She copies the same stance she took in the presence of Maxim—her face buried against his shoulder, her knuckles white as she grips him tightly.
But this time, Vadim strokes her back with a sigh. “It’s okay, ma chérie. This is…Uncle Milton.” His voice conveys nothing but soothing warmth though his eyes tell a different tale. He looks like a man who came close to claiming a pile of gold, only to have it slip through his grasp at the last minute. And he eyes Milton as though he’s the force that made said fortune vanish.
Unperturbed, the other man boldly steps forward. Almost before my eyes, it’s as though he transforms, softening the harder, angular stance of his rigid posture for a softer, friendly appearance. Even I’m fooled, almost forgetting the imposing figure he so regularly presents as. Smiling warmly, he says, “You must be Magdalene. I’m a friend of your… Mr. Vadim’s.”
Sensing the danger has passed, Magda squirms from Vadim’s arms and scrambles away from him, her cheeks pink. She eyes Milton warily but doesn’t move to take the hand he extends her way.
Without missing a beat, he uses the same hand to reach into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and withdraws an enormous lollipop even the surliest child couldn’t resist. Case and point, Magda steps forward, and he crouches on one knee and presents his offering to her.
“Sugar-free, of course,” Milton declares, glancing at Vadim.
Magda takes it and eagerly rips off the wrapping, before taking a tentative lick. Her eyes practically light up even as she takes a step back from him. I watch in awe as she reaches out with her free hand, finding Vadim’s pantleg. Their expressions mirror each other’s for a split second—hers irritated by her seemingly overwhelming need to cling to him, while he seems overwhelmed all at once.
Rising to his feet, Milton maintains his polite, charming smile, but when his eyes meet Vadim’s, something unspoken flashes between them. It’s like I can sense the atmosphere shift in an instant.
“It was very nice to meet you, Magdalene,” Milton says. “But right now, I’d like to borrow Vadim for a minute.”
Vadim glances at Magda, and I can see the internal struggle as he wrestles with leaving her. But then he cuts his gaze to the other man. Again, some understanding flashes between them and his jaw clenches. Sighing, he captures the hand Magdalene has on his pant leg, and I can tell that nothing in the world pains him more than having to ease her away.
“I’ll be back,” he swears, stepping forward. “And I will bring you a reward fit for a conquering queen.”
Whether the promise mollifies Magda or not, I can’t tell. She’s utterly stoic, watching as the two men head toward the study. I skip toward her, and I can’t resist tugging on a dark curl even though she wrinkles her nose and turns away.
“Help me clean up, oh majesty?” I ask her before eyeing the fortune of fake money scattered over the floor.
She eyes me skeptically, crossing her arms. “Queens don’t clean up.”
“Hmm.” I stroke my chin and nod. “Not normally. But they do if the treasury is at stake and a thief is on the loose, threatening their fiscal hold on the populous!”
I stoop for a fistful of money. Alarmed, Magda drops to her knees and attempts to grab as many bills as she can before I snatch them first. Within minutes, we’ve gathered up every last bit.
“I win,” Magda declares as she places her haul back into the box.
I can’t resist tugging on another curl though this time she doesn’t seem to resist. “You did! Awesome job…”
I trail off, distracted by a sudden noise coming from the hall near the study. Angry, thumping, brutal noise. Smiling wider for Magda’s benefit, I playfully tap the bridge of her nose with my finger. “Why don’t you figure out how to set up for a second round, oh majesty? I’m going to go grab a pen so we can keep score.”
I use that harmless lie as my excuse for tiptoeing down the hall. Not the urge to spy or eavesdrop. I need a pen. A pen that ceases to matter completely the second I catch Vadim’s grated rasp.
“…and you still seem to hold out hope that we will reconcile?” he laughs. “I don’t think so. Not after this.”
“You did provoke him,” Milton replies, his tone level. “You know how he can get. Like a dog with a bloody bone. Give him time to cool down.”
“Time?” Vadim echoes coldly. “Don’t play coy, Milton. You aren’t a gossip, and you wouldn’t be telling me of his little ultimatum if you didn’t believe he was serious in this threat. What was it again? ‘I leave within three days, or he will take measures.’” He laughs in that icy, beautiful way that resembles how I figure a fallen angel might. One seriously considering joining the ranks of Lucifer. “And you asked me why he will never see Magdalene?”
“Like I said, give him time to cool down,” Milton insists. “Besides, he’ll be gone for a few days. He’s on his way to Moscow. Apparently, someone disrupted a supply chain of munitions he had stored there. Damn near took out an entire arm of his operation overnight. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Munitions? Supply chain? Something at the back of my brain tingles, filing away those terms for later. They sound far more sinister than the typical business venture, that’s for damn sure.
“Would you be surprised if I did?” Vadim asks dryly. Gathering up the nerve, I creep forward enough to peek into the office through the cracked door. He’s leaning over his desk, his eyes downcast.
Milton must be standing before him, his posture rigid. “No. Especially not after you accused him of disrupting your own business interests there—an accusation he denied, by the way. And you know he wouldn’t
