"Then you understand that you're not going anywhere."
She takes a breath and lets it out slowly. "I may owe you a debt, but I don't belong to you. Please don't treat me like an object. If I'm here, I will require my belongings to be brought to me. Specifically, my box of mementos."
I lean back in my chair and study her intently. She's not being rude or raising her voice, but she's also not backing down. Most people who stand where she's standing right now are either trying to placate me or they're shaking, terrified. She's doing neither. Mila Radin is an enigma, a well-trained solider, yet still soft and pliable. I can't wrap my mind around how she can know who I am and yet not cower in front of me.
Has she no fear at all?
"What exactly do you want?" I ask.
"My things from the estate. Clothes, personal items. And like I said, the box of mementos I keep under the foot of my bed intact. If you send someone, have them retrieve it. Don't let my stepmother do it. She'll go through my things."
Feisty… And challenging. It'd be such a shame to break something so exquisite as her, but it may become necessary if she can't learn how to interact with me properly. And to think I almost slit her throat. Anyone who has this much backbone deserves a chance to prove themself in this world. It really is curious why Anton never elevated her within his ranks. Yes, a woman—but a worthy adversary, nonetheless.
"Anything else?"
"What I have is fine. Thank you," Mila says robotically, and her hands slide behind her back the way Sorin and Rebecca stand when they're awaiting orders. "May I go now?"
"I'll have Radimir bring your things from the estate," I tell her. "You'll stay in the staff quarters with the others. If you cause problems or try to leave, the terms change. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," she says tartly.
"Then you're dismissed."
Mila turns and walks away quietly while I watch every swish of her skirt, the sway of her ponytail, and the way her right hand clasps around the wrist of her left arm. Someone somewhere took great pains to form her into something she's not, and I'm almost looking forward to finding out who and why. And then unleashing that beast on this world to see what sort of fury her level of emotional control and skill can be used for.
But first I need to get to the bottom of this mystery.
The best I can tell, Vera Koval sent Mila to me with one thing in mind—her death. I think she knew my reputation for recompensing those who have the guts to steal from me with death, and I think Vera sent Mila to me on purpose, hoping Mila would be obvious enough to be caught and punished.
It makes sense. The woman wants to remove the heir of her dead husband, and in doing so, take the child's inheritance. That's the first lead I'm going to chase down. I'll have Timur look up the conditions of Anton Radin's will and tell me what's happening. It may give me the answers I hope for.
If not, I'll keep digging.
Something tells me there's a good story here, and I'm looking forward to unearthing it.
7
MILA
Rebecca pushes the dining room door open, and I follow her through with the cart. The wheels squeak loudly and it's sort of embarrassing, and she's already halfway to the table when I look up and see who's sitting across from Roman.
Vera is here, in this house, seated at his table in an expensive black dress with her hair pulled back and her hands folded in front of her neatly as she looks down her nose at me. It's an expression I don't miss at all, and now I'm not just in the same space with her, I'm being forced to serve her like she's royalty. When I stop moving, because my feet feel glued to the floor, Rebecca has to glance back to see why I'm not keeping up.
"Mila, come on," she hisses, gesturing at me.
I push the squeaky cart forward toward Rebecca, who starts serving, and I follow her lead, setting plates down in front of each of them. Vera doesn't look at me when I put her plate down. She's too focused on Roman, in her most pretentious tone. Ithink I may be the only one who knows the real Vera Koval, the dark, ugly one who comes out when no one else is around.
"The weapons trade has been stable since Anton's death," she's saying. "He spent years building relationships with reliable suppliers, and I've made certain to maintain every single one of them. The operation runs as smoothly now as it did when he was alive, possibly better."
Roman cuts into his food and doesn't respond, and his face gives nothing away. It's like he's letting it go in one ear and out the other. That's not necessarily a bad thing, though Vera won't like it. But the girls told me Roman isn't into smuggling. He sticks strictly to fighters, though doubtless, he's had offers of alliance from all sorts of families in Perm.
I move around the table to set his dessert plate down, and that's when Vera's eyes flick to me. It's brief, maybe half a second, but I see the look of disgust and a touch of superiority she flashes at me and my throat closes up. Why did I ever try to impress her at all?
Rebecca pours wine for both of them and Sorin appears with a pitcher of water to refresh their glasses. When she’s finished, they both head back toward the kitchen, but I stay near the door where I can still hear everything being said at that table. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it's lack of knowledge that will strangle me in my sleep. I have to know what she's up to because even if Roman still decides to work with her, I can at least warn him of how evil she is.
He's been nothing but straightforward with me, so I have no reason to believe he's deceitful or conniving. I'm here as his slave for ten years and after that, I fully expect to be released. But Verais so nasty. She talks out both sides of her mouth and if she says one thing, you can almost bet on it that she means the opposite.
"You've managed well," Roman says after a moment. Then he sips his wine and leans back in his chair like he's studying her. He does a lot of that—watching and observing. I think it's a good thing. It's probably how he realized so quickly that I was lifting his ring right off his finger. I was just one step ahead of him.
