Chapter 6 Viking
CHAPTER 6
VIKING
He shouldn’t have touched her. Especially not since she’d been almost buck naked. Baran had told him how they’d found her in Pedro’s cellar. His eyes flashed, but he had reined his anger in. Why should he care that Pedro had been about to hand her over to his men? She had it coming. That’s what she got for trusting a Morelli. She deserved whatever he had planned for her. Not that it mattered any longer. She was his now, abducted and tucked up nicely, to do with as he pleased. It was the way of their world; you snooze, you lose.
Still, touching her had been a mistake. Just the touch and smell of her skin took him back sixteen years. Even then, all it had taken was one touch, one look, and he would drop everything just to have her. Gone was the reason they were fighting over, and every single working brain cell flew right out the window.
He thought back on how, a few weeks ago, he had seen her again after so many years. Dressed in a nightgown, walking on spiked heels, with a hundred-dollar haircut, and her nails perfectly manicured with not a trace of grease underneath them. There was nothing left of his hazel-eyed girl. The girl that had lived in jeans and sneakers. The girl that used to spend time in his garage, handing him stuff when he was working on his bike. She was much thinner than he remembered, too. No, Elena Morelli was now everything she once hated: a high-end pretty doll, nothing but arm candy for a man.
It was as Kristoff said. Know your weakness, then cut it out like the disease it is. That was exactly what he would do. He was going to amputate her from his life, like a gangrenous limb.
He pushed past Baran, who was hovering in the hallway.
“Fucking gangrene.”
Baran looked up. “Gangrene?”
Great. Now he was talking to himself. He took the stairs until he was outside, and walked into Kristoff’s garden. At the end of the estate, next to the fountain, Vicky sat talking to Katya. Those two had hit it off, though he was informed his daughter kept asking to see him. He’d been avoiding her, as he had an inkling what she wanted to talk about.
Putting Elena in Kristoff’s old wine cellar had seemed the smart thing to do at the time. Now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He took the door around the back and walked to the library. Kristoff loved holding meetings there. The room was swept for bugs every morning and had an old-world feeling with the Persian carpet, rows of oak bookshelves, and even a green library lamp on a mahogany desk.
He plopped into a leather chair and took a deep breath. He could still smell her. It was like her hair had its own perfume, making him dizzy. How the hell was that even possible after the days she had spent down there?
Baran followed him in and closed the door. The boy was like his shadow, ever since he saved him from his kidnappers as a teen. So much so, that when his father—one of the biggest dealers in Istanbul—had decided to send someone over to set up their Europe-Asian pipeline, Baran had volunteered to be the liaison. When their deal was made, the kid had stayed, stating he owed Viking a life, and he wasn’t leaving until paying his debt. Ever since, Baran was like a bee to his honey. Those Turks took their vows damn seriously.
“Get Artist here. I want him on Vicky twenty-four seven.”
Baran’s eyes turned hard. “What? You don’t trust me around your daughter?”
“Did I hurt your feelings? You turning into a woman now? I got another job for you. Also, you’re the biggest player around, and a calculating, cold-hearted bastard. If you did or said anything to upset my girl, I might have to kill you.”
The odds of him chopping Art into pieces for doing that was less likely. The guy had a soft spot for women and was still mourning his wife.
A shadow crossed Baran’s eyes. “First of all, I consider Vicky my sister now.”
Viking knew he didn’t say those words lightly. Baran was kidnapped along with his twin sister when they were just kids. They had never found her.
“And second, Artist is showing Sokolov the merchandise and will be back in a few hours.”
Of course, the St. Petersburg Bratva leader had hit their shore. He’d brought his nieces with him who were, in their own way, part of the deal. Being old-fashioned as he was, Sokolov had never married and fathered no children, as was the way with the Bratva.
The dinner was tomorrow. He had to stay focused and keep his eye on the ball. To do that, he had to forget Elena was in that shithole downstairs, shivering from the cold, with no real food. For a second, that didn’t sit right with him. Just for a split-second. She deserved worse.
“So, your job for me?” Baran looked mildly bored like he always did. The kid prided himself on his heritage, claiming one of his ancestors used to be a sultan reigning on three continents. No job was ever hard enough, no mountain too high.
Viking put his hands behind his neck and leaned back. Then he gave Baran a smug smile the kid believed he had dibs on.
“Yeah, it’s a serious op. A big responsibility and shit.”
Baran’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”
The kid knew him all too well. “Depends on what you like. How do you feel about babysitting duty?”
***
After giving Baran his final instructions, Viking went to join Kristoff. That’s when Vicky intercepted him in the hallway. The girl was damn stealthy and he hadn’t noticed her until it was too late.
With her hands on her hips, she scowled. “Are you avoiding me?”
Yeah, he was. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I haven’t seen you since I told you who I am. It has been four days.”
He led the way into the nearest room, not wanting to have their talk out in the open.
She followed suit and settled on the couch across from him. When he saw the red-painted walls, he realized he had walked into Kristoff’s resident ‘war room.’
Funny how his feet had taken him here. Judging by Vicky’s face, she was ready for a battle. Thing was, he didn’t know how to talk to the kid. Their first encounter hadn’t gone well. No, that was an understatement. Their first meeting had been a disaster. He’d lost it, and was surprised she hadn’t run for the hills. Not that he would let her out of his sight, ever. She was in his life now, and he’d take care of her.
