Milana nods. “No, it doesn’t explain that.”

“Unless of course I were to stop making excuses for him and start making assumptions based on what I know to be true.” I start rattling things off, counting them down on my fingers. “He stumbled across our mother. He got her out of the ring, set her up somewhere comfortable—and then proceeded to fill her head with lies about me.”

Milana sucks in a breath. “You really think he would have done that?”

“Without a doubt,” I say. “If she’s alive right now, she thinks I’m the devil incarnate. And if she’s dead, then she died believing that I turned out just like the monster she married.”

“Kolya…” Milana whispers.

“June needs to believe that Adrian has some redeeming qualities,” I continue coldly. “She’s carrying his baby, and that’s confusing her. I’ll let her believe whatever the fuck she wants in that regard. But it will no longer stop me from doing what I know I have to do.”

Milana nods and swallows. “I’ll negotiate the contracts down to ten percent,” she says. “Good luck with the father-in-law.”

“Tell that to him,” I mutter as I turn to leave. “He’s the one who’s gonna need it.”

39

KOLYA

“Kolya!” Luke crows, leaping to his feet the moment he sees me.

“Sorry, sir,” stammers the pallid little receptionist I’d stormed past to get here. “H-he didn’t wait for me to check with you. He just barged in.”

“It’s okay, Simone,” Luke laughs, straightening out the obnoxious red tie he’s wearing. “This is my future son-in-law. He’s welcome anytime.”

His enthusiasm certainly suggests that he thinks I’m here to make peace and donate to his foolhardy ambition. I decide not to correct that assumption right away.

“Luke,” I say, shaking his hand. “You look well.”

“As do you! Please,” he says, gesturing to the black leather chairs in front of his desk, “take a seat.”

I sit down. Luke remains on his feet long enough to pull out a crystal tumbler of gin. “Can I offer you a glass?” he asks.

There are a few subtle changes about him, but I notice all of it right away. The suit is Armani. The shoes are handmade Italian. Even the crystal tumbler boasts of excess. Of wealth. Power.

Of connections he has no business making.

“I’ll never say no to a drink, Luke.”

Luke pours us both a hearty splash of gin and passes me a glass. Only then does he sit back down. His chair is decidedly bigger than the two in front of his desk. A leather throne, by the looks of it. I’ll bet he made that decision without the slightest bit of self-awareness.

He takes a sip of his gin and then looks at me pointedly. It’s clear he’s waiting for something—an apology, perhaps. But if that really is what he’s expecting, then it’s clear he can’t read the room.

Or the man sitting across from him.

“How’s Bridget?” I ask pleasantly.