“Thank you. I appreciate your saying that, Lev.”
He nods once, then his gaze hardens into that familiar look I’m used to seeing him turn on everyone else. “But let me be clear. If you try that shit again, if you betray him—or any of us, for that matter—you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
I meet his eyes. “If it ever comes to that, I won’t resist when you come to kill me.”
For the first time, something like approval flickers in his expression. He pats my shoulder once, awkwardly, before stepping back. “Good.”
Then he turns on his heel and strides away, straight back toward the sound of my sister’s laughter.
“Poor Matvey,” I mutter under my breath, picturing Lev pulling him out of Lettie’s clutches.
Later, I find Maksim in his study.
He’s seated behind his desk, papers spread out in front of him. His face is tense, the set lines around his mouth only smooth when he looks up and sees me.
“Hello,Milaya.”
I smile and cross the room.
He takes me in his arms, pulling me down onto his lap and cradling me like I’m something precious. I soak in his warmth, delighting in the sound of his steady heartbeat thrumming under my ear.
His finger hooks under my chin, lifting it just enough to press a kiss to my lips.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” he murmurs.
I wish I knew what that meant.
33
MAKSIM
The ring sits in my pocket all afternoon, humming like a bomb waiting to detonate.
I keep a hand near it without even realizing it, the way a man keeps a hand close to a holstered weapon. Not from fear, but because everything that matters is there and I can’t afford to fumble it.
Leo notices first. He notices everything now. “Dad, what are you hiding? You keep acting weird all day. What’s going on?”
I ruffle his hair, nudging him out of the dining room. “Go find your mother. Help her get dressed for our date, and then I’ll tell you what we’re doing.”
For dinner, we drive into the city as dusk folds itself over the rooftops, a violet shawl settling along the skyline.
I chose the restaurant for the windows, floor-to-ceiling glass that turns the world into a painting, the kind of place that romanticizes even the gloomiest of days. They know me here, the owner an old contact I cashed in a favor with.
Candles are already lit, a table is already waiting, and the hostess gleefully takes us back to our private section.
Ivy is wearing a dark dress that accentuates her curves perfectly. Leo holds her hand and swings them like a pendulum as they walk, humming a song he made up between the car ride here and the door.
We sit. We eat. We delight in the feeling of family. When dessert comes around and the menu is set down on top of the table, Leo turns to me with his eyes shimmering with excitement.
“Dad, is this the part where I dothe thing?” he says in a stage whisper.
I straighten my tie as if that will help my nerves now blooming. “Yes.”
Ivy raises a brow. “What ‘thing’?”
“You’ll see, Mama.” Leo grins.
He wriggles out of his chair and dives under the table with a rustle of linen and a chorus of Ivy’s stifled laughter when he inevitably tickles her feet. When he emerges, he’s holding the velvet box with both hands, solemn as a priest when he hands it to me.
