Page 13 of Ruthless Lullaby

She sits in her favorite armchair, a picture of elegance in her navy silk dress and pearls. Her silver hair is neatly styled, as always. Anyone looking at her would see a refined Russian lady, not someone battling dementia. That is until she starts talking, repeating that damn question again.

I catch Timofey's subtle eye roll out of the corner of my vision. Of my two brothers, he's the one who spends the most time with her, almost being her full-time caretaker at this point. I can only imagine how many times he's had to answer this same heartbreaking question today.

"Sometimes I wonder why Mother asks this question all the time," he whispers. "She could ask about anything. The time. The weather. What we're going to have for dinner. Or why the price of milk went up. Why Cordelia all the damn time?"

"You know well,bratok," I reply. "Their bond was special. Cordelia was closer to her than anyone in our family."

Having run out of ideas of what to say about my deceased daughter's whereabouts, I reach for the box of chocolate I had bought for my mother. "Why don't you have some,Matushka? They're your favorite - the creamy kind."

Her attention shifts to the chocolate, and a smile spreads across her face. My mother always had a sweet tooth. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"Which one, Mom?" I ask and she points to the one in the middle. I quickly unwrap it for her, and she happily puts it in her mouth, savoring the taste and momentarily forgetting about Cordelia.

Timofey grins and grabs three pieces of chocolate. "Thanks, bro," he says as he pops one into his mouth.

I give him a stern look. "Those aren't yours."

"Come on, Maron. You gotta think about your brother." He takes another one. "I need it," he says through his teeth, half-turning towards me. "If Mom asks about Cordelia one more fucking time, I might have to perform harakiri on myself."

I understand my brother's frustration; he spends many of his days looking out for our mother. And someone with vascular dementia can a fucking challenge to deal with.

I jokingly shove Timofey's shoulder. "Stop stealing mom's chocolate,dolboyob."

Mom's eyes dart between us. She doesn't understand our banter anymore.

"Don't worry,Matuskha," I say. "We're just joking. You know your sons love each other." I hand her the box. "Have another one."

"You're a good boy, Maron," she says and takes one. She looks at Timofey. "And you are a good boy, too, Maurice."

"I'm Timofey, Mom, but never mind. I am a good boy, indeed," he says, smirking.

"Of course you are, son. Of course, you are." She pops the ball of chocolate into her mouth, and closes her eyes. "So nice." She swallows the chocolate. "Where is Cordelia?"

"Don't worry, Mom. She'll be here soon," I lie. Fibbing is the only way to calm her nerves for a little while. As long as she knows her granddaughter is coming, she'll be alright, at least temporarily. "I have to leave now." I give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you soon, Mom. I'll send Katrina in to keep you company."

"You send who, son?"

"Katrina, Mom. The lovely lady you like so much. She's been here with you many times. You know, the one who makes you coffee and reads you stories."

"Oh, her." She pats my face. "You're a good boy, Maurice."

I lean in to kiss her temple. "Maron, Mom. And that's because you are the best mother."

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at it briefly, seeing Pavel's name on the screen. "Excuse me for a moment," I say to Timofey and my mother. "I need to take this."

I step out into the hallway, quietly closing the door behind me. Only then do I open Pavel's message:

"Confirmed: ship hit iceberg. Delivery went into ocean. Oleg and a few of the crew survived. Most dead."

Shit. Fuck. Shit!

My hand clenches around the phone until the metal creaks in protest. I read the message again, feeling a surge of cold fury rising in my chest. Fucking incompetent fools! The delivery of the pill I'd spent billions of dollars on is lost to the icy depthsof the ocean, along with Jennifer Shirkova's kidney. The fucking kidney that was going to fix a long unresolved war between the two Bratva families.

Chertovo der'mo!

I take a deep breath, forcing my rage back down into the icy pit of my stomach where it belongs. There will be time for retribution later. I will find a way to fix this and make those idiots pay for their incompetence with blood and agony.

Composing myself, I return to the room.

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