them to themselves again. “You have a lovely place here,” she said, taking a large sip of her wine. He chewed his food in silence, and when he was done he looked at her face calmly and smirked.
“Thank you. I hope you’re finding it comfortable,” he said and Sylvia laughed.
“I have an entire floor to myself. You should see the size of my apartment in Brooklyn,” she said, placing the glass back on the table. Fedor wiped his mouth with the napkin on his lap and picked up his glass of whiskey.
“You live in an apartment in Brooklyn?” he asked, surprised.
“I didn’t want my father to pay for my house. I was stupid enough to think that if he didn’t fund me anymore, I could get some freedom at long last,” Sylvia said, unable to keep the caustic tone out of her voice. Fedor smiled finally and started eating again.
“I thought kids only rebelled in their teenage years,” he said, popping a piece of chunky tomato into his mouth. Sylvia started eating as well, enjoying the freshness of the vegetables.
“I’m not rebelling and I’m not a kid. I want a different way of life,” she explained, and Fedor continued to smile.
“You will always be a kid to your father.”
“Can we not talk about my father anymore?” she snapped and noticed the eyebrow Fedor raised.
Even on vacation, even on a tropical island; Fedor Volkov was dressed to kill. His trousers were navy, tailored and looked as smooth and silky as butter. He wasn’t in a jacket, but the shirt was formal and tailored too. Through the open buttons at his neck, she could see a smattering of dark hair on his chest. Sylvia looked at his body openly, she wanted him to know that she was attracted to him. She didn’t want to hide it.
He shifted in his seat and then nodded.
“If you want. What shall we talk about then?” he asked, his Russian accent betraying him every few seconds. It made Sylvia blush for some strange reason.
“We can talk about what brings you to Puerto Rico,” she said, and he pushed his finished plate of salad away, reaching for the bowl of eggplant caviar.
“I take some time off once every two years,” he said flatly, while Sylvia still tried to finish her salad.
“And the rest of the time, this place just sits here, unoccupied?” she asked, looking around her.
She noticed how he clenched his jaws. He clearly didn’t like being asked personal questions, but he had no escape right now.
“Yes.”
Sylvia tsk-ed and he raised his eyebrows at her again.
“You disapprove?” he asked, and she smiled sweetly at him.
“There are a million things you can do with this place. It’s a shame to see it go to waste,” Sylvia said, and she watched his look change suddenly. She was worried now that she was pushing him too hard, pushing him off the edge. But this was so much fun. It was so much fun to watch a big-shot Russian mafia Boss squirm and grow uncomfortable in his chair.
“I deserve a vacation home, don’t you think?” he said. His voice had hardened, and Sylvia tightened her lips. His question sounded so much like every excuse her father had ever thrown at her.
“Yeah, because you work so hard all year long. Dishing out orders for people’s heads and kidnapping some others. Poor you. Boohoo,” she snapped at him, and Fedor looked up at her with a jerk.