Page 26 of Cruel Promise

I grab it, go into the bathroom, and flush it down the toilet.

Claude still isn’t happy with me for not eating his food.

“What do you want from me?” he mutters, pacing the kitchen. I just brought down my half-eaten breakfast of waffles and fruit, setting him off.

“I slave all day and night making you food,” he continues, motioning at the sad waffle on my plate.

“I’m just … not hungry.”I’m grieving,is what I really want to say, but I don’t think Claude would understand. And I don’t want to give anyone in this house an ounce of my mom’s memory. I can’t risk someone ruining it.

He mutters even harder under his breath. “How can you not be hungry? You Americans eat all the time.”

“Not all of us do. Some starve themselves.”

“That’s it, then. You have an eating disorder. Well, the best cure for that is to eat.” He hands me another plate of waffles. “There. Eat them all.”

I push the plate over the counter to him. “I can’t, Claude. I’m sorry.”

“You may be the new lady of the house, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy with this.” He turns away and starts angerly peeling a potato. Its skin flies everywhere.

Mrs. Brown enters the kitchen and clucks her tongue. “Someone’s in a bad mood today.”

Someone always is, I think but don’t say aloud. No need to piss off Claude more. He makes the food. He could easily spit in it, and I wouldn’t know.

“How are you, dear?”

I glance at her, then look away. Mrs. Brown’s calm, sweet demeanor reminds me too much of my mom. “I’m trying,” I admit.

She taps my hand. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

I fold my hands together. “Mrs. Brown, what can you tell me about my husband?”

“Why do you ask?” She grabs a broom from the pantry closet and starts sweeping up Claude’s potato peels.

“I don’t even know him. What does he do … exactly?”

“We don’t ask questions,” Claude reprimands.

“I know he’s the Mafia. My father told me. But what does that mean? He came home that one day covered in blood.”

Mrs. Brown and Claude share a look. “Dear, I think that tells you everything you need to know. It’s better to not know everything. It’s safer that way.”

“Are you two not afraid to work here? Is Edmund? If Nikolai is so dangerous, then …”

“He keeps what’s out there,” Claude says, pointing toward the kitchen door, “from getting into here. He pays me well. I love to cook. I will not lose this job for asking silly questions. So, don’t ask me silly questions.”

I grip the counter so tight, my knuckles turn white. “Are you worried he’ll hurt you?”

Mrs. Brown laughs. “Heaven’s no! He’s never hurt any of us. He mostly keeps to himself.”

“Then why get a wife if he doesn’t even talk to me?” Not that I’m complaining. The fact that Nikolai has given me space after our wedding is a relief. But it also doesn’t make sense.

“You’d have to ask him that, dear.” She pats my hand. “And I would put that ring back on your finger before he sees it.”

I’m not going to tell her I flushed it down the toilet.

“I just need to know,” I say in a quieter voice to Mrs. Brown, “how powerful is he?”

“What do you mean?”

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