Page 44 of Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet 2)

Viktor

When I knock on Aunt Vera’s door, conflicted feelings swirl inside of me.

I don’t want Aunt Vera to be sick. And yet, I also hope she is. Because if she is, it means Petr was telling me the truth. It means that he was visiting his mother when he disappeared off the radar and his mother’s house really is a cellular dead spot. It means there is a reasonable explanation for why George saw him in Italian territory last night.

If Aunt Vera is sick, it means that my cousin and second-in-command isn’t a lying piece of scum who I’ll have to kill.

As soon as she opens the door, however, my heart sinks.

“Vikki,” she says, calling me by the name she and my mother used to taunt me with as a child. “What a surprise.”

Aunt Vera has always been a stout woman. There is something square and solid about her. Broad shoulders, a thick middle, and legs like tree trunks. When she pulls me into a hug, her grip is firm and strong. So, her ailment certainly isn’t physical.

“Good to see you, Auntie.” I hug her back and then hold her at arm’s length. “But you still can’t call me Vikki.”

She barks out a sharp laugh. “I’ll call you whatever I like. Now, come inside. I’ve been cooking.”

I slip my shoes off at the front door. Aunt Vera is always cooking. She likes to have a well-stocked kitchen and something hot to offer anyone who might stop by. For years, her house was full of hungry boys. After her older sons got themselves into trouble and died in prison fights, there is just Petr.

I hate the thought of taking him away from her, too. But I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect my Bratva and my family. Anything.

“Are you feeding an army?” I tease as I walk into their kitchen. There is a tower of baklava on the table along with a stack of buckwheat pancakes and an entire loaf of sourdough bread. “Where is Petr? Baklava is his favorite.”

The question is casual, but important.

“Busy with all the work you give him,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me. I know she is only teasing. Aunt Vera has told me many times how happy she is that I keep Petr busy. No woman in our family wants her son to be involved in our dangerous lifestyle, but being consigliere to the boss is better than being a soldier. Petr is safer at my side than anywhere else in my operation.

I only hope I haven’t risked my own safety by trusting him.

“He hasn’t been by to see you recently?”

Aunt Vera shakes her head and then squints to think. “Not for a couple weeks. That toad. You should tell him to visit his mama. Make it an order.”

“I’ll do that.” I try to sound light, but my entire body is tense. How much betrayal can one man handle?

I clear my throat and take a bite of baklava. The honey and walnut balance each other well, and I take momentary solace in the flaky pastry. I might not be getting another one in a long time, if ever. I doubt Aunt Vera would forgive me for killing her last living son, no matter how justified my reasons.

“How have you been?” I ask.

She waves away the question. “Same. I’m a boring old woman now.”

“You’re healthy?” I prod.

Aunt Vera glances up at me, eyes narrowed. “Do I not look healthy? Are you implying I’m old?”

“You just called yourself old.”

“I’m allowed to do that, but not you,” she says with a stern finger point. “Your job is to tell me I don’t look a day over thirty.”

“You don’t,” I lie with a forced smile. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

Aunt Vera cuts off a slice of sourdough and slides it across the counter to me on a napkin. “I’m healthy as a horse, you worrywart. I feel great.”

I want to believe she is lying, trying to protect me from the truth of some terminal illness, but I know she isn’t. If anything, Aunt Vera would come to me first if she was sick. She would want to protect Petr from the news and from having to take care of her.

If Aunt Vera was sick, she’d tell me.

Which means Petr is lying.

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