Page 81 of Tamed Enemy
“Is Nikolai Tarasov in your house?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Goodbye, Mam.”
“Wait!”
And I’m conditioned enough to be a good little mob princess that I don’t end the call.
“Your sister was supposed to be here two hours ago for Sunday Roast,” Mam says.
“Yeah, she won’t be coming.”
“Cook is having fits. She says the roast is long past ruined.”
“There’s a brilliant invention these days. You can order a pizza, and they’ll bring it to your door.”
“Why are you always such a hateful child?”
“I don’t know, Mam. Why don’t you ask Nikolai? Opinions are like arseholes—I’m sure he has one.”
“There is absolutelynoneed for you to be so vulgar. I’m calling because I’m worried about your sister. Do you know where she is?”
“I do. But I won’t be telling you.”
“That sounds positively ominous, Katie. Have you hurt her in some way?”
“You mean, hurt her more than trying to marry her off to a Russian enforcer?Afteryou tried to pawn her off on a bratva brigadier?”
“You make me sound like some sort of evil witch! I have never wanted anything more than the happiness of my daughters. Both of you, even thoughyounever appreciated a single thing I’ve done. You?—”
“That’s not true, Mam.”
I’ve shocked her into absolute silence.
Pressing my sudden advantage, I say, “There is one thing you’ve done that I do appreciate. The day you and Da forced me to marry Cole Wolf was the single luckiest day of my life. So tell your precious Nikolai you are fresh out of daughters to send to the bratva. Too bad you’re too old to take on the role of Lynch clan broodmare yourself.”
“I’m accustomed to your being nasty tome. But what did Niki ever do to you?”
“Ask him.”
“I will not?—”
“I’m serious. Ask him what he did last Tuesday, at Kynk.”
“Kink!”
“It’s a sex club, Mam. In Brooklyn. Ask Nikolai what he paid for at Kynk.”
“You and your filthy, filthy mouth. Why has God cursed me with a daughter like you?”
Suddenly, all the fight goes out of me. I’m exhausted. I can barely keep my grip on my mobile. “God has nothing to do with it, Mam.” And then I give her the answer she asked for, the reason she started this miserable conversation in the first place. “Breagha’s run off. She’s married her young fella.”
“You let her?—”
“I didn’tlether do anything. She’s a grown woman and she made her own choice. She eloped on Friday night.”
“Where are they? What is that pervert’s name? Klein? Katz? What is the name of the man who took my baby?”
