Mila sits in the chair by the window with her shoulders drawn in and her hands folded tightly in her lap. It's not the posture of the woman who took the ring right off my finger or defied me openly. She looks scared, or ashamed, maybe, and she glances up when I walk in and shut the door behind me, crossing directly to the bar cart for a drink.
I pour two glasses of vodka at the bar and bring them both over, then hand her one and sit across from her. I'm not really sure what to do with this woman. She's not a child I can scold or bend over my knee in punishment. Yet, she's clearly not been educated about propriety or basic respect. I have to wonder if her father was a failure or if it was the influence of her stepmother—what an atrocious woman—who hampered Mila's refinement.
"Drink it," I tell her plainly, because I think this conversation will go better for the both of us if she's a little looser. I want to get to the bottom of things, not have a screaming match, and Mila has a fire about her spirit that needs to be tamed gently.
Mila's eyes narrow at me, but she sips her vodka, scrunching her face up at the bite. She winces and then downs the rest in one gulp and slaps the glass on the side table and returns her hands to her lap where they wring together again. Clearly, she understands there are consequences for her actions and she feels regretful for eavesdropping. Lesson learned, I suppose.
"Your stepmother made me an interesting offer tonight," I tell her. "She wants me to marry one of her daughters, and in return, I'd take over your father's organization, absorb his territory, control his network. She made it sound very appealing."
Mila's jaw tightens. "Vera doesn't have the authority to make that offer." I can respect that she calls that horrible woman by her name instead of "mother" like some girls would. From the little digging my brother has done into this situation, I've learned Anton married Vera years ago, when all three of the girls were still children. A lot of young women would acclimate, call the stepmother something less formal. The choice reveals Mila's disposition, even without seeing her disgusted expression.
"She seemed to think she does."
She turns to look straight at me with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils, lips pursed into a thin line. "My father left everything in a trust. It comes to me when I turn twenty-five, not to her."
I lean back and watch her curiously. She's told me part of the truth but not all of it. I already know about the marriage requirement Anton put into place. Timur pulled the trust documents last week, but Mila's leaving that piece out and I want to know why. Why would she neglect to mention that she must be married for the trust to be released?
"So the organization is yours in three years," I say, "and Vera gets nothing."
"That's right." She turns away again, focusing her eyes on the bookshelf that holds my library of reading material. Though I highly doubt she's trying to see what titles I own and enjoy. She's avoiding eye contact for a reason—perhaps it's her tell.
"Then why is she so confident she can offer it to me?" I sip my drink while I study her in equal parts curiosity and suspicion. Something has woven its way around her heart to the point she is locked inside her own mind living in a fantasy world. I just can't figure out how to tap into that and draw her out.
"Because she thinks she can make it impossible for me to inherit it." Finally, her head drops and I know I've gotten the first real statement out of her that she's ever spoken to me.
A strange feeling washes over me, like sympathy and doubt tangled up in a fierce desire to undo whatever injustice she's suffered at Vera Koval's hand. And I hardly know her. We've only just met. But anything that can transform that beautiful face into this expression of pain, which she tries to mask behind anger and a hard edge, must've been horrific to endure.
"How?" I press, finishing my glass and setting it aside.
"I'm tired. Can I go to my room now?" Mila picks at her fingernails rather than answering my question, so I allow her that moment of reprieve from the conversation we will inevitably return to. It's not unheard of for a man in Anton's position to hold his legacy in a trust, and though it's rare to have a marriage clause, it is done even to this day. I just don't think Radin knew his daughter well at all. She has an iron will and abackbone of steel. She is far better suited for his empire than his widow is.
"Well, then," I say as I stand and walk to my desk. When Vera came today, she brought Mila's things. I sent Radimir, who was turned away with instructions to expect Ms. Koval, and she showed up for dinner, to which she was never invited. But I have Mila's things now, and that was the point of it all. "These are yours," I tell her as I pick up the box and walk over to her.
Mila reaches for the box with both hands, and as she opens it, her whole body changes. Her shoulders sag and her hands hover over each item inside it. I stand back, thinking I should turn away, but I've been through it already and seen what it is.
"Thank you," she mutters without looking up from her things.
"Take a minute if you need it… Those must be very special to you."
Her chin rises, but the defiance she usually carries about her is gone. All I see are the eyes of a broken woman—sad and hurting and perhaps a bit desperate for anyone to see who she really is. Then she blinks a few times and that sadness gets tucked away behind a polite smile and an apologetic tone. "Can I take this to my room?"
"Not yet," I tell her, leaning back on the end of my desk. I cross my arms and then rest one ankle over the other. "We need to talk about your new position first."
Her eyebrows tuck together as her forehead creases. "What new position?"
"You're going to work directly for me now. Clean my quarters, serve my meals, travel with me when I leave the city. I want you close where I can keep an eye on you."
Framing it as a punishment following her eavesdropping is a convenient way to show her the shift in status without having to over explain why I want her near me. The truth is, Mila brought a puzzle to light that I can't solve without knowing more or being able to study her. And while solving puzzles is fascinating to me, I’m finding that peeling back the layers this woman is hiding under is becoming all the more fascinating.
Besides, as tempting as Vera's offer is, I know she holds no power. The real authority will never come from marrying one of her daughters. Mila is the key to that. Now that Vera has dangled that carrot in front of me, I can't seem to stop thinking about how absorbing the entire Radin empire into my grasp would benefit me greatly.
"I'm not a servant, so you'll have to find someone else to do that." She hugs the box to her chest and rises, but I'm not finished with her.
"Of course you're not. You've proven your worth over the past three weeks or so, and I've seen you're capable of far more. You can help manage my schedule and take notes during my meetings and?—"
"That's not a promotion. That's just more work." Now, there's that fire again.
I chuckle at her innocence and let the tightness in my chest relax as she glares at me. She will make a strong leader one day, when she's learned how to channel all that fury into somethingproductive. I can't bear to squash it, though, because if she's to lead her family at all, she needs that edge.
