Page 276 of Money Reigns
I press the note to my chest, heart racing, lips splitting into a smile I can’t hold back.
Ella chuckles from her chair, watching me. “Oh, you’re gone. Completely gone.”
I laugh, but my voice is shaky. “And happy about it.”
The car hums softly as it winds through the city. Ella taps through playlists on her phone, humming under her breath, while I can’t stop running my thumb over the edge of War’s note.
Something sweet.
The answer hits me like a rush of sugar. “Smash and Sugar.”
Ella grins, already in on the secret. “You got it.”
By the time the car pulls to the curb, I’m practically buzzing. Myfavoritebakery. My spot. The place I used to sneak pastries from when War was too wrapped up in board meetings to notice I’d disappeared.
I step out, ready to bolt for the glass door—then freeze.
Because he’s standing there.
Vaska.
Leaning against the window, twirling a knife between his fingers like it’s a coin. Casual, dangerous, sharp grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
My heart stutters, but I force myself forward. Ella stiffens beside me, but Vaska just chuckles low in his chest and extends a small paper bag.
“Sweet tooth, krasavitsa,” he drawls, the Russian lilt thick around the word. “Your man asked me to play delivery boy today.”
I take the bag carefully, the knife catching light as he flips it into his palm again. Inside, neat rows of macarons in every color of blush and cream. Resting on top is another black envelope.
Vaska smirks as I slip it free. “Don’t worry, little dove. I didn’t read it.”
I narrow my eyes, but my fingers are already tearing at the seal. War’s handwriting floods my vision.
Sweetheart,
This one isn’t about sugar. It’s about you.
Think back to where I once put you on display, where every eye was on you, even when you didn’t know it.
That’s your next stop.
—W
I frown, confused at first. On display?
Ella leans over my shoulder. “What does he mean?”
“I thought you knew everything?”
She shakes her head. “I stopped listening after bakery.”
Then it hits me.The art gallery.
My throat tightens. The gallery where War had that painting of me commissioned, hung under the lights for everyone to see. The first time I realized he didn’t just seeme… he wanted the world to.
I clutch the note to my chest, breathless.
“The gallery,” I whisper.
