King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

Dante and I landed at Helleje’s tiny airport on Friday afternoon. It took us another forty minutes by car to reach Agnes and Gunnar’s thirty-acre countryside estate.

“Vivian!” My sister answered the door, the picture of country chic in her loose white blouse and riding boots. “It’s so good to see you. You too, Dante,” she said graciously.

I assumed my father hadn’t told her what Dante did, either. She wouldn’t have been so calm otherwise.

I wasn’t surprised. My father would never willingly admit someone got the better of him.

Dante and I dropped our luggage in our rooms upstairs before rejoining Agnes in the living room. Gunnar was in session in Parliament, so it really was a Lau family weekend.

I paused when I saw my mother sitting on the couch next to my sister. At first glance, she looked as put together as ever, but a closer examination revealed the lines of tension bracketing her mouth and the faint purple smudges beneath her eyes.

A pang hit my chest.

Her eyes brightened, and she rose halfway at my entrance before sitting back down. It was an unusually awkward move for Cecelia Lau, one that made my heart squeeze.

Agnes’s gaze ping ponged between us.

“Dante, why don’t I give you a tour of the house?” she said. “The layout can be confusing…”

He glanced at me. I gave him a small nod.

“I’d love a tour,” he said.

My mother stood fully when they left the room. “Vivian. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Mother.”

And then I was engulfed in her arms, my eyes stinging when I breathed in the familiar scent of her perfume.

We weren’t big on physical affection in our household. The last time we’d hugged had been when I was nine, but this felt like a much-needed embrace for both of us.

“I wasn’t sure you would show,” she said when she released me. We took our seats on the couch. “Have you lost weight? You look skinnier. You need to eat more.”

I was either eating too much or too little. There was no in between.

“I haven’t had much of an appetite,” I said. “Stress. Things have been…chaotic.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath and ran a hand over her pearls. “What a huge mess this is. I’ve never been so angry with your father. Imagine, doing that to Dante Russo, of all people…”

I cut her off with the question that’d been plaguing me since I overheard Dante’s conversation with my father. “Did you know about the blackmail?”

Her mouth parted. “Of course not.” She sounded appalled. “How could you think that? Blackmail is beneath us, Vivian.”

“You’ve always gone along with what Father does. I just assumed…”

“Not always.” My mother’s face darkened. “I don’t agree with him trying to disown you. You’re our daughter. He doesn’t get to decide whether or not I can see you or single-handedly kick you out of the family. I told him as such.”

A ball of emotion tangled in my throat at the unexpected development. My mother had never stood up for me before.

“Is he here?”

“He’s upstairs, sulking.” A frown pinched her brow. “Speaking of which, you should go to your room and change before dinner. A T-shirt and yoga pants? In public? I hope no one important saw you at the airport.”

Just like that, the warmth from her earlier words disappeared. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” She looked bewildered.

“Criticize everything I do or wear.”

“I wasn’t criticizing, Vivian, merely making a suggestion. Do you think it’s appropriate to wear yoga pants to dinner?”

It was amazing how fast she switched from indignant and concerned to critical.

My father was responsible for most of my family problems, but a different type of frustration had simmered toward my mother for years.

“Even if I wasn’t wearing yoga pants, you’d criticize my hair, skin, or makeup. Or the way I sit or eat. It makes me feel like…” I swallowed. “It makes me feel like I’m never good enough. Like you’re always disappointed in me.”

If we were discussing our issues, I might as well lay it all out there. The blackmail issue was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but trouble in the Lau household had been brewing for years, if not decades.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mother said. “I say those things because I care. If you were a stranger on the street, I wouldn’t bother trying to help you improve. You’re my child, Vivian. I want you to be the best you can be.”

“Maybe,” I said, my throat tight. “But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like you’re stuck with me as your daughter and you’re making do.”

My mother stared at me, genuine surprise shining in her eyes.

I knew she meant well. She wasn’t deliberately malicious, but the tiny cuts and barbs added up over time.

“Do you want to know why I’m so hard on you?” she finally said. “It’s because we are Laus, not Logans or Lauders.” She emphasized those names. “We’re not the only new money family in Boston, but we’re the ones who are looked down on the most by the blue-blood snobs. Why do you think that is?”