“Maybe I’ll rethink keeping my distance from him,” I propose. “That is, if he can forgive me for forgetting to feed you before your standoff with your brother.”
Vadim’s grin falls flat, and a sudden thought makes me reach for his hand, stroking the back of it.
“Does he know?” I ask. “Maxim. About…”
“No,” Vadim says, his teeth bared, eyes cold. “And as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t need to.”
“He is her uncle,” I say, but I’m not sure if I mean it as a question or a statement. I know firsthand that relationships, no matter how close, can dissipate overnight. Titles mean nothing. You can go from someone’s wife one second, to a stranger the next—and vice versa apparently.
In search of a distraction, I turn my attention back to the freezer and rummage through the prepackaged meals. “I think I want chicken,” I declare, deciding for us both.
Dutifully, Vadim places the platter in the oven while I stand on tiptoe to rummage through the cupboards above his head.
“I also think this occasion calls for a little daytime wine. Yes?”
He shoots me an amused look that makes my breath catch.
“I think I should buy shares in this company,” he says while reading the label of my cherished vintage. “You must singlehandedly keep them afloat.”
I simper. “What can I say? It’s in my blood—” I break off as I spot a small figure watching us from the doorway, her arms crossed.
“There is a pool,” she says carefully. Her tiny frown and stern gaze take on a harder edge, as if she’s fighting to seem as disinterested as possible.
“Oh, that’s right,” I say, recalling the list Vadim and I had poured over. “You like to swim. Right?”
Magda says nothing, turning her attention to Vadim, who cautiously meets her gaze. It’s like something unspoken passes between them, and they both promptly turn away, their jaws clenched.
“Never mind,” Magda says, shrugging. “It’s too cold to swim, anyway—”
“It’s heated,” Vadim says. He skirts the counter and advances toward her. “You can swim whenever you’d like. As long as I, Tiffany, or another adult is present.”
Magda’s lips twitch, but she forces a curt nod. “Okay.”
“And there are acres of property,” Vadim adds, ushering her into the foyer. I follow them at a distance, but close enough to hear him add, “We’re having a playground built there—” he points to a section of budding construction visible through the row of windows in the living room. “And there is a boathouse if you’re interested in going onto the water. And a stable…”
I’m so distracted watching them. I barely notice the muffled thud of advancing footsteps until the front door trembles beneath a thudding blow. Another. Then, as we all watch, the door flies open to reveal a hulking creature resonating so much rage he almost seems inhuman.
Maxim. His dark eyes fly to Vadim as he forms his hands into fists, and boldly crosses the threshold.
“Is this a game to you?” he demands, his accent so thick I can barely understand him. “Buying this house. Flaunting your ownership. To taunt me? I should—”
He plows into the foyer without seeming to notice the small figure nearly trampled in his path. Magda’s eyes go bug-wide as her mouth contorts into a startled o-shape. I don’t even think she manages to scream before she turns on her heel and runs.
But her target is already halfway to her. Without hesitation, Vadim snatches her into his arms, crushing her to his chest.
“Get out,” he growls, holding his daughter protectively close. I’ve never seen him like this—eyes flashing, expression lethal. “Now.”
Maxim falters, his body deflating as shock disrupts his furious features. He blinks, looking from Vadim, to Magda, and then me.
“You sick son of a bitch,” he says incredulously. “You think this is a family? Where did you find her, huh?” He jerks his chin at Magda. “Off the fucking street? Did you kidnap her too—” He breaks off, and I have a sinking suspicion why. Magda, from the safety of Vadim’s arms, glanced at him fearfully, turning far enough that he could see her face. A near mirror image of Vadim’s face.
I can’t describe the expression that befalls him next. As if struck, he staggers back a step, his massive body swaying before he manages to right himself, his gaze puzzled.
“Get out,” Vadim snarls. “Now, so help me God. Don’t make me resort to other methods. Leave.”
Maxim’s nostrils flare as his lips open and close wordlessly. Then, without so much as a parting threat, he turns and barrels through the remains of the door.
“Ena,” Vadim calls the second his brother disappears from view.
The stout bodyguard enters the foyer as if conjured from thin air, his expression gruff. “Now I secure perimeter?” he asks in his halting drawl. Simmering anger laces his tone, and I suspect I’m witnessing the tail end of an argument. Something to do with the property and securing it. Maxim had been able to waltz right through the front door—because Vadim had intentionally kept his security at bay?
Whatever his reasons for doing so, I assume they’ve quickly changed. “Yes,” he says with a nod. “No one comes close without you handling them personally.”
Ena nods and puffs up, satisfied. He crosses over to the remains of the door and inspects the damage. The confidence with which he does so makes me suspect that intervening after a violent situation isn’t exactly an unusual occurrence for him.
Vadim steps back, moving toward the kitchen. His voice reaches me, a soothing, persistent hum that chokes my heart.
“Chut, ma douce fille,” he murmurs, stroking Magda’s dark hair. “Tout va bien. Tu es en sécurité…”
He rocks her against him with such a gentle motion that I doubt he’s even aware of it. She clings to him, her face in his chest, her tiny hands gripping him so tightly her knuckles are white.
He continues to speak to her in French until she finally draws back and wiggles free of his grasp. Her