“We good?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
He sighed. “I scared you.”
“It wasn’t exactly fun seeing you lose it like that, but, well—” She stopped mid-sentence, her cheeks coloring.
“Finish your sentence.”
She looked at the door, a hint of panic on her face, and in that moment, he hated himself a bit.
“I don’t think I should.”
“Vicky. Look at me.” He grabbed her hand and was thankful she didn’t pull back. “I lost my shit. I wish I hadn’t, and I’ll try my damn best to prevent that from happening again. You don’t know me yet, but you can tell me anything without having to fear I will ever hurt you. So, what were you going to say?”
“Um, that I didn’t like seeing you freak out, but knew you wouldn’t hurt me.” She eyed him closely. “Mom said that you were like a tornado. Beautiful to look at, dangerous to the ones around you, but never to the ones closest to you, the ones that stand in the eye. She said that to you, I would always stand in the tornado’s eye.”
He wasn’t sure how to react to that. It was beautiful, and poetic, only the way Elena could be. At the same time, it only made everything worse by reminding him of what he’d lost.
“How long have you known that Lorenzo wasn’t your dad?” It couldn’t be that she’d just found out. There was no way he was the only one shellshocked.
She seemed to ponder this for a second. He could see the intelligence in her eyes. And the gentleness. The girl barely knew him and was already taking his feelings into account. He had to step up, do better. He couldn’t afford any more outbursts in front of her, or else his tornado would turn into a tsunami, hurting her.
“Um, I guess I kind of always knew,” Vicky confessed. “Lorenzo hardly spent any time with me, and we don’t exactly look alike. Then, one day, I overheard him talking to Mom. She was angry he wanted to ship me off to boarding school. He told her he had to because, every day, I looked more and more like that effing Viking, and people might notice.”
So, Morelli had known Vicky wasn’t his kid. He wondered when he’d discovered that ugly truth. He must have been so disappointed.
“Did he hurt you?” Once again, he regretted killing the bastard too quickly, too easily.
“Mom would never allow that. He mostly just ignored me.”
“When did you find out I was your dad?” He still couldn’t believe Elena had kept this secret from him. She had so much to answer for.
“Mom told me a few days before Lorenzo died. I think she knew something bad was going to happen to him.”
She eyed him curiously, and he knew what she was asking without actually asking.
“The something bad being me,” he admitted.
She didn’t blink an eye at his admission, and he wondered what had made her this tough. There was this trepidation surrounding her, she was obviously on her guard, speaking as if she was weighing every word.
“You killed Lorenzo.”
That he did. Not only had it given him great satisfaction, but now it appeared that inadvertently, it had given him a daughter. It was the only thing that would explain why Elena had a sudden change of heart and told their daughter the truth. She must have been afraid that, should he discover Lorenzo had a child, he would have hurt her.
“You don’t seem too sad at your dad dying,” he pushed.
She shrugged. “He was never my dad. Never once did he hold me. In fact, he barely spoke to me. I’m sure the dog would have gotten more attention than me.”
“You had a dog?”
“No.” She smiled. “Lorenzo hated dogs. But I’m sure that if we’d had one, he would have liked it more than me.”
Damn, she was cute. Maybe he should introduce her to Loki.
“Nah, I’m sure he would’ve at least liked you just as much as the dog.”
She beamed, then looked more serious. “I, um, looked you up once but couldn’t find anything.”
Yeah, as a Bratva member, he didn’t use social media. In fact, they had people working for them who made sure they stayed as anonymous as possible. Unlike some other Bratvas and gangs, Kristoff preferred to stay on the downlow.
Speaking of staying on the downlow, why did she wait to contact him? Hadn’t she been curious about him at all? It hurt that it had taken her a week to come look for him. She was a teenager. Wasn’t she supposed to rebel against her mother? Give her hell for not telling her about him earlier? He realized he was asking the wrong person. He needed to keep in mind Vicky didn’t know him. Her loyalty lay with her mother. Her backstabbing, lying, stealing-his-kid mother. If he wanted to form any sort of connection with Vicky at all, he needed to take care of her first. Make sure she was safe, cared for, and had time to get to know him. Elena had had fifteen years with her. Now it was his turn.
He probably needed to buy a house. A real, family-style one, instead of continuing to live in the suite above the club. He had no idea where she usually stayed. She’d mentioned boarding school. Judging by her accent, and the fact Lorenzo had wanted to get rid of her, he guessed the school was somewhere in Europe. Did she need to go back?
“Do you like staying at Kristoff’s?”
“Katya has been really nice to me. She’s amazing.”
That she was. The little pixie was their mascot and the only woman who could handle a house filled with tough men without getting intimidated. Not that Kristoff would allow anyone to do that.
“Good.” He got up, remembering all the things he had to get done for Sokolov’s visit.
Vicky jumped up as well. “I need to find my mom.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find her and bring her back to you, safe and sound,” he said smoothly. He made a note in the back of his mind to get Elena cleaned up before she would meet Vicky.
Innocent baby blues peered up at him. “You promise?”
“Promise.”
And unlike her treacherous mother, he would keep his promise.
But first, it was time for an interrogation. Depending on the outcome, he’d either let Elena live after keeping his promise to his daughter, or Vicky would attend another funeral soon.