Page 49 of Debt to the Mafia King
It was like I was asking for the moon to be served to me at lunch. “Yes, dusting, cleaning, I don’t mind—”
She cut me off. “Mr. Petrov wouldn’t like that.”
And there it was. More proof that my husband ruled everyone with an iron fist, and not just me. I didn’t know what made everyone so fiercely loyal to him, but I would put money on it not being the same way he demanded respect out of me.
“Ok.” Defeated, I turned toward the door, and her flour-covered hands caught me by the wrist. Turning to her, I saw sympathy in her eyes.
“But I don’t think he would mind you sitting in here with us. It can be lonely in this big house all by yourself. Do you know how to make bread? That’s what we are making right now.” Shaking the flour from her hands, she went back to her countertop. “You can sit there.”
I scampered towards a high stool. It was an old wooden thing, probably the oldest thing in the entire kitchen, and it creaked under my weight.
I shifted my weight and grimaced. Was the thing about to break? That would just be my luck.
“You won’t break it. That thing is older than you are.” The head chef chuckled as she went back to kneading the dough in front of her. I watched her for a second. She seemed to be taking out a lot of pent-up aggression on it.
I could do with some of that.
“It used to belong to Corrinne.”
My eyebrows shot up. Who the hell was Corrinne?
Catching my look, she smiled. “Viktor’s mother. She used to come in here a lot.” She waved a hand around, and specks of flour went everywhere. “Before it was all done up, of course. When it was more ofa family kitchen, Viktor used to sit exactly where you are sitting now and watch her bake.”
I sucked in a breath. I couldn’t even imagine a little Victor. To me, he was a larger-than-life domineering older man who had steamrolled my life without even trying.
Had he sat here with his legs swinging and watched people cook just like I was doing now?
“What happened to her?” I whispered. “Viktor doesn’t really talk about his parents.”
In fact, he didn’t really talk to me at all. I knew he had mentioned his father in the beginning, but I couldn’t remember ever hearing about his mother.
They both stopped and stared at me. And again their mouths fell open.
“Oh,” I quickly averted my eyes. “Did she die? I’m sorry.”
There was actual pain in the older woman’s eyes, and I knew that she had known Viktor’s mother and liked her. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“My name is Catherine, but you can call me Cathy. Everyone else does.” She flashed me a forced smile.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I began to say when she turned to me fully and sighed. “Corrinne didn’t die, at least we have no proof she did.”
Confused, I leaned forward. “Ok.”
“But she left when Viktor was eight, the day he turned eight, actually. She was there for his presents and party, and the next morning she was gone.”
I sucked in a breath. “She left him? Abandoned him?”
What kind of woman did that? What kind of mother? I couldn’t even imagine the kind of pain Viktor and his father had gone through.
“God, I’m sorry, that must have been so hard on Viktor and his father.”
Cathy’s eyes flashed. “It was Viktor’s father’s fault,” She spat. “Cold, heartless bastard.” Angrily, she slapped the dough down on the counter, and the whole kitchen shook with the force of it.
“What do you mean?”
“He treated her like dirt. That girl was the sweetest, hard-working woman I had ever met. She lovedhim, and I think in the beginning, he might have cared for her. But men like him—” she trailed off. “I shouldn’t talk bad about the family. They are good to me.”
“He changed?” It felt like I knew where this was going. And I didn’t like it one bit.
