Page 80 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

That earns me the smallest real smile I have ever seen from her.

In the elevator going down, I notice my hands. They’re steady again. I hadn’t realized until now that they’d stopped being steady, somewhere around the wedding.

Outside, the winter air catches in my lungs. Maya hands me the signed scope. “You’re back,” she says.

My gaze drops to the signature page: Tamara Kalinin.

“I’m back.”

Mikhail opens the SUV door for me without exaggerated formality this time. I slide inside with the agreement across my knees. He joins me on the other side before the car pulls into traffic.

“For the record,” he says, “I believe today’s performance justifies an expense account.”

“Denied.”

“Hostile work environment.”

I barely hear him.

My name sits on the signature page, clean and black and still mine.

Aleksander had not returned my work to me. It had never been his to give. He had kept his promise by protecting the path back—and stepping aside so I could walk it under my own name.

23

IF THAT IS WHAT YOU DECIDE, I WILL TAKE YOU. (TAMARA)

When I get home, Aleksander is in the study, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, three screens open in front of him. He takes in the signed scope beneath my arm, the material tube in my hand, the grin I can’t seem to contain.

“It went well, I see.”

“Amelia kept me on the project.” I set the agreement on the edge of his desk. “She expanded the scope. And,” I drop into the chair across from him and slip out of my coat, “she may refer one of her bougie friends.”

One corner of his mouth shifts. “Smart woman.”

Seeing him like this, with that faintly satisfied expression, his hair slightly disordered, the top buttons of his shirt undone, pulls me straight back to last night.

His hand at my jaw. The rough way he said my name before he walked away.

I blink myself back into the study. “Thank you for today,” I say.

His coffee sits cooling beside the keyboard. Without thinking, I reach for it and take a sip. Aleksander watches me drink from his cup and says nothing.

“Your brother is terrifyingly competent,” I say too quickly, catching myself and setting it down.

“He knows when to pull himself together.”

“That must be exhausting for him.”

A quiet breath of amusement leaves him. Then his eyes settle on mine again. “Mikhail secured the room,” he says. “You kept the client.”

Before I can answer, my phone vibrates inside my coat pocket.

Papa.

I consider ignoring it, but then I open the message.

Papa