Page 7 of The Russian's Forced Bride
A polite knock on my door echoed through the room, and from its rhythm, I could tell it was Agnes, my personal server. I assumed she was here to tell me it was lunchtime, but hell, I hadn’t had an appetite in days. Still, I was sure Alice wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.
“I’ll be down in a moment, Agnes,” I yelled at the door, but her soft voice replied almost immediately.
“There’s someone here to see you, Miss. Someone important.”
A cold chill ran through me as fear gripped my heart. Agnes wouldn’t just call anyone important. And besides lawyers and some of Father’s colleagues, no one had come to the mansion.
I forced myself off the bed, hugging the robe I was wearing tightly against my frame as I slowly made my way towards the door, the carpet tickling my bare feet.
Once close to it, I leaned my head against the door and heard a familiar rhythmic tapping of a cane. It was a sound I had grown used to over the years.
And it came from none other than Oskar. Oskar Kamarov.
He and my father were somewhat close, but as far as I was concerned, it only ever involved business deals.
Is he finally here to share his condolences on behalf of the Bratva?I wondered, a frown gracing my features. I didn’t want to see any of them either way. They were a group of violent, blood-frenzied demons that sucked the life out of people in different ways.
I even felt disgusted knowing my father had been affiliated with their kind. A Russian Mafioso.
I didn’t want to have to face him, but knowing Oskar, I was certain he wouldn’t leave until I did.
After taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door and was met with Agnes’s face—a trained, polite smile on her delicate Asian features.
“Where is he?” I asked, my voice raspy, and a look of surprise flashed across her face for a moment until it dawned on her that I had figured out who the important person was.
“At your father’s study, Miss. He just arrived a moment ago and asked to see you.”
I nodded, taking in her words. Whatever he wanted to discuss with me, he probably didn’t want Alice to know about it. Perhaps he finally found out who was behind Father’s death. But knowing the Bratva, they probably didn’t even care who killed him, considering they didn’t see him as part of their little cult.
Oskar was probably just here to seal a deal my father had left hanging.
My lips curled in strong distaste for the lot of them.
“Thank you, Agnes. I’ll see him now. You can go.”
Agnes smiled and bowed politely before walking down the hall in the opposite direction from my father’s study.
I briefly closed my eyes, mentally preparing myself for my talk with Oskar before fully stepping out of my room and into the halls. The mansion was quiet and empty as usual, since only Alice and I remained here, with a few workers coming and going daily. Immediately after Father’s burial, Jacob flew off to New Jersey, saying he had business to handle, and I was sure I wouldn’t see him for a long time.
I reached Father’s study in a matter of seconds, seeing as it was a few turns from my room and right beside his room. He mostly used the study for private meetings with shady people, such as the Bratva, or whenever he was too sick to leave the house.
The door was already wide open, giving me a clear view inside. Everything was in place, almost as if frozen in time. A bookshelf sat in the corner of the room, filled with documents that Father always considered too important. There were also two lounge chairs in the center of the room with a glass coffee table between them, which held a transparent glass of sparkling wine.
Father’s desk and grand leather chair were located at the top of the room, just overlooking the large arched windows he would always stare out at while sipping from a glass and playing classical music on his vinyl records.
It all looked alive. Almost like he’d walk in at any moment right now.
But he was long gone.
“He’s dead, child. You have to learn to accept that.”
Oskar’s voice showed no emotion, so it was hard to tell if he really cared. And if it weren’t for how tired he sounded, thevisible wrinkles on his skin, and his slicked-back gray hair, I’d have thought he were immortal.
Oskar sat upright in the lounge chair, his cane—something I always found odd—tucked between his legs. He wore a stylish coat that swept the ground majestically, and in his mouth was a cigar whose smoke billowed into the air, filling the room with the sharp smell of tobacco.
I shook my head in disbelief at his comment as I settled down across from him, my lips set in a thin line.
They all had no pity whatsoever to share.Typical.
