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I placed a mug of herbal tea before her. “Sorry for staring. I just can’t believe Uncle Vik has a daughter. It feels surreal.”
There was still no word on Vicky’s mother, the illustrious Elena Morelli. By now I had envisioned Viking’s long-lost—and hated—mother of his child to be a witch of a person. I felt bad because even though I couldn't imagine a sweet kid like Vicky having an awful mother, the facts were obvious. Sixteen years ago that woman had wronged Viking. Which finally explained the perpetual scowl on his face. Even now, the man moped around the house, all grouchy and growly. I wasn’t sure if it was because of this upheaval in his life or the fact that he suddenly had a fiancée, which he didn’t seem to care a lick about. Being in the same room with his chosen woman was an exercise in patience. Yet I’d told Kristoff that I’d be the perfect hostess, so the perfect hostess I was.
Olga came into the kitchen. Her jaw was clenched.
“New girl quit,” she said.
That was the second girl in two days. “Who insulted her this time?” And by ‘insult’ I meant ‘terrorize and make her life a living hell.’
“Viking’s Russkie.”
I perked up. Viking’s fiancée Annika was slightly less of a bitch than her sister Anastacia, so there might be a chance to keep the poor employee.
“Have you tried offering her a raise?”
Olga scoffed. “Girl said life short.”
For a moment, I considered shortening Annika’s life myself. Or perhaps I’d start by choking her sister Anastacia, who had set her eyes on Kristoff. As if Svetlana hadn’t been enough of a pain, now I had to deal with another Bratva heiress. Both women were alike—beautiful, sophisticated, and connected. They actually had a shot with Kristoff. I ignored the pain in my chest at the thought of him ending up with either of them. I couldn’t deal with it, so I tucked that particular shard of glass right back where it belonged—in my heart, where it slowly made me bleed.
Vicky looked gaunt. It was clear she was worried sick about her mom. I could only hope she wouldn’t end up like me.
Vicky cleared her throat. “Katya?”
“Yes, baby girl?” I hummed as I took a sip of my tea.
“Could you please ask again about my mother? I don’t think they’re telling me everything.”
I looped an arm around her shoulder in support. It was the second time today she’d asked, just as she’d done every day she had spent here. I couldn’t fault her for it.
“Of course.” The girl was smart. Something was going on and she was being kept out of the loop.
As I walked into the parlor, Baran emerged from the wine cellar like a bat out of hell.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Not now, little cat.” He cursed and rushed away.
I’d noticed him sneaking into the wine cellar a few times. In any other household it could have actually been for the wine, but since I’d caught him carrying a tray with water and bread downstairs one day, the wine explanation was out of the question. I had the fleeting suspicion someone was being held captive down there.
Ignoring that part of the house, I passed Viking’s room. He usually stayed at his own apartment, but ever since his daughter had arrived, he occupied a guest room.
When I heard a beautiful melody and lyrics about church bells, I stopped. I recognized Etta James’ passionate voice. The same song had sounded through the walls yesterday when I’d passed his door. In fact, Olga had complained about ‘church bells’ just the other day.
I continued my search for Kristoff. I avoided his study since I knew the chances of Sokolov being there were quite high. There was something about the older man that unsettled me. It was as if the temperature in the room dropped whenever we crossed paths. The man didn’t like me, and the feeling was mutual. Especially since he’d brought his dreaded nieces with him.
I waited until I saw Sokolov leave the study. As expected, Kristoff sat behind his desk.
“Do you have any news about Vicky’s mother?”
He looked up. “You should take that up with Viking.”
“You’re kidding, right? I wasn’t born yesterday. He’s like a powder keg, ready to blow any second. At least tell me if you know if she’s dead or not.”
“We should be so lucky.”
“How can you say that? She’s Vicky’s mother.”
His eyes scrutinized me. “Not all mothers are the same. Some aren’t worthy of the title. Such is the case with Viking’s mother. His mother was the very reason he lost Elena. Then again, a woman who marries your enemy while you’re in the can for a few days, isn’t worthy of becoming your wife.”
