Russian Bastard | A Mafia Novel ✧

Chapter 10

This is the direct continuation for Chapter 9! Also, I cant believe that Russian Bastard jumped from 200+ votes to 405 votes in one week omg thank you all so much! This week's goal is 510 votes!

Lots of love<3

Chapter 10

Tatiana

"Are you warm now?" Zeke asked.

"Yes, thank you," Tatiana said, rubbing her hands and holding them up in front of one of the many makeshift fire pits scattered around the frozen lake in the park.

Once they had emerged from the trees, their guards had followed them back to the central area of the park. They had left the clearing and walked back towards the area where most people had gathered by the lake to skate on while it was still frozen. Near the lake, a band consisting of acoustic guitars, a piano, and singer were playing soft tunes that flowed through the air while children and adults alike milled around the pop-up food stalls and makeshift ice rink.

"You know, I never used to go out as much in winter. It's just way too cold," she said, her breath freezing as she spoke.

"It's not so bad once you get used to it." He leaned against a rail that circled the makeshift rink that was the lake next to them.

As they continued chatting, the band that was playing by the lake paused for a short break.

"Can you play something for me?" Tatiana asked, gesturing to the piano that the band had. "You played beautifully at the party last time."

He looked at her, his eyes searching her face, his expression warm. "What would you like to hear?" he finally asked and she beamed at him, taking his hand and leading him over to the piano and other instruments that the band had left. Hopefully they didn't mind, she thought.

"Anything," she said as she tugged him down and settled them both side by side on the piano stool.

He pursed his lips slightly, pondering for a moment before he placed his hands on the piano and music flowed through the air, his fingers skillfully moving across the keys, a melody forming. She was in awe as she looked at his face, full of concentration. Her heart bled at the sorrow, angst, and melancholy that the heart of the song bled, a feeling so strong that it almost brought tears in her eyes. The piece was unfamiliar to her but it was such a lovely song, placing her in a small trance.

"This is beautiful," she said, voice filled with wonder as he continued to play. "Who composed it?"

"I did," he said softly as notes kept flowing through the air. She was all the more captivated by the song, knowing that this piece was written by the beautiful, vulnerable man sitting next to her.

He continued the song, a beautiful melody flowing in waves. However, as he slowed to a stop, she couldn't help but feel that the song wasn't over, incomplete, and her heart ached to know how it would end.

"I haven't gotten a chance to finish it yet," he said apologetically, turning to her. Their faces were so close to each other that she could feel each breath he breathed softly on her face, his eyes burning deep into hers.

She shook her head. "No, no. That was beautiful," she said. "Does the piece have a name?"

"Not yet." He shook his head slightly, his eyes piercing into hers. "But I may have an idea."

She didn't reply, just continued to look at his face, trying to commit the moment, the day, to memory. The way his eyes twinkled in the light, the way he acted so free, each time they touched, she wanted to remember it all, because she knew that at the end of the day, he didn't always act like this. That day, she got a glimpse of who Zeke Vasiliev really was, without his father or his men watching his every move, the weight of being a Don's son off his shoulders, just for a few hours.