Chapter 52: Barbeque night pt 2
Isabella covered her mouth, trying desperately to hide her giggles.
The chaotic, chaotic energy of the table was so lively, so utterly absurd given who these men were, that she couldn’t help feeling a sudden wave of warmth.
Aaron wiped his hands, looked down at Finn, and frowned. "Where is Freya? Why isn’t she down here?"
Finn groaned, leaning his head back against the bench. "I went to her room before I got Isabella. She locked the door and told me to go away."
"Did you tell her dinner was ready?" Aaron asked, his voice taking on that quiet, stern tone of an exhausted guardian.
"Yes! She said she wasn’t hungry and that she’d rather eat dirt," Finn grumbled, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.
Aaron turned his dark gaze toward Pyotr.
Pyotr raised his glass in a mock salute.
"Don’t look at me, boss. The girl’s sulking. You know how she gets when you bring home new things without asking her permission first."
Isabella’s smiling face quieted down a little. She rested her hand on Boyar’s broad head, her fingers sinking into his soft coat. She didn’t need to ask who Freya was sulking about.
"She’s angry with me," Isabella said softly, her voice clear over the sound of the crackling fire.
Finn and Pyotr both looked at her.
"Well... yeah," Finn admitted honestly, shrugging his shoulders. "She’s kind of a brat when she doesn’t get her way. She’ll get over it once she realizes you’re not going to steal her cat."
"She’s protective," Pyotr added, taking a drag from his fresh cigarette. "Give her a couple of days. She snaps at everyone."
Aaron didn’t say anything to defend or deny it. He simply picked up a wide wooden platter, stacking it high with freshly grilled steaks, charred sausages, roasted sweet peppers, and seasoned potatoes.
He walked over to the table and placed a small, beautifully arranged plate right in front of Isabella.
He had deliberately piled it high with tender roasted vegetables, sweet corn, and just a few thin, perfectly cooked slices of steak, knowing her appetite was light and her stomach was still sensitive.
"Eat," Aaron murmured, setting a warm fork into her hand.
Isabella looked down at the plate she couldn’t see, smelling the rich, smoky glaze. "Aaron, I’m really not much of a meat eater—"
"Try one piece," Aaron insisted, sitting down in the chair right next to her, his large frame instantly blocking the cool evening draft. "If you hate it, I’ll eat the rest."
Finn was already stuffing a massive piece of sausage into his mouth, making loud, dramatic noises of approval.
"Mishka’s barbecue is literally the best thing in Russia, Isabella! You have to eat it!"
"Eat your greens, Finn," Aaron said without looking at him, pointing a finger at the pile of grilled zucchini sitting untouched on the boy’s plate.
"Ugh, fine," Finn groaned, making a face as he shoved a green slice into his mouth like it was poison.
Isabella hesitated, then carefully brought a small piece of the grilled steak to her mouth with her fork.
The moment the meat touched her tongue, her eyes went wide.
It was insanely tender, practically melting on her mouth, bursting with a sweet, smoky, garlic-infused glaze that hit every single taste bud at once.
A small, helpless sound of absolute bliss slipped past her lips before she could stop herself.
’Oh my god,’ she thought, her mind instantly betraying her pride. ’This is incredible. How is a terrifying mob boss this good at cooking?!’
Aaron watched her face closely. Seeing her eyes widen and her cheeks flush, a tiny, rare smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Not a fan, huh?" Aaron teased softly, his deep voice rich with satisfaction.
Isabella quickly chewed, swallowing hard and trying her best to put on a neutral, unimpressed expression. "It’s... fine. It’s okay. A little too smoky, maybe."
Finn burst out laughing, almost choking on his soda. "Liars! Your face totally gave you away!"
Pyotr chuckled into his glass, shaking his head. "She’s got pride, kid. Leave her alone."
They ate together for another twenty minutes, the atmosphere light, noisy, and strangely comfortable.
Finn rambled on about a new video game that just got released, Pyotr made terrible, dry jokes that only he found funny, and Aaron sat quietly beside Isabella, subtly making sure her glass was always filled with fresh water and her napkin was within reach.
When the first round of food was finished, Aaron stood up from his chair. He prepped a fresh, clean plate with two prime pieces of grilled chicken, a small portion of potatoes, and a slice of sweet bread.
"Where are you going?" Isabella asked, turning her head as she heard him lift the plate.
"I’ll be right back," Aaron said gently. He looked over at Pyotr. "Watch the grill."
Pyotr threw his hands up in defense. "Hey, I told you, I’m terrible with the fire! I’ll burn the whole terrace down!"
Aaron gave him a short, flat look. "Then don’t burn it down."
Without another word, Aaron turned and walked back inside the house, holding the warm plate in one hand as his heavy boots carried him up the grand staircase toward the quiet residential wing.
The second floor was dark and silent compared to the noisy terrace downstairs.
Aaron walked down the corridor, stopping in front of the door at the very end of the hall. The room belonged to Freya.
He didn’t stand there waiting. He raised his hand and knocked twice.... firm, steady, and unhurried.
Silence answered him from inside.
Aaron reached down, turned the brass handle, and pushed the heavy oak door open.
The bedroom was massive, but almost entirely pitch black. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight against the evening sky, blocking out any lingering twilight.
The only light in the space came from a few strings of warm, tiny fairy lights draped loosely over the dark wooden bedposts, casting soft yellow dots across the ceiling.
Freya was lying flat on her stomach across the middle of her large bed, staring intently at her iPad while scrolling through an article about Isabella.
Mr. Cheese was curled up right on at the feet of her bed, his face buried in his food bowl and making satisfied meows.
She didn’t move when the door opened. She didn’t even look toward him as she hurriedly swiped to a different app.
Aaron stepped inside, closing the door behind him to block out the distant noise from the terrace.
He walked over to the small, round table near the foot of her bed and placed the warm plate down with a soft click.
"You didn’t come down," Aaron said, his deep voice quiet in the shadowy room. "Why?"
"Not hungry," Freya muttered, her voice flat, dry, and completely stubborn. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the screen below.
Aaron stood beside the bed, his tall shadow stretching across the floorboards. He looked down at the girl who had spent years trying to build armor around her heart.
"That’s unfortunate," Aaron said softly, his tone completely calm. "Because I brought you food."