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“Vicky’s here. Waiting on you downstairs. Just to be clear, you tell her anything about what’s going on between us, and I’ll make sure it’s the last time you ever get to see her. You don’t get to turn my daughter against me. The least you owe me is time with her.”
Her lips thinned, but then she nodded. “Just so you know, I would never do that. Turn her against you, I mean.”
Like he’d ever take her word for it. “Just like you’d never turn on me?”
Pain flashed in her eyes, but he didn’t care.
“Viking, I—”
“Don’t. I’m not here to talk about us. I’m here for my daughter. Now, tell me exactly why you sent her to me. Don’t skip any details.”
The story that followed made him want to rip out Pedro’s throat through his nostrils. In the old days, his ancestors had a way of drowning people just to revive them again. Perhaps it was time to brush up on his knowledge of Medieval torture techniques.
***
When Viking headed downstairs to check up on Vicky, he found her in the last place he wanted to see her: talking to Annika. Vasili stood by the blonde Russian’s side like a watchdog. His fiancée frowned at him and gave Vicky a pointed look.
Shit. He hadn’t wanted them to meet. Vicky out in the open like this meant she was exposed. It was then that Katya arrived, grabbing Vicky’s arm and excusing her. By the excited look in Vicky’s eyes, he could tell Katya had told her about her mom.
His daughter jumped up the stairs, then stopped next to him.
“Thank you.” Then she ran off upstairs.
Whatever went down between Elena and him, he’d make sure Vicky wouldn’t suffer from it. She was the only reason why her mother was still alive, he told himself. He immediately recognized the lie. Elena was still alive because he didn’t have it in him to kill her. Then again, there were worse things than death.
Annika grabbed the hem of her dress—for some reason, she was dressed formally for dinner—and walked up the stairs.
She looked him in the eye. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
He didn’t care for her accusatory tone. As if he’d wronged her somehow. Their marriage would be a business transaction, nothing more. He knew it, she knew it. She’d do well to remember that.
“Now you do.”
A chill settled over her eyes. A man could get frostbite just looking at her ice-cold beauty. Like most beautiful women, he suspected she was used to men dropping at her feet, vying for her attention. She had another think coming if she thought he’d be one of those suckers.
“Where does she live?” Judging by her tone, she wished for it to be anywhere but with them.
“Wherever I want her to.”
Done with the useless conversation, he left her at the foot of the stairs.
As he walked up to Kristoff’s office, he could hear Vasili console her in softly spoken Russian. He’d felt it in his guts that the Sokolov Bratva’s second-in-command wasn’t happy with this marriage arrangement. Or happy with them working together with his Bratva at all. He was too smart to openly voice his opinion though.
Kristoff was on the phone, sitting behind his desk. Viking grabbed a bottle of premium vodka and two shot glasses from the cabinet and dropped onto the sectional.
Kristoff finished his phone call then accepted a glass. They clunked their glasses as they’d done for years, and downed their drinks.
Viking needed that burn. He would prefer to get wasted, but that wasn’t happening any time soon. With the negotiations going on, he needed to be on his A-game.
“Rough day?”
“Rough week,” Viking answered as he put down the glass. “I don’t know what’s worse. The woman I hate burning up with fever, almost robbing me of my revenge, or the woman who leaves me cold, almost giving me frostbite with her looks.”
“Have you decided what to do with her?”
They both knew he wasn’t referring to Annika.
“I’m going to keep her. For now.” When Kristoff didn’t react, he added, “You think it’s a mistake.”
