Katya wakes up without bloodlust on her mind for the first time in ages.
It had been a good night's sleep; of course, after shouting instructions all day long, you tend to be tired.
"Today's going to be good," Katya yawns. "I can feel it."
Her feet land on the warm carpeted floor as she sits facing the window on the opposite wall. The sky was clear, but the air was misty. Did it rain last night?
Stretching her arms above her head, Katya goes straight into the washroom attached to her room. Sluggishly, she brushes her teeth while staring blankly into the mirror. She was never fond of the reflection that stared back at her.
It looked too much like her mother.
Katya—during her rebellious phase—dyed her hair various colors, going from a pixie cut to curly to straight hair. Anything that would cut the resemblance to her mother.
Can't wait for mother's tyranny to be over today.
"Miss Petrov!"
A loud shout makes Katya jerk forward. She rushes to open the door to find one of the maids panting and leaning against the frame.
"What's wrong?"
"Mrs. Petrov is asking for you."
Katya rolls her eyes and turns around. "She can wait. I just woke up."
"I'm afraid it can't wait. It's about master Viktor."
Katya's feet pause as her heart pounds thunderously against her chest. Her mind races with a hundred different ways Viktor might be hurt, because assuming the worst was always Katya's issue. But that's absurd, right?
"Is he okay?"
"I-uh—you need to come fast."
Katya dashes down the hallway in her silk shorts and a loose shirt. Her bun comes undone as she runs downstairs, and her long, dark chestnut hair trails behind her like a flag in the breeze.
As soon as the main living area nears, Katya's throat begins to choke up. The giant doorway is wide open, flooding the room with daylight and killing the aroma of opioids. Inside the hall, about two dozen Bratva men are standing with guns tucked in their belts. Security seems tight, which is no surprise since Viktor is supposed to be inducted today.
Katya slows down when she sees her mother standing by the glass window, staring out into the garden.
"What's wrong?"
Sonya Petrov turns around, her face like a dried-up pond: uncomfortable, scowling, and reeking of death.
"You and your brother, that's what's wrong."
Fighting the urge to scoff and roll her eyes, Katya moves further inside the hall and settles down on the sofa.
"Where is he?"
"Where is who? I woke up maybe ten minutes ago."
"Stop toying with me, Katrishka. Tell me where Viktor is."
Katya looks up in confusion, trying to read her mother's face. She was never the one to joke, certainly not on such an important day. Then why would she call Katya to ask for her son when she has an army of over a hundred bratva men standing right outside their property?
"I don't know, mama. He should be around here, or maybe he went for a walk."
"He's not naïve to go out for a glupyy walk today."
(silly)
YOU ARE READING
Hunting love
RomanceYour typical Mafia romance with an atypical story _________________________________________________________________ Blood, weapons, and danger always surround them. And using the tapered edge of the daggers, Sonya Petrov sharpened her children all t...