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“Thanks, Scott,” said Yakim, taking over the cart and wheeling it inside the room. “Close the door,” he added to me.
Obeying him, I followed him to the couch in the corner.
“Sit down,” Yakim ordered. He opened the lids off the dishes one by one, filling the room with the aroma of freshly-made coffee, pancakes, and eggs.
I took a seat beside Leon who threw an arm around me and pulled me close. My body easily molded against him.
“What about Lilja and Mikhail?” I asked as Yakim handed me a loaded plate.
“They’re not home yet,” said Yakim, handing Leon a dish of red stew.
“What are you having?’ I asked curiously as the scent of warm spices wafted into my nostrils.
“Chicken paprikash with rice,” said Leon. Spooning the rich stew, he held it out to me. “Want to try?”
I wrapped my lips around the spoon. At once, my tongue was hit with the warmth of peppers and garlic. I also noticed a tang of sour cream and a hint of parsley that helped cool my palate a little.
“It’s delicious,” I said, eyeing the massive bowl in his hand.
Leon chuckled. “I’m surprised you don’t mind the spice.”
“I used to love Middle Eastern cuisine,” I said with an enthusiasm I hadn’t felt in years. “Dad used to take me to this restaurant in town where they served kebabs and all kinds of lovely curries and stews. They were my favorite growing up.”
“Let me guess,” said Yakim in a deep, grim tone. “Callum put a stop to that too?”
“Not exactly,” I said as a frown came over me. “I never told him about that. If I had, he’d have spoiled my happy memories of the place by dragging me there. I learned to bury my secrets quickly.”
“Eat,” Yakim said shortly and continued eating his plate of scrambled eggs.
I glanced over at Leon. He was wolfing down a plate of rice and the chicken stew like a starved man. It was a moment before I realized that hehadbeen starving over the past few days.
Yakim got done with his food first. Leaving the plate on the coffee table, he went over to the TV and picked up the remote.
To my surprise, he flicked on a local news channel.
At first, I ignored the thick banners of breaking headlines scrolling across the screen but soon enough, my gaze fell on a familiar face. Putting my coffee down, I paid more attention to what was being said.
A female reporter stood inside a room. Five grown men sat at a table behind her while cops and investigators swarmed around them. The strange scene made no sense until my gaze fell on the headlines.
The men of the Morelli family had been killed and the murderer staged them in such a way that it looked like they were all passed out from drinking.That’s how I know him, I realized, remembering a party from a few years ago when Callum introduced me to the man as a “close friend”.
“Their drinks and food were not poisoned according to preliminary investigations,” said the reporter. “The family and people working in the villa didn’t hear or see anything strange last night. It’s as if these men simply fell dead.”
“Nice job,” said Leon in an appreciative tone.
“Thanks,” said Yakim, giving him a rare smile.
“Wait a second,” I said, staring at Yakim. “You did this?”
He gave a nod, his face twisting into what I imagined as a smug grin.
“The Morelli family was involved with the criminal syndicates of Ashville, Chicago, and New York City,” the reporter continued. “The police will need time to investigate and search for the killer. As of now, they have no substantial leads to follow.”
“They will search and search,” Leon said with a chuckle and took a swig of his coffee.
“Why did you kill them?” I asked Yakim.
Even though the reporter gave out facts about the Morelli family’s involvement with the mafia, she couldn’t stop hinting at the mysteriousness of the whole situation.
