Chapter 28 : Making Food For Wife

In the dimly lit hall of the mansion, Ibrahim, clad in a sharp suit, stood with an air of authority. His gaze shifted across the room, landing on his loyal guards who were ready to execute his every command. 

"Listen carefully," Ibrahim began, his voice cutting through the stillness. "Ava will be staying in her apartment for a few days after her discharge. I want the entire building under strict surveillance. No one, and I mean no one, should approach without my knowledge."

The guards exchanged nods. 

Ibrahim continued, "We've been receiving threats from Rafi Ahmed and I won't take any chances. Ensure that every entrance, every floor, every corner of that building is monitored 24/7. I want two guards at the entrance, rotating shifts. Another two at the elevators. If anyone looks suspicious, take immediate action. No second chances."

A seasoned guard, who had been with Ibrahim for years, spoke up. "Boss, we've been through tough situations. We've got this."

After dismissing the guards, Ibrahim made his way to the kitchen. There, Aziza and Yasmeen, the maids, were diligently preparing lunch.

Ibrahim cleared his throat to gain attention from them. They looked at Ibrahim. The sudden appearance of him in the kitchen surprised them, causing a momentary pause in their activities.

Aziza and Yasmeen, exchanging glances, asked in unison, "Is there anything you need, sir?"

"I want to make something. You both can attend to other tasks now," Ibrahim declared. 

The maids were visibly taken aback; it was a rare occurrence to witness Ibrahim in the kitchen. Yasmeen hesitated but then suggested, "We can handle it, sir. No need for you to bother."

Ibrahim shook his head resolutely, "No, I'll handle it."

Respecting his decision, Aziza and Yasmeen quietly retreated from the kitchen. 

Aziza whispered, "Did you ever see him cook?"

Yasmeen replied, "No.Never. This is unusual."

In the kitchen, Ibrahim surveyed the chaotic array of pots, pans, and ingredients before him. Determined to whip up something special for Ava, who had grown tired of hospital food. 

With an apron tied awkwardly around his waist, Ibrahim rolled up his sleeves, ready to tackle the challenge. "How hard can this be? People cook everyday." he mumbled to himself. 

His chosen dish: Rendang, a flavorful coconut beef stew with aromatic spices. Little did he know that the kitchen would soon bear witness to a culinary chaos only a mafia could unleash. He opened a online recipe on his phone. 

First, he attacked the beef with a ferocity that would make any butcher proud. 

Then, he attempted to chop the ingredients, but the vegetables flew in various directions. Carrots rolled off the counter, and bell peppers seemed to defy gravity. Ibrahim got frustrated, "Is it too much to ask for vegetables to stay put?"

He began chopping the onions. The onions weren't diced; they were more like mangled confetti. Tears streamed down his face, "Is it just me, or do these onions have a personal grudge?"

If Ava saw Ibrahim in this state, she would definitely be happy. 

Next, the spices. Ibrahim squinted at the array of bottles, each labeled in a language foreign to him. Cumin, coriander, turmeric – they all looked the same to him. 

 "What do you mean by a pinch of this and a dash of that?" he grumbled.

He turned on the gas and put all ingredients in a pot. 

He saw the next step on his phone, "Coconut milk next. How hard can pouring be?" As he attempted to open the can, coconut milk splattered across the counter, the floor, and even a bit on his suit.

Hours later, Ibrahim surveyed his masterpiece – or what he hoped would pass as one. The Rendang was finally ready.

....

In the hospital room, the aroma of Rendang wafted through the air.

Ava was on the bed. She glanced at the container and raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

Ibrahim, seated on a chair beside her bed, "I made Rendang."

Ava examined the contents with an arched eyebrow. She inquired, "You cooked? It doesn't exactly scream Rendang."

Ibrahim sighed, "I'm not a chef, baby girl. This is my first attempt at cooking for you."

Ava nodded, "Who would have thought a mafia like Ibrahim would cook for me?"

Ava grabbed a fork and dug the dish. Ibrahim asked, "Well, how is it?"

Ava considered her response carefully before saying, "Not too good, not too bad. But you didn't poison it, right?"

Ibrahim's face twisted in a frown. "Do you really think I'd go through all this trouble just to poison you? I'm not like someone who starts fires for freedom."

Ava paused her fork in mid-air, "If you were in my place, you might understand."

She heard his laughing. Oh...she really didn't like the sound of his laughing. 

In the meantime, Ibrahim stood up from the chair and approached to Ava. 

Ava looked at him and asked, "What? What do you want?"

There were some situations when Ava couldn't read Ibrahim's face. And this time was one of them.

Ibrahim leaned in closer to Ava. Quick as lightning, Ava directed the fork in her hand towards him. The fork hovered dangerously close to his eye. Ibrahim stopped in his tracks. And the fork maintained a safe distance from his eye. 

"If you have any idea to do anything with me, I will stab you with this fork," Ava declared, her eyes fixed on Ibrahim.

"Stay still, Baby Girl," Ibrahim whispered.

Her heart raced but she tried to maintain her calm. 

His eyes momentarily shifted to the corner of Ava's lips, where a hint of sauce lingered. He reached out and wiped the sauce away with his thumb, leaving a tantalizing trail on Ava's skin.

Without breaking eye contact, Ibrahim sensually put his thumb in his mouth, savoring the flavor. Ava, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected boldness.

Ibrahim stood straight, his eyes locked on Ava's reaction. She nervously put the fork back in the container, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. The lingering sensation of his thumb on her lips made her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

With a sly grin, Ibrahim asked, "Did you think I was going to kiss you?"

Ava gulped. She caught off-guard by his audacity.

 "Don't try to pull such acts, Ibrahim Rahman," she warned him.

Ibrahim shifted his gaze to the window, hands casually tucked into his pant pockets, "But don't forget, Ava, there's a punishment for her putting fire in our room. I won't overlook your actions."

Ava locked eyes with Ibrahim, "Punishment?"

Ibrahim turned to face her, "You initiated a dangerous act. Actions have consequences, even for you." 

Ava scoffed dismissively. "Oh, so now the great mafia boss is concerned about consequences? Quite the revelation, Ibrahim,"

Ibrahim's expression remained stoic, "Running a mafia is different from jeopardizing lives recklessly. You've crossed a line." 

Ava fired back, "And what about you? Kidnapping me, forcing me into marriage – aren't those lines crossed too?"

Ibrahim's gaze hardened. Anger grew inside him too, "Enough, Ava. I've listened to enough of your accusations. Accept that you're my wife. Every time I try to make our relationship work, you ruin it." 

Ava clenched the for tightly, "I'm not a typical woman who romanticizes toxic relationships. I'm living with you only to protect my brother; otherwise, I would've been long gone."