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People are eating in the huge dining room, their chatter can be heard from the foyer. I smile, saying good morning as I walk by the long table, and enter the kitchen. Keva and four other girls are rushing around, pulling out plates from the cupboards and filling cups with coffee on big round trays. It’s quite a feat to feed so many people three meals a day.
Keva runs over to one of the six ovens to take out a cheese pie, a traditional Serbian breakfast dish, yelling at the same time to only serve Mirko tea because he is not allowed to have coffee. One of her helpers dashes inside the kitchen to say that Beli is whining that he is still hungry; his piece of pie was apparently smaller than usual.
“You can tell that ogre that if he has an issue, he can take it up with the complaints department!” Keva shouts, slamming the oven door closed, and turns to me. “There are plates with extras on the counter. Take a few to the food-devouring horde.”
I grab the two huge, oval plates and carry them into the dining room. When I get back to the kitchen, I end up with a tray filled with coffee cups thrust into my hands. I take these out to the dining room, too, and grab a piece of the pie for myself on my way back.
When everyone finishes breakfast, there is a mile-high stack of dirty dishes in the sink, and all three dishwashers are full. I turn around, intending to ask someone to show me how to turn them on, but everyone seems busy. Peering down at the closest dishwasher, I ponder what to do. I’ve never actually turned one of these on before. At home, either the maid or Asya handled the kitchen cleanup. There are program buttons on the dishwasher door, and I know I need to choose one, but I guess I should add the dish detergent first. Is there a specific compartment for that? I don’t see one. A big bottle of liquid dish soap sits next to the sink that’s overflowing with greasy pots and pans. I unscrew the top of the bottle and pour a good amount inside the nearest machine, then repeat the same process with the other two. With that done, I select the heavy wash cycle for each and turn them on.
“Sienna!” Jelena calls from somewhere behind me. “The meat order arrived. Can you get one of the guys to bring everything in and sign the papers for the delivery guy?”
“Sure.”
I run to the dining room and usher Relja to the kitchen’s back door that’s used for freight. While he unloads the boxes from the van, I go over the order form the delivery guy handed to me. It says the shipment contains one hundred and fifty pounds of pork and two hundred pounds of chicken.
“So, this is a monthly provision?” I ask as I sign.
“Weekly,” the guy mumbles.
Weekly? That’s three hundred and fifty pounds of meat! I look up from the paper to find the delivery guy staring at my glittery red knee-high boots.
“Just like Dorothy, but more badass, yeah?” I grin and knock my heels together, twice.
He nods, his eyebrows hitting his hairline. “Yes.”
“Oliver,” Keva yells, “if Drago catches you drooling over his wife’s legs, you’ll have to consider a career change. It’ll be hard to drive with your eyes in your pocket, honey.”
The guy’s head snaps up. He grabs the form out of my hand and hightails it out the door without saying goodbye.
When Relja leaves after bringing in the boxes of meat, Keva and I are the only ones left in the kitchen.
“This is crazy,” I say and jump to sit on top of the counter next to the stove where she’s put on the kettle for tea.
“I know.” She smirks and looks at me sideways. “But you like it, am I right?”
“Yes, I like it. I like it here.”
“We like having you here, too.”
I lean my head on the fridge to my right and sigh. “Drago doesn’t.”
“He does. He just doesn’t want to admit it.” She lifts the kettle and pours the water into a chipped cup in front of her. “And you know why.”
I close my eyes.He told her. “Because I’m passing info about Drago’s business to Ajello.”
“I think it’s a bit more complicated than that, Sienna.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “That’s not for me to say, dear. You’ll have to ask your husband.”
“He hasn’t been talking to me lately.”
“Can you blame him?” Keva asks, looking at me over the rim of her teacup.
“No, I guess not.” I sigh. “What’s wrong with Drago’s hearing?”
Keva’s eyes widen. “So, you’ve noticed.” It’s not a question.
