Page 142 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“It’s a start.”

Mikhail drops onto one of the new chairs before anyone can stop him.

Maya turns slowly.

He looks up. “What?”

“That chair was just placed.”

“And now it has fulfilled its purpose.”

She crosses the room and looks down at him. “Shoes off the rung.”

His gaze drops to his shoes, which are nowhere near the rung.

Then back to her.

“My apologies.”

“Accepted.”

Neither of them moves. The air between them becomes inconvenient.

I turn away as the elevator opens.

Aleksander steps into the apartment in a black overcoat, no scarf, dark hair slightly wind-touched. His gaze moves first to me, fast and assessing. Then to Mikhail in the chair. Then to Maya standing over him.

Then to the room.

The new table. The four chairs. The bare wall. The bench in the entry. His expression doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens as he removes his gloves.

“You rearranged the room.”

I stay silent, watching his reaction.

“It looks less severe.”

“That was the idea.”

Mikhail makes a faint sound and covers it badly with a cough.

“I might like this,” Aleksander says finally.

The near-smile I’ve been waiting for moves through me like heat.

“It’s very Tamara,” he adds.

Maya suddenly becomes deeply interested in packing fabric memos into her bag. “I should get these back to the office.”

Mikhail reaches for the sample case. “I’ll take that.”

“I can carry it.”

“I know.”

She looks at him. He does not turn it into a joke. That, apparently, is worse.

“Fine,” she says.